Monday, January 16, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
I Wouldn't Do It Like That Guy!
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| I'm right, you're wrong. |
I'm going to go through some of the main ideas and items I've highlighted, mainly for posterity sake. I always have book notes, and eventually, my book notes will go onto this site so I can have them in one place as opposed to being scattered in various folders.
Soren Kierkegaard (known the rest of the way as SK) wrote "Practice in Christianity" in 1848 and the main thrust of the beginning of the book was to lay out Christ as a contemporary to every man in every generation. It is rather easy to look at Christ as a historical figure and keep him in annals of history relegating him to 2,000 years ago. However, as SK points out, he is not distant, but here, now; able to transcend any year or heart, if the individual is willing and not offended.
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| I'm offended and experiencing great indignation at your comment |
SK's prayer is
This offense SK refers to is the first time I've come across the idea of offense and pride working together to form a wall built to keep a man from stooping to belief in God. I say stoop because a man's belief in anything usually has to pass his pride first.Lord Jesus Christ, would that we, too, might become contemporary with you in this way, might see you in your true form and in the surroundings of actuality as you walked here on earth, not in the form in which an empty and meaningless or a thoughtless romantic or a historical talkative remembrance has distorted you, since it is not the form of abasement in which the believer sees you, and it cannot possibly be the form of glory in which no one as yet has seen you. Would that we might see you as you are and were and will be until your second coming in glory, as the sign of offense and object of faith, the lowly man, yet the Savior and Redeemer of the human race.
"I simply cannot believe in 'x' because it is silly, beneath my vast understanding and intellect". It is not articulated as such, but lived out in a certain haughtiness, through a consistent puffed out chest and raised chin. The mental picture of pride in that respect is found in all of us in various disciplines of life. For some it is the metaphysical, for some it is political and for the simple like me, it comes in the form of sports (teams, instruction, allegiances)
And in the most profound sense, pride is manifest when help is offered and summarily rejected. Whether the help is rejected because of the source or the manner in which the help was offered ("it is not the way I wanted it!") isn't relevant. We find Naaman initially rejecting help for his leprosy because of the manner in which help was given. In 2 Kings 5:1-19 the story is written. Naaman was a proud man and wanted a dignified way to be healed, maybe even a quick fix. What he got was something he had not planned. However, there is no easy remedy for what ails you and I.
Dip in the Jordan seven times? Inconceivable! Naaman's pride made him incredulous to the task. That is us.
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| Naaman without leprosy & pride |
As an aside, If you were tasked with bringing a rebel back to your camp, what methods or manner would you employ?
I see this in the coaching profession. A coach makes a decision with personnel or play calling and every one not on the coaching staff (and perhaps those on the staff) will eventually say, "I wouldn't have played him" or "I wouldn't have called that". It's inevitable. That's what armchair coaches do, they second guess. Naaman second guessed the coaching staff of Elisha and God, we second guess others and at some point in your life, you've second guessed God.
But what if you were God? What would you do to set out guidelines, expectations without offending? This:?
In a fantastic scene, Bruce loses his pride and discovers humility ( the key to belief )
A picture of humility.
Bruce figured it out, lost his pride and responded to the invitation SK points out in his first chapter: There is One asking you to "Come here" because He has what you need.
SK writes in the first chapter titled, "The Invitation":
But ordinarily it is the case that the person who is able to help must be searched for, and once he is found it may be hard to gain access to him, and when one has gained access one perhaps must still plead with him for along time, and when one has pleaded with him for a long time, he perhaps at long last lets himself be prevailed upon- that is, he sets a high price on himself.A person only asks others to come when that person is willing and able to help. Invitations come from those who have something or someone to give. They are requesting your presence to something they think you would like or need. The inviter reserves to the right to invite whom they like. The selection of the inviter is up to the inviter. Pretty simple, eh? So, Jesus has invited all to "Come here" under no conditions, no matter your condition. Jesus knows all the objections & excuses. Apparently, it doesn't matter to him.
He also isn't worried about how many will come, either. Is there ever "too many" for Him? So, from our perspective on invitations, we are usually attentive to "who is going?" and that may partially influence our decision to accept the invitation or reject it. Perhaps that is why Jesus reserves the right for him to judge who is fit to be with him. For if we were left to decide, who knows who would be there?
That's why the Cross is offensive and God remains the only one who can rightly be offended at sin, provide a solution and simply say to all, "Come". He doesn't ask any of us if we'd prefer that someone or some group remain uninvited. Since He is the one offended, he chooses whom he will invite.
Everyone.
What an enormous variety, what almost limitless differences among the invited guests...So, then the invitation goes out, along the highways and along the lonely ways, and along the loneliest way-yes, where there is a way so lonely that only one person knows it, one solitary person. XII, 11SK writes for three pages on the why the invitation hits each one of us at our own crossroads. We have our own roads in which we travel, yet common to most men. There are wide roads such as despair and loneliness that Jesus has been along, yet he calls you and I to a narrow road, a road of rest.
To the ones he invites, it matters not at this point whether you are aware of your sin. He understands your condition, whether you acknowledge it or not. That's why some get offended. He offers the invitation and some say, "What, me? Why? I have no need of such help!" and they turn around in a huff. "Why the nerve of such a man to say that I need what he has! I've never been so offended in my life!" and off you go, to suck your thumb in the corner, satisfied you know better. Good luck with all...that.
SK continues
And if you are conscious of yourself as a sinner, he will not question you about it, he will not break the bruised reed even more, but will raise you up when you accept him; he will not identify you by contrast, by placing you apart from himself so that your sin becomes even more terrible; he will grant you a hiding place with himself, and hidden in him he will hide your sins. For he is a friend of sinners. He walks- but no, he has walked, but infinitely farther than any shepherd...Indeed, he walked the infinitely long way from being God to becoming man; he walked that way in order to seek sinners!SK continues further with the implication of the Inviter seeing the need of all he invited, thus everyone, as weary and heavy burdened, wretched and poor. As soon as you see yourself as those, you will have no problem accepting the invitation. However, it is a big problem when you don't think you have a reason to accept the invitation. Why would you if didn't think you were poor, wretched, sick and dying?
Self assessment, accurately executed, will quickly set you on the path of humility. The longer one goes without it, the farther down the road one gets, making the path back that much longer. The problem is once so much time is invested down a road, the time itself becomes the main thing keeping one on a particular road.
"Come here!" He assumes those who labor and are burdened feel the burden to be ever so heavy, feel the labor to be heavy and now are standing there irresolute and sighing, one person looking in all directions for help, another with downcast eyes because he discerned no comfort, a third staring upward as if it might still come from heaven-but all of them searching.Which of the three shoes are you wearing or wore before you were found? Let's not make the mistake of saying we found Him. No, he found us, offered himself and we accepted the help. Whether it be a simple sigh or a determined walk back from a wrong turn, God receives them both as an RSVP to his invitation for us to "Come here"
Friday, December 30, 2011
Wither 2011?
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.
I am beginning to understand a parent's frustration with my profession! Heh.
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.
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