One more year goes by and I will make it a point to catalog what is happening in 2012. It will start with Soren Kierkegaard's book, "Practice in Christianity" and exposition of it, as well as a new struggle: A coach, now a parent watching other people coach. What fun that is!
I am beginning to understand a parent's frustration with my profession! Heh.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Fly You Fools!
As I was out running tonight through the trails near our house, the scene from Lord of the Rings where Gandolf was fighting the giant demon in the Mines of Moria stuck in my head. Gandolf's last words to Frodo before being pulled into the abyss were, "Fly, you fool!"
The reason for my thought was on the issue of sin and how important those words are and emphasized even more so in James 4:7 and 1 Corinthians 6:18. However, in one verse (James) the devil is fleeing and in the other verse (Corinthians), it is us doing the fleeing.
The key is the fleeing. In order to be victorious over sin, someone has to go. Either it is the devil or it is me. The trouble with most sin is the neither one is doing the fleeing, which is a pretty good indicator of the familiarity and comfort each has with the other.
That is a sobering and shameful thought, right?
We can't hang over the abyss, gazing into sin without something going terribly wrong. We've got to flee and it really doesn't matter the pace, only the direction.
It's pretty easy to understand that principle when I'm running. I am heading toward something and running away from the starting point. In most cases, it's as simple as getting up and going to defeat sin. But, the interesting thing is this: I'm more interested in staying in physical shape, so I don't need much motivation to get going. But, in the spiritual sense, I'm more slothful; less apt to 'get moving' and more apt to think, "eh, I'm too tired" and then...TROUBLE.
Well, perhaps we need to be reminded to stop looking over the edge and get out of the cave, into the light by being reminded by the Spirit to "Fly, you fools!"
The reason for my thought was on the issue of sin and how important those words are and emphasized even more so in James 4:7 and 1 Corinthians 6:18. However, in one verse (James) the devil is fleeing and in the other verse (Corinthians), it is us doing the fleeing.
The key is the fleeing. In order to be victorious over sin, someone has to go. Either it is the devil or it is me. The trouble with most sin is the neither one is doing the fleeing, which is a pretty good indicator of the familiarity and comfort each has with the other.
That is a sobering and shameful thought, right?
We can't hang over the abyss, gazing into sin without something going terribly wrong. We've got to flee and it really doesn't matter the pace, only the direction.
It's pretty easy to understand that principle when I'm running. I am heading toward something and running away from the starting point. In most cases, it's as simple as getting up and going to defeat sin. But, the interesting thing is this: I'm more interested in staying in physical shape, so I don't need much motivation to get going. But, in the spiritual sense, I'm more slothful; less apt to 'get moving' and more apt to think, "eh, I'm too tired" and then...TROUBLE.
Well, perhaps we need to be reminded to stop looking over the edge and get out of the cave, into the light by being reminded by the Spirit to "Fly, you fools!"
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Dear Dad
Dad,
Today is Father's Day and I'm so glad to be the father of two incredible young men. My oldest, Zachariah, is tender hearted, conscientious, thoughtful, considerate, and he has this dry wit thing going on; with tremendous leadership characteristics as well as being a graceful athlete. Most of all, he seems to be finding his his own way with the Lord, wrestling with the call of Christ and embracing the things of God. I'm proud of him for so being so much more than I could ever have dreamed to be when I was his age.
My youngest, Noah, is passionate, kind toward all, loyal, diligent, wise beyond his years and peaceful. He works hard at whatever his hands find to do and he is able to articulate why and what he believes about God and life. He has a deep and abiding hunger for the things of God and that makes my heart rejoice. He already has more A's on his report card than I did in my entirely way too long educational journey.
You would be very proud of them, too. Even more so, you may have looked me in the eye and told me you were proud of me and how my boys are growing up. That would have been a great moment in the life of a father who sometimes wonders, "How am I doing? Am I doing this right?"
Of course, since most examples are caught, rather than taught, you missed out on giving me that example. I've had to rely on the examples around me, the men who've poured a little bit of their life into mine. You didn't know these men, but they filled in admirably in your stead.
Grandpa Erbes, who took care of his own daughter and grandson for the first few years while driving me around in his International Harvester truck. He came to my baseball games when I was older and I smell his cologne sometimes in random places and it always brings a smile.
Jeff Totten, my first little league coach, who was one of the strongest and gentlest men I remember. He had a big, bushy mustache and the hairiest arms I'd ever seen. I remember him talking about Jesus and wanting to know Jesus just because of how he carried himself.
My Uncle Dale, who played chess with me, bought me books like "Man of Steel: The story of Terry Bradshaw" covertly planting the gospel seeds that would bear fruit some 15 years later. I remember staying over at his house watching Michigan in the Bluebonnet Bowl and getting to hold the remote! (Big remote, too being that it was 1977!)
Duane Postema always made sure to make me feel like a Postema (the mighty dutch!) and came to games even well after the marriage between my mother and him crashed and burned.
John Thiele, my next door neighbor who coached our Red Arrows Rocket football teams for three years. He always made sure I was on his team and always made sure I had a ride to practices and games.
Randy Commeret, one of my Junior high coaches, who taught me a great lesson in 7th grade. I forgot my stirrups for one of our baseball games and he benched me. He didn't think twice about it and his reasoning was I wasn't prepared. I never forgot any part of my uniform for any sport I participated in from that day forward.
Dick VanderKamp, my high school baseball coach, who drove me around in the summer, tried his best to keep me eligible during high school, threw BP to me in the early morning before school and believed I could be more than a 'bad actor' someday.
My summer coaches, Al Ware and Dick Klunder, who were peaceful, strong men who knew baseball and knew young men. They were a quiet, steady influence on me and I was better for being around them.
My college coaches did the best they could with me. The ebb and flow of my locations, emotions and dependability made their jobs a bit tougher. Although I was a good ballplayer, I was not a good man.
I look back with a sense of loss because I know the impact I could have had on those around me if I was walking with God, growing in grace and knowledge, and acting like a man, not a boy...a foolish one, at that.
Do you think you could have made a difference? Maybe we would have sat down, talked about how I was playing, what you saw that could make me better and then then reinforced the truth about servant leadership. Maybe the examples I would have observed in your life would have left an indelible mark, the imprint of a father's touch.
Do you think you could have made a difference? Maybe you would let me know my wife needs me to be more compassionate, selfless and tender hearted. I can figure out these things, but the delay switch is on and it needs to be fixed.
I know there have been times when I have hurt my sweet sons with reckless words. Those moments have been scarce, but they still haunt me. I sometimes wonder if your example would have helped me be better than I was in those moments.
I was and still am a fiery competitor. I am aghast at my lack of maturity in some situations and ashamed of my moments of tempestuous behavior. I sometimes wonder if you would have made a difference, directed me down the path of wisdom a bit sooner so God wouldn't have such a big reclamation project on his hands.
For most of my life, I've never spent more than a few minutes pondering you and where you are, if you're alive and what you are doing. It's not on my bucket list, or any other list for that matter. But, today is Father's day and I cannot understand any father not wanting to be near their son(s).
People ask me if I would ever want to see you, meet you, contact or hear from you. Honestly, my response is: "Only if he has left an inheritance of monetary value." Sad isn't it? That's about all the value you could offer now, since the most important part of what a father can give, you abandoned many years ago.
Knowing what I know about God's love for his own son and my love for my sons, I cannot fathom you walking away so many years ago. When I saw Zachariah for the first time, I didn't want to run away, I held onto him and never wanted to let him go. When Noah was born, I held him and never wanted to let him go. Now, at night when I pray over them and bless them there are times I don't want to leave their side. I want the moment to linger, to go on and I don't want to take my hand from their hand.
I know it's all a gift from God. I understand I need to seek Him first to be the man I'm supposed to be; as a husband and as a father. But sometimes, I fall a short and could really use that voice of wisdom that is tangible and trustworthy.
There is a promise written in the Psalms about God being a father to the fatherless. Technically, I had a father around for intermittent times, but I can look back and see God's hand in it all. I believe whatever the enemy planned for hardship, God has made good. I rest in that.
I would trade many things to go back and see what life would have been like with a Dad ever present to help me navigate through adolescence and beyond. But if that trade would mean losing the joy of being a Father to Zach and Noah, it would never be enough.
So, Dad, I just wanted to let you know I missed you...and you missed me.
Today is Father's Day and I'm so glad to be the father of two incredible young men. My oldest, Zachariah, is tender hearted, conscientious, thoughtful, considerate, and he has this dry wit thing going on; with tremendous leadership characteristics as well as being a graceful athlete. Most of all, he seems to be finding his his own way with the Lord, wrestling with the call of Christ and embracing the things of God. I'm proud of him for so being so much more than I could ever have dreamed to be when I was his age.
My youngest, Noah, is passionate, kind toward all, loyal, diligent, wise beyond his years and peaceful. He works hard at whatever his hands find to do and he is able to articulate why and what he believes about God and life. He has a deep and abiding hunger for the things of God and that makes my heart rejoice. He already has more A's on his report card than I did in my entirely way too long educational journey.
You would be very proud of them, too. Even more so, you may have looked me in the eye and told me you were proud of me and how my boys are growing up. That would have been a great moment in the life of a father who sometimes wonders, "How am I doing? Am I doing this right?"
Of course, since most examples are caught, rather than taught, you missed out on giving me that example. I've had to rely on the examples around me, the men who've poured a little bit of their life into mine. You didn't know these men, but they filled in admirably in your stead.
Grandpa Erbes, who took care of his own daughter and grandson for the first few years while driving me around in his International Harvester truck. He came to my baseball games when I was older and I smell his cologne sometimes in random places and it always brings a smile.
Jeff Totten, my first little league coach, who was one of the strongest and gentlest men I remember. He had a big, bushy mustache and the hairiest arms I'd ever seen. I remember him talking about Jesus and wanting to know Jesus just because of how he carried himself.
My Uncle Dale, who played chess with me, bought me books like "Man of Steel: The story of Terry Bradshaw" covertly planting the gospel seeds that would bear fruit some 15 years later. I remember staying over at his house watching Michigan in the Bluebonnet Bowl and getting to hold the remote! (Big remote, too being that it was 1977!)
Duane Postema always made sure to make me feel like a Postema (the mighty dutch!) and came to games even well after the marriage between my mother and him crashed and burned.
John Thiele, my next door neighbor who coached our Red Arrows Rocket football teams for three years. He always made sure I was on his team and always made sure I had a ride to practices and games.
Randy Commeret, one of my Junior high coaches, who taught me a great lesson in 7th grade. I forgot my stirrups for one of our baseball games and he benched me. He didn't think twice about it and his reasoning was I wasn't prepared. I never forgot any part of my uniform for any sport I participated in from that day forward.
Dick VanderKamp, my high school baseball coach, who drove me around in the summer, tried his best to keep me eligible during high school, threw BP to me in the early morning before school and believed I could be more than a 'bad actor' someday.
My summer coaches, Al Ware and Dick Klunder, who were peaceful, strong men who knew baseball and knew young men. They were a quiet, steady influence on me and I was better for being around them.
My college coaches did the best they could with me. The ebb and flow of my locations, emotions and dependability made their jobs a bit tougher. Although I was a good ballplayer, I was not a good man.
I look back with a sense of loss because I know the impact I could have had on those around me if I was walking with God, growing in grace and knowledge, and acting like a man, not a boy...a foolish one, at that.
Do you think you could have made a difference? Maybe we would have sat down, talked about how I was playing, what you saw that could make me better and then then reinforced the truth about servant leadership. Maybe the examples I would have observed in your life would have left an indelible mark, the imprint of a father's touch.
Do you think you could have made a difference? Maybe you would let me know my wife needs me to be more compassionate, selfless and tender hearted. I can figure out these things, but the delay switch is on and it needs to be fixed.
I know there have been times when I have hurt my sweet sons with reckless words. Those moments have been scarce, but they still haunt me. I sometimes wonder if your example would have helped me be better than I was in those moments.
I was and still am a fiery competitor. I am aghast at my lack of maturity in some situations and ashamed of my moments of tempestuous behavior. I sometimes wonder if you would have made a difference, directed me down the path of wisdom a bit sooner so God wouldn't have such a big reclamation project on his hands.
For most of my life, I've never spent more than a few minutes pondering you and where you are, if you're alive and what you are doing. It's not on my bucket list, or any other list for that matter. But, today is Father's day and I cannot understand any father not wanting to be near their son(s).
People ask me if I would ever want to see you, meet you, contact or hear from you. Honestly, my response is: "Only if he has left an inheritance of monetary value." Sad isn't it? That's about all the value you could offer now, since the most important part of what a father can give, you abandoned many years ago.
Knowing what I know about God's love for his own son and my love for my sons, I cannot fathom you walking away so many years ago. When I saw Zachariah for the first time, I didn't want to run away, I held onto him and never wanted to let him go. When Noah was born, I held him and never wanted to let him go. Now, at night when I pray over them and bless them there are times I don't want to leave their side. I want the moment to linger, to go on and I don't want to take my hand from their hand.
I know it's all a gift from God. I understand I need to seek Him first to be the man I'm supposed to be; as a husband and as a father. But sometimes, I fall a short and could really use that voice of wisdom that is tangible and trustworthy.
There is a promise written in the Psalms about God being a father to the fatherless. Technically, I had a father around for intermittent times, but I can look back and see God's hand in it all. I believe whatever the enemy planned for hardship, God has made good. I rest in that.
I would trade many things to go back and see what life would have been like with a Dad ever present to help me navigate through adolescence and beyond. But if that trade would mean losing the joy of being a Father to Zach and Noah, it would never be enough.
So, Dad, I just wanted to let you know I missed you...and you missed me.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Preparing for Home
C.S. Lewis wrote that God doesn't want us to ever mistake 'this place' as home. There are days in which it is easy to see this world is not the best of places. There are people who try very hard to make the earth 'hospitable' and think it can become paradise.
The problem of making our world paradise is that the physical nature of this world isn't going to let us do that. Romans 8:18-22
God isn't going to allow our hearts to be set on things for very long. A quick jolt of reality: the physical body and the earth 'groaning' post warnings daily. Still, we press on with the idea that man can make it happen.
This season has made me long for home. More specifically, it's made me long for someone to hold my hands up because I can't hold them up anymore. We all need to someone to hold our hands up every once in awhile. That isn't a woe, it's just life.
Everything that could go 'wrong' or 'south' or 'into the pisser' has happened. Of course, there is an objective. God always has one. He has chosen us to refine, make worthy, lovable and ready for that day, blessed day. Being that God has been called the "Hound of Heaven", I know he's going to pursue us because that is a part of his nature. Our job is to find that objective, even if it's hidden from us for a time. I think I get into trouble when I stop looking for God's purposes in circumstances. This season has been a case of intermittent acceptance of what God is doing. That's really no way to go about embracing the Cross.
My nature is one of retreat. Trials have a way of forcing us into a crisis of belief. The consistency in which trouble finds us shouldn't be a surprise, yet I find myself surprised and stunned it comes!
I've really got no other place to go, no other person to run to, no other thing to indulge in. In this moment, the affections of this world are slowly losing their hold. Each person has specific affections. Although we share a commonality in weakness and sin, our weaknesses and our sins belong wholly to us and to that point, God must eradicate that which is, ahem, unlovely in unique ways, specifically in a way only we will understand. (Run on sentence, anyone?)
Zachariah could have his heart changed in a instant with a good spanking. Noah didn't really need a spanking, we could and still can look through his soul and that be enough for him to 'get it'. The "look" didn't work with Zach; he wasn't buying that. Well, that explains you and I. What God can use to shape me won't be the same with you. No, he's going to get your attention through that which matters to you. Look, life happens, so I'm not suggesting people are involved in this chastening (such as loss and so forth). I am talking about holding onto things: Idols.
Yes, the idols in the OT may have not been what you are holding on to right now. That makes you a bit superior doesn't it? I mean we don't have problem with forming a golden calf out of gold and we certainly don't have any issues with Asherah poles! C'mon, that's not me!
Can you hear God chuckling right now?
Yea, this world and its stuff, my stuff, is passing away. Losing its shine. What I think and had thought can bring me life is nothing more than cheap whiskey, with a bad after taste.
So, Lewis writes about this world in his marvelous Narnia series with this brief view of "Is this all there is?" moment about this world:
“One word, Ma'am,” he said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain. "One word. All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things – trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a playworld which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia.”
To further stomp this horse, I offer yet another conversation found in Lewis' series. A conversation took place between Aslan and Jill regarding the things Jill could pursue, yet still thirst.
“If you're thirsty, you may drink.”
They were the first words she had heard since Scrubb had spoken to her on the edge of the cliff. For a second she stared here and there, wondering who had spoken. Then the voice said again, “If you are thirsty, come and drink,” and of course she remembered what Scrubb had said about animals talking in that other world, and realized that it was the lion speaking.
Anyway, she had seen its lips move this time, and the voice was not like a man's. It was deeper, wilder, and stronger; a sort of heavy, golden voice. It did not make her any less frightened than she had been before, but it made her frightened in rather a different way.
“Are you not thirsty?” said the Lion.
“I'm dying of thirst,” said Jill.
“Then drink,” said the Lion.
“May I - could I - would you mind going away while I do?” said Jill.
The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience.
The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.
“Will you promise not to - do anything to me, if I do come?” said Jill.
“I make no promise,” said the Lion.
Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.
“Do you eat girls?” she said.
“I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms,” said the Lion. It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.
"I daren't come and drink," said Jill.
"Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion.
"Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream
then."
"There is no other stream," said the Lion.
I suspect many of us would like a different stream through the course of the events in our lives. Jesus even asked if it were possible that the cup he was about to drink from be passed on and he be passed over. Never the less, he surrendered. Perfectly.
Yes, there is no other stream. The last few months have brought an array of emotions and responses, both inarticulate and articulated by me. Knowing body language is the most easily read indicator of what is going on, I wonder how the "BL" has looked, both by the people around me and the cloud of witnesses. I know that I betray the peace he gives often with my body language. I don't do well with hiding whatever is going on, good or bad. I'm trying to get better in looking the same, no matter the situation, and I think I am. But, that and a cup of coffee gets me, well, a cup of coffee.
The constant reminders of world events and the brevity of life keep dust ever present. I am dust.
The problem of making our world paradise is that the physical nature of this world isn't going to let us do that. Romans 8:18-22
God isn't going to allow our hearts to be set on things for very long. A quick jolt of reality: the physical body and the earth 'groaning' post warnings daily. Still, we press on with the idea that man can make it happen.
This season has made me long for home. More specifically, it's made me long for someone to hold my hands up because I can't hold them up anymore. We all need to someone to hold our hands up every once in awhile. That isn't a woe, it's just life.
Everything that could go 'wrong' or 'south' or 'into the pisser' has happened. Of course, there is an objective. God always has one. He has chosen us to refine, make worthy, lovable and ready for that day, blessed day. Being that God has been called the "Hound of Heaven", I know he's going to pursue us because that is a part of his nature. Our job is to find that objective, even if it's hidden from us for a time. I think I get into trouble when I stop looking for God's purposes in circumstances. This season has been a case of intermittent acceptance of what God is doing. That's really no way to go about embracing the Cross.
My nature is one of retreat. Trials have a way of forcing us into a crisis of belief. The consistency in which trouble finds us shouldn't be a surprise, yet I find myself surprised and stunned it comes!
I've really got no other place to go, no other person to run to, no other thing to indulge in. In this moment, the affections of this world are slowly losing their hold. Each person has specific affections. Although we share a commonality in weakness and sin, our weaknesses and our sins belong wholly to us and to that point, God must eradicate that which is, ahem, unlovely in unique ways, specifically in a way only we will understand. (Run on sentence, anyone?)
Zachariah could have his heart changed in a instant with a good spanking. Noah didn't really need a spanking, we could and still can look through his soul and that be enough for him to 'get it'. The "look" didn't work with Zach; he wasn't buying that. Well, that explains you and I. What God can use to shape me won't be the same with you. No, he's going to get your attention through that which matters to you. Look, life happens, so I'm not suggesting people are involved in this chastening (such as loss and so forth). I am talking about holding onto things: Idols.
Yes, the idols in the OT may have not been what you are holding on to right now. That makes you a bit superior doesn't it? I mean we don't have problem with forming a golden calf out of gold and we certainly don't have any issues with Asherah poles! C'mon, that's not me!
Can you hear God chuckling right now?
Yea, this world and its stuff, my stuff, is passing away. Losing its shine. What I think and had thought can bring me life is nothing more than cheap whiskey, with a bad after taste.
So, Lewis writes about this world in his marvelous Narnia series with this brief view of "Is this all there is?" moment about this world:
“One word, Ma'am,” he said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain. "One word. All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things – trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a playworld which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia.”
To further stomp this horse, I offer yet another conversation found in Lewis' series. A conversation took place between Aslan and Jill regarding the things Jill could pursue, yet still thirst.
“If you're thirsty, you may drink.”
They were the first words she had heard since Scrubb had spoken to her on the edge of the cliff. For a second she stared here and there, wondering who had spoken. Then the voice said again, “If you are thirsty, come and drink,” and of course she remembered what Scrubb had said about animals talking in that other world, and realized that it was the lion speaking.
Anyway, she had seen its lips move this time, and the voice was not like a man's. It was deeper, wilder, and stronger; a sort of heavy, golden voice. It did not make her any less frightened than she had been before, but it made her frightened in rather a different way.
“Are you not thirsty?” said the Lion.
“I'm dying of thirst,” said Jill.
“Then drink,” said the Lion.
“May I - could I - would you mind going away while I do?” said Jill.
The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience.
The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.
“Will you promise not to - do anything to me, if I do come?” said Jill.
“I make no promise,” said the Lion.
Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.
“Do you eat girls?” she said.
“I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms,” said the Lion. It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.
"I daren't come and drink," said Jill.
"Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion.
"Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream
then."
"There is no other stream," said the Lion.
I suspect many of us would like a different stream through the course of the events in our lives. Jesus even asked if it were possible that the cup he was about to drink from be passed on and he be passed over. Never the less, he surrendered. Perfectly.
Yes, there is no other stream. The last few months have brought an array of emotions and responses, both inarticulate and articulated by me. Knowing body language is the most easily read indicator of what is going on, I wonder how the "BL" has looked, both by the people around me and the cloud of witnesses. I know that I betray the peace he gives often with my body language. I don't do well with hiding whatever is going on, good or bad. I'm trying to get better in looking the same, no matter the situation, and I think I am. But, that and a cup of coffee gets me, well, a cup of coffee.
The constant reminders of world events and the brevity of life keep dust ever present. I am dust.
Nouns and Adjectives on the Throne
Nouns and Adjectives on the Throne
For years, I never used the word "sovereign" as a noun. I knew it could be used in this way—"Like a sovereign," writes Shakespeare "he radiates worth, his eyes lending a double majesty"—I just never did. But trial and tragedy have a way of waking us to words and realities overlooked. There was a time that whenever I closed my eyes to pray I was leveled by the image of the throne, and it was empty. It was somewhere in the midst of this recurrent vision that I realized my neglect of the noun. Was God indeed the Sovereign who spoke and listened? I had often used the word as an adjective. But adjectives, like good moods, seem to come and go.
The prophet Jeremiah depicts a Sovereign that cannot come and go, simply because He is. God's sovereignty is not a coat that can be taken off when all is going well or when all is going poorly. God does not cease to be the Sovereign though the world refuses to bow or "distant" seems a better adjective. And God's words are not stripped of their sovereignty though no one is listening or no one responds. The Sovereign of all creation is always sovereign, active, and near. It is we who are inconsistent.
Jeremiah chapter 6 begins with an image of the Sovereign speaking to a people unwilling to listen, an honorable Judge whose words are dishonored. "To whom shall I speak?" the LORD inquires. The question is a lonely one, reflecting both the prophet who speaks and the Sovereign whose words are ignored. The inquiry also has the force of sarcasm: Why bother speaking to a people who won't hear? But the words are not a commentary on God's behavior; God is not throwing his hands up and suggesting the route of silence. Rather, it is a commentary on God's words themselves, which are weighted with the compulsion to be heard. Though our ears are closed and we scorn his warnings, the Sovereign speaks and his words go forth with power. "God is always coming," says Carlo Carretto. "God is always coming because He is life, and life has the unbridled force of creation. God comes because He is light and light cannot remain hidden."(1) God's decrees from the throne create and sustain the world. There is a person enthroned in every word, bidding the world's response to every call and every sound.
Yet we listen with stubborn ears and apathetic wills. It is not a blind and stiff obedience God seeks, but a response appropriate for the Sovereign embodied in God's words and concern for creation. The people of Israel were responding with formality in sacrifice while acting shamefully in other areas. Today we might respond the same, making nods to religion in public or private, but refusing to wholly bow to the Most High, and hence, settling for something less than real humanity. For in their failure to listen, the Israelites were losing their ability to perceive altogether. "They acted shamefully...yet they were not ashamed; they did not know how to blush" (Jeremiah 6:15). In human failure to kneel before the Sovereign of all creation, we lose something of what it means to be human.
I don't know why the throne was empty every time I closed my eyes some years ago. Perhaps I had removed God from the throne long before tragedy hit like a roaring sea and seemed to remove everything in its wake. Perhaps God was ruling from the rooms where we needed God most. I don't know. But the emptiness of the throne forced me to reexamine the one who inhabits sovereignty itself. Carretto's words once again hit the gist of such examining: "The true problem is this: Is God an autonomous presence before you, like you before your friend, the bridegroom before the bride, the Son before the Father? […] Can you meet God as a person on your road and prostrate yourself before Him as did Moses before the burning bush? […] Can you experience his presence in the dark intimacy of the temple as did the prophets? In short, is God the God of transcendence, and thus the God of prayer, the God of what lies beyond things, or is He only the God of immanence, revealing Himself in the fruition of matter, in the dynamics of history, in the promise to free mankind?"(2) Is God the Sovereign you will trust at the center of all things? Upon a throne high and lofty, God asks us to look again, calls us to walk in ancient paths, and promises we will find rest for our souls
Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.
(1) Carlo Carretto, The God Who Comes (Maryknoll, New York: Orbis, 1974), 3.
(2) Ibid., Intro.
For years, I never used the word "sovereign" as a noun. I knew it could be used in this way—"Like a sovereign," writes Shakespeare "he radiates worth, his eyes lending a double majesty"—I just never did. But trial and tragedy have a way of waking us to words and realities overlooked. There was a time that whenever I closed my eyes to pray I was leveled by the image of the throne, and it was empty. It was somewhere in the midst of this recurrent vision that I realized my neglect of the noun. Was God indeed the Sovereign who spoke and listened? I had often used the word as an adjective. But adjectives, like good moods, seem to come and go.
The prophet Jeremiah depicts a Sovereign that cannot come and go, simply because He is. God's sovereignty is not a coat that can be taken off when all is going well or when all is going poorly. God does not cease to be the Sovereign though the world refuses to bow or "distant" seems a better adjective. And God's words are not stripped of their sovereignty though no one is listening or no one responds. The Sovereign of all creation is always sovereign, active, and near. It is we who are inconsistent.
Jeremiah chapter 6 begins with an image of the Sovereign speaking to a people unwilling to listen, an honorable Judge whose words are dishonored. "To whom shall I speak?" the LORD inquires. The question is a lonely one, reflecting both the prophet who speaks and the Sovereign whose words are ignored. The inquiry also has the force of sarcasm: Why bother speaking to a people who won't hear? But the words are not a commentary on God's behavior; God is not throwing his hands up and suggesting the route of silence. Rather, it is a commentary on God's words themselves, which are weighted with the compulsion to be heard. Though our ears are closed and we scorn his warnings, the Sovereign speaks and his words go forth with power. "God is always coming," says Carlo Carretto. "God is always coming because He is life, and life has the unbridled force of creation. God comes because He is light and light cannot remain hidden."(1) God's decrees from the throne create and sustain the world. There is a person enthroned in every word, bidding the world's response to every call and every sound.
Yet we listen with stubborn ears and apathetic wills. It is not a blind and stiff obedience God seeks, but a response appropriate for the Sovereign embodied in God's words and concern for creation. The people of Israel were responding with formality in sacrifice while acting shamefully in other areas. Today we might respond the same, making nods to religion in public or private, but refusing to wholly bow to the Most High, and hence, settling for something less than real humanity. For in their failure to listen, the Israelites were losing their ability to perceive altogether. "They acted shamefully...yet they were not ashamed; they did not know how to blush" (Jeremiah 6:15). In human failure to kneel before the Sovereign of all creation, we lose something of what it means to be human.
I don't know why the throne was empty every time I closed my eyes some years ago. Perhaps I had removed God from the throne long before tragedy hit like a roaring sea and seemed to remove everything in its wake. Perhaps God was ruling from the rooms where we needed God most. I don't know. But the emptiness of the throne forced me to reexamine the one who inhabits sovereignty itself. Carretto's words once again hit the gist of such examining: "The true problem is this: Is God an autonomous presence before you, like you before your friend, the bridegroom before the bride, the Son before the Father? […] Can you meet God as a person on your road and prostrate yourself before Him as did Moses before the burning bush? […] Can you experience his presence in the dark intimacy of the temple as did the prophets? In short, is God the God of transcendence, and thus the God of prayer, the God of what lies beyond things, or is He only the God of immanence, revealing Himself in the fruition of matter, in the dynamics of history, in the promise to free mankind?"(2) Is God the Sovereign you will trust at the center of all things? Upon a throne high and lofty, God asks us to look again, calls us to walk in ancient paths, and promises we will find rest for our souls
Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.
(1) Carlo Carretto, The God Who Comes (Maryknoll, New York: Orbis, 1974), 3.
(2) Ibid., Intro.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
The Last Faint Spark
Ed- This is from Ravi Zacharias' Newsletter but so well written, I had to get in down for posterity.
The Last Faint Spark
"April is the cruellest month..." begins the first line of T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land. The poem is thought to be a portrayal of universal despair, where we lie in wait between the unrelenting force of spring and the dead contrast of winter, and the casualty of the warring seasons is eventually hope. In the bold display of life's unending, futile circles, one can be left to wonder at the point of it all. Does everything simply fade into a waste land? Is death the last, desperate word? Perhaps it was somewhere in the midst of spring when the prophet reeled over life's abrupt and senseless end. "In the prime of my life must I go through the gates of death and be robbed of the rest of my years? For the grave cannot praise you, death cannot sing your praise. The living, the living—they praise you as I am doing today" (Isaiah 38:10, 18-19b).
Though differing in degree and conclusions, literature is unapologetically full of a sense of this deep irony, at times expressing itself as futility. Euripides, writing in the fifth century, remarks,
"...and so we are sick for life, and cling
On earth to this nameless and shining thing.
For other life is a fountain sealed,
And the deeps below us are unrevealed
And we drift on legends for ever."(1)
Shakespeare, on the lips of Macbeth, is struck by the monotonous beat of time and the futile story it adds up to tell.
"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."(2) Nietzsche further determines that there is nothing distinct about life at all. "Let us beware of saying that death is the opposite of life. The living being is only a species of the dead, and a very rare species..."(3) And in the face of this certain futility, Bertrand Russell explains that we must somehow build our lives boldly upon this "firm foundation of unyielding despair."(4)
Is this the only fitting response to such a familiar anguish? Must the human lament over fears of death and the uncertainty of life go unanswered—with only our brave, but futile, attempts to face them?
During the Second World War in the midst of her own unyielding despair, Edith Sitwell wrote of a very different foundation. Hers was not a simple-minded declaration of a better place, a billowy picture of a heavenly home and an escape vehicle to get there; nor was it a picture of a powerful Christendom, hope built up by the armor of control and certainty. Her foundation was not the scaffolding of wishful thinking, a psychological hope made into a practical crutch. It was, on the contrary, a picture entirely unpractical, a weak and beaten man, a defeated God crying with her. She wrote:
Still falls the Rain—
Dark as the world of man, black as our loss—
Blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails
Upon the Cross.
Still falls the Rain—
Still falls the Blood from the Starved Man's wounded Side:
He bears in His Heart all wounds,—those of the light that died,
The last faint spark
In the self-murdered heart, the wounds of the sad
uncomprehending dark The cross reminds us that it is permissible—in fact, deeply human—to speak the words at the very depths of our questioning souls. We are at times overwhelmed by abrupt glimpses of life's finitude, the darkness of suffering, the cruelty of April and the pained limbo of waiting for something different. We are at times devastatingly aware that we are human, we are dust, and we are easily overwhelmed, assailed by fear and death and uncertainty with what is beyond. On these days it is not Christendom that consoles us, not an image of God in the highest, but an image of Christ in the lowest. In the midst of human despair, we are given the cross to cling to, the picture of Jesus in his own unyielding despair, suffering both with us and on our behalves. Following him as savior, we must follow him to the cross, where we find, in his life cut short, hope for our own wounds and our own brief lifetimes, and life where death stings and tears flow.
Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.
(1) Euripides, Hippolytus, Lines 195-199.
(2) Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 5, scene 5, 19–28.
(3) Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche, A Nietzsche Reader (New York: Penguin, 1977), 201.
(4) Bertrand Russell, “A Free Man’s Worship” Mysticism and Logic and Other Essays (New York: Longmans, Green & Co., 1918), 46.
The Last Faint Spark
"April is the cruellest month..." begins the first line of T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land. The poem is thought to be a portrayal of universal despair, where we lie in wait between the unrelenting force of spring and the dead contrast of winter, and the casualty of the warring seasons is eventually hope. In the bold display of life's unending, futile circles, one can be left to wonder at the point of it all. Does everything simply fade into a waste land? Is death the last, desperate word? Perhaps it was somewhere in the midst of spring when the prophet reeled over life's abrupt and senseless end. "In the prime of my life must I go through the gates of death and be robbed of the rest of my years? For the grave cannot praise you, death cannot sing your praise. The living, the living—they praise you as I am doing today" (Isaiah 38:10, 18-19b).
Though differing in degree and conclusions, literature is unapologetically full of a sense of this deep irony, at times expressing itself as futility. Euripides, writing in the fifth century, remarks,
"...and so we are sick for life, and cling
On earth to this nameless and shining thing.
For other life is a fountain sealed,
And the deeps below us are unrevealed
And we drift on legends for ever."(1)
Shakespeare, on the lips of Macbeth, is struck by the monotonous beat of time and the futile story it adds up to tell.
"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."(2) Nietzsche further determines that there is nothing distinct about life at all. "Let us beware of saying that death is the opposite of life. The living being is only a species of the dead, and a very rare species..."(3) And in the face of this certain futility, Bertrand Russell explains that we must somehow build our lives boldly upon this "firm foundation of unyielding despair."(4)
Is this the only fitting response to such a familiar anguish? Must the human lament over fears of death and the uncertainty of life go unanswered—with only our brave, but futile, attempts to face them?
During the Second World War in the midst of her own unyielding despair, Edith Sitwell wrote of a very different foundation. Hers was not a simple-minded declaration of a better place, a billowy picture of a heavenly home and an escape vehicle to get there; nor was it a picture of a powerful Christendom, hope built up by the armor of control and certainty. Her foundation was not the scaffolding of wishful thinking, a psychological hope made into a practical crutch. It was, on the contrary, a picture entirely unpractical, a weak and beaten man, a defeated God crying with her. She wrote:
Still falls the Rain—
Dark as the world of man, black as our loss—
Blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails
Upon the Cross.
Still falls the Rain—
Still falls the Blood from the Starved Man's wounded Side:
He bears in His Heart all wounds,—those of the light that died,
The last faint spark
In the self-murdered heart, the wounds of the sad
uncomprehending dark The cross reminds us that it is permissible—in fact, deeply human—to speak the words at the very depths of our questioning souls. We are at times overwhelmed by abrupt glimpses of life's finitude, the darkness of suffering, the cruelty of April and the pained limbo of waiting for something different. We are at times devastatingly aware that we are human, we are dust, and we are easily overwhelmed, assailed by fear and death and uncertainty with what is beyond. On these days it is not Christendom that consoles us, not an image of God in the highest, but an image of Christ in the lowest. In the midst of human despair, we are given the cross to cling to, the picture of Jesus in his own unyielding despair, suffering both with us and on our behalves. Following him as savior, we must follow him to the cross, where we find, in his life cut short, hope for our own wounds and our own brief lifetimes, and life where death stings and tears flow.
Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.
(1) Euripides, Hippolytus, Lines 195-199.
(2) Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 5, scene 5, 19–28.
(3) Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche, A Nietzsche Reader (New York: Penguin, 1977), 201.
(4) Bertrand Russell, “A Free Man’s Worship” Mysticism and Logic and Other Essays (New York: Longmans, Green & Co., 1918), 46.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
You're Doing It Wrong!
Proverbs 14:12 says as much. There are many ways to do something wrong and invariably, most people find those ways while steadfastly maintaining their way is the right way. Now when I write 'most people' I really mean me.
We are five weeks into our season, nine games played and five discipleship meetings with Coach Wooden. Yet one thing seems to be clear, I'm doing it wrong.
Allow me to explain.
Two weeks into our season, our top player and leader was hit in the head with a baseball and spent four days in the hospital. It was a throw from 45 feet but thrown perfectly enough to puncture his ear drum, giving him vertigo and temporary loss of hearing.
Another one of our starters is out for the year with a stress fracture in his vertebrae. Our starting shortstop is on the shelf for 7-10 days as he cannot throw. Another player cannot run due to a diagnosis regarding his leg that I cannot pronounce.
Two Saturday's ago our RF and CF collided on the second to last play of the game and put the RF out for the rest of the weekend tournament.
On Saturday, our starting LHP was trying to execute a bunt and run on a pitch up and in. The ball grazed his bat but fully connected on a spot on his cheekbone. So clean was the contact it left seams on his cheek while nearly closing his eye. Of course, we were playing with only nine as a number of other issues for that day were out of our control.
In that same game, our sophomore super utility player stole second and got hit in the shoulder with the ball. Our RF and 2B then nearly took each other out on a shallow fly to right.
So what, you may say, that's all coincidence, Andy! Sure, I can buy that with the understanding sports have an inherent risk and things are bound to happen in the course of a season for which we may have no explanation.
In baseball, the variables are enumerable and very few things are within our control. Really, only my attitude, my response to adversity and my effort are controllable. Everything else is in that area of insanity which makes the game so beautiful in its own twisted way.
The scene in Bull Durham can describe our way (Nuke LaLoosh) and God's way (Crash Davis). God calls for the curve and in our pride, we want to announce our presence with authority, so we throw the fastball to a first pitch, fast ball hitter. The results are predictable. Will I make the adjustment or just say the hitter got lucky?
Could there be another avenue, one I am reluctant to go down simply because it indicts me? In other words, am I doing it wrong? Self deception allows us to continue in our ways. We get so used to our way and methodology because it's what we know. It's comfortable and it doesn't require much creativity, and by God, "it's always worked for me!"
In the book, "Leadership and Self Deception" there is a passage which states, "To the extent we are self deceived, our leadership is undermined at every turn-and not because of others or obstacles. It is because of us". So, when we are deceived we see neither ourselves or others very clearly. In doing what we always do, we undermine our efforts and undermine our relationships.
So because something 'works' it's good, right? To clarify, it isn't our stretching routines, practices or training methods I am calling into account. God is in the details and it seems he is more interested in small things, rather than large things. Luke 16:10. In this case, there is something else at work, something transcendent, i.e. - something God is doing and it may be up to us to catch it, hopefully before ignorance and bliss is set like concrete on this season.
Jeremiah 17:9-10 tells me all I need to know about my heart. The sobering thought today is how many times have I attributed to God's hand what is really my hand?
Well, our coaching staff is trying to figure out what God is trying to say besides, "Stop playing!" and I am in that area of not really knowing but afraid to go further because I would have to stay outside the camp for seven days like Miriam did when she was whining away about what God was doing (Numbers 12:1-16).
In Psalm 91 we are told that if we dwell in the secret place of the most high we shall abide in the shadow of the Almighty. Now, I can say with certainty I have been in and out of the secret place (mostly out) but I can still sense being in his shadow. I cannot explain it other than seeing lots of arrows coming our way but never getting through. There is a peace.
But here is the rub. Am I fooling myself (am I deceived by me) into that peace when I should be diligently taking stock of my life and how my decisions have an effect on others. Well, it is possible to have both going on at the same time. That, in part, is how we work out our salvation with fear and trembling. Philippians 2:11-13.
So, what next? This is the first time I have ever thought, "Am I the cause?". Yes, it is a bit ego-centric but not in the way typically thought when using the term. Rather, it is in the same way Jonah told his shipmates to throw him overboard in order to save the people on the boat.
Of course, my rationale isn't on par with Jonah. I don't think I have that much courage. Yet, another verse comes to mind when thinking on this thing: Proverbs 3:5-6
The tension in wanting my way to work and get credit for it while still wanting it to be God's way is an interesting scenario played out, if not daily, then weekly.
Oh, and my way? I don't want it.
We are five weeks into our season, nine games played and five discipleship meetings with Coach Wooden. Yet one thing seems to be clear, I'm doing it wrong.
Allow me to explain.
Two weeks into our season, our top player and leader was hit in the head with a baseball and spent four days in the hospital. It was a throw from 45 feet but thrown perfectly enough to puncture his ear drum, giving him vertigo and temporary loss of hearing.
Another one of our starters is out for the year with a stress fracture in his vertebrae. Our starting shortstop is on the shelf for 7-10 days as he cannot throw. Another player cannot run due to a diagnosis regarding his leg that I cannot pronounce.
Two Saturday's ago our RF and CF collided on the second to last play of the game and put the RF out for the rest of the weekend tournament.
On Saturday, our starting LHP was trying to execute a bunt and run on a pitch up and in. The ball grazed his bat but fully connected on a spot on his cheekbone. So clean was the contact it left seams on his cheek while nearly closing his eye. Of course, we were playing with only nine as a number of other issues for that day were out of our control.
 |
| JD with the traces of the ball on his cheek |
In that same game, our sophomore super utility player stole second and got hit in the shoulder with the ball. Our RF and 2B then nearly took each other out on a shallow fly to right.
So what, you may say, that's all coincidence, Andy! Sure, I can buy that with the understanding sports have an inherent risk and things are bound to happen in the course of a season for which we may have no explanation.
In baseball, the variables are enumerable and very few things are within our control. Really, only my attitude, my response to adversity and my effort are controllable. Everything else is in that area of insanity which makes the game so beautiful in its own twisted way.
The scene in Bull Durham can describe our way (Nuke LaLoosh) and God's way (Crash Davis). God calls for the curve and in our pride, we want to announce our presence with authority, so we throw the fastball to a first pitch, fast ball hitter. The results are predictable. Will I make the adjustment or just say the hitter got lucky?
Could there be another avenue, one I am reluctant to go down simply because it indicts me? In other words, am I doing it wrong? Self deception allows us to continue in our ways. We get so used to our way and methodology because it's what we know. It's comfortable and it doesn't require much creativity, and by God, "it's always worked for me!"
It is in the darkness of their eyes that men get lost - Black Elk
In the book, "Leadership and Self Deception" there is a passage which states, "To the extent we are self deceived, our leadership is undermined at every turn-and not because of others or obstacles. It is because of us". So, when we are deceived we see neither ourselves or others very clearly. In doing what we always do, we undermine our efforts and undermine our relationships.
So because something 'works' it's good, right? To clarify, it isn't our stretching routines, practices or training methods I am calling into account. God is in the details and it seems he is more interested in small things, rather than large things. Luke 16:10. In this case, there is something else at work, something transcendent, i.e. - something God is doing and it may be up to us to catch it, hopefully before ignorance and bliss is set like concrete on this season.
Jeremiah 17:9-10 tells me all I need to know about my heart. The sobering thought today is how many times have I attributed to God's hand what is really my hand?
Well, our coaching staff is trying to figure out what God is trying to say besides, "Stop playing!" and I am in that area of not really knowing but afraid to go further because I would have to stay outside the camp for seven days like Miriam did when she was whining away about what God was doing (Numbers 12:1-16).
In Psalm 91 we are told that if we dwell in the secret place of the most high we shall abide in the shadow of the Almighty. Now, I can say with certainty I have been in and out of the secret place (mostly out) but I can still sense being in his shadow. I cannot explain it other than seeing lots of arrows coming our way but never getting through. There is a peace.
But here is the rub. Am I fooling myself (am I deceived by me) into that peace when I should be diligently taking stock of my life and how my decisions have an effect on others. Well, it is possible to have both going on at the same time. That, in part, is how we work out our salvation with fear and trembling. Philippians 2:11-13.
So, what next? This is the first time I have ever thought, "Am I the cause?". Yes, it is a bit ego-centric but not in the way typically thought when using the term. Rather, it is in the same way Jonah told his shipmates to throw him overboard in order to save the people on the boat.
Of course, my rationale isn't on par with Jonah. I don't think I have that much courage. Yet, another verse comes to mind when thinking on this thing: Proverbs 3:5-6
The tension in wanting my way to work and get credit for it while still wanting it to be God's way is an interesting scenario played out, if not daily, then weekly.
Oh, and my way? I don't want it.
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