A Sprig of Hope

Treasure Where?

2012-02-12T14:40:00.000-08:00

"There's an old story of a bishop whose cathedral was about to be robbed. The bandits demanded the "treasures of the church." So the bishop went into the shelter and gathered up the poor, saying, "These are the treasures of the church." The bandits left empty-handed that night."

Love Unlimited

2012-02-11T22:06:00.000-08:00

LOL

2012-02-05T22:47:00.000-08:00

universality from retainer media on Vimeo.

If Home is Where the Heart Is

2012-02-03T20:36:00.000-08:00

The Multi-colored "Blue" Marble

2012-02-02T13:21:00.000-08:00

Earth | Time Lapse View from Space, Fly Over | NASA, ISS from Michael König on Vimeo.

Incredible time-lapse video taken from the front of the International Space Station as it orbits the Earth at night. Visible cities, countries and landmarks in order of appearance:

1. Aurora Borealis Pass over the United States at Night
2. Aurora Borealis and eastern United States at Night
3. Aurora Australis from Madagascar to southwest of Australia
4. Aurora Australis south of Australia
5. Northwest coast of United States to Central South America at Night
6. Aurora Australis from the Southern to the Northern Pacific Ocean
7. Halfway around the World
8. Night Pass over Central Africa and the Middle East
9. Evening Pass over the Sahara Desert and the Middle East
10. Pass over Canada and Central United States at Night
11. Pass over Southern California to Hudson Bay
12. Islands in the Philippine Sea at Night
13. Pass over Eastern Asia to Philippine Sea and Guam
14. Views of the Mideast at Night
15. Night Pass over Mediterranean Sea
16. Aurora Borealis and the United States at Night
17. Aurora Australis over Indian Ocean
18. Eastern Europe to Southeastern Asia at Night

Originally posted here at Penguin Creative

Saying Goodbye

2012-01-17T07:29:00.000-08:00

There are few things harder in this life than saying "goodbye." My mother-in-law refuses to utter the words, instead saying "See you Saturday." This week as I left my home for the last 2 and half years in Colorado; I lost count of how many times I said those dreadful words, "goodbye."

I attempted to ease the pain by reassuring friends and family that we would see them soon, but the reality is that we are never sure what tomorrow brings. As I looked into the misty eyes of many of my closest friends I realized that I only could be saying bye right now because of their friendship. Without their sacrifice of time and care the Church @ Argenta would simply not be.

And yet, the more these people gave themselves to us, making our leaving easier, it became harder and harder to leave. With each goodbye, a sinking feeling grew within me: I may never see these people again. We all must say that final goodbye at some point.

And yet our friends are exactly what makes saying goodbye so hard but possible. It is their love that gives us the courage to face isolation.

Jesus said "Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends" While his death would certainly be for all mankind, his death was most pointedly for his friends.

While that final night must have been extremely painful, it was also bearable because of his friends. And even though their love seemed to falter, his did not. And it was his ultimate sacrifice that made us all his friend, that will give us the courage to finally say goodbye.

The strength of that courage lies in hope. Because Jesus has shown us that no goodbye is truly final. There is day coming that will never end, a day of homecoming. Another day to look into each other's misty eyes and say "Welcome home!" This is our hope and this is our courage.

We can with true hearts, in the midst of leaving, tell one another "see you Saturday."

Whatever is Noble-2011

2011-12-29T19:27:00.000-08:00

As with every year, there are those moments and events that not only inspire, but very well may change one's life forever. Here are those such events for me this past year:

Telluride Bluegrass Festival, June 16-19

My Pastor Eugene is asking us to live 2012 spiritually, to open our eyes to the movings of God in our daily lives. Telluride awakened me to the movement of God is some rather unexpected places. Somehow in a sea of hippies, I found God. Read more about it here.

The Next Step of our Journey

In mid September, Cliff, Michala, and myself had a conversation with a friend in Nashville that drastically changed the direction of our lives. We were invited to join Michael Carpenter and his family in planting a new church in downtown North Little Rock, AR. This oppurtunity has streched our faith, challenged us, but also given us hope. Read more here.

I am a Pastor

While I've been pursuing vocational ministry since 2006, my actual role has been an area of mystery for me. After answering the call to Argenta, I began to explore what it means to be a pastor. Through the example of Eugene Scott and Eugene Peterson's memoir I found myself redefined. A sense of purpose was awakened in me, as I realized this is always who I've been. Read my testimony of this call here.

A New Baby!

Although we found out about the new addition to our family back in October, we are just now making the news official to world. We are so excited for Mary Grace to be a big sister. Although we have some amount of fear about how we're going to do this, we look at our daughter and at our God and smile. Blessed Assurance.

Whatever is Lovely

2011-12-27T20:54:00.000-08:00

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Philippians 4:8

As we approach a new year, our thoughts reflect on the old year. 2011 has been perhaps my best year yet. This week I want to follow my daughter's (and God's) example and give thanks for everything.

As you can see in the video, our daughter's prayers are basically, "Thank you for that and that and that and that and the chicken and the family and friends, the end....amen." She makes sure that she expresses her thankfulness for everything she has. While I smile at her innocence, I also grow from the example of her pure faith. We have so much to be thankful for.

So this week, I will take some time to remember the lovely that I encountered in 2011, to give thanks where it is due. And hopefully, this recollection will produce a hope in us for the future, that there will be time again to give thanks.

(You can read about my favorite books I read this year at The Neighborhood Cafe Blog)

Hanukkah

2011-12-26T21:29:00.000-08:00

Put the Lights on the Tree

2011-12-06T18:20:00.000-08:00

We are a little over a week into our Advent conspiracy to give away something everyday of Advent. So far it has been...uneventful. We've been somewhat faithful to our pledge, selecting something each day but waiting to give a lot of it all at once. So we haven't actually given anything away, yet.

The sad thing is that we're starting to realize that 30 or so days are not enough. We can easily see reaching Christmas day and not having felt a bit of discomfort in our giving, not a bit of sacrifice. We simply have too much stuff.

We've begun to dare to dream of if we could do this for an entire year, til next Advent. Perhaps then we might actually begin to feel the pain and release of simplifying.

Regardless, Christmas is so much more fun with a two-year-old. Mary Grace is determined to see every Christmas decoration in the Rockies. Tonight as we listened to Sufjan Stevens' and put lights on our tree, she exclaimed with sheer joy, "Its Christmas!" Despite our seeming inability to make room, her hospitable heart is making up for it when she she says "Happy birthday, Jesus!"

great commission…

2011-12-02T23:05:00.000-08:00

The sin of greatest omission - to live

neither in nor of but merely on, to

refuse the world’s magic, eyes sewn

shut with fishing line, ears packed

tight with doctrine and twigs and

mud, a scarecrow’s existence always

haunted by the memory of Noah’s

raven that never returned.

But some speak of a redemption,

a thorn-sprigged hope if you dare:

commit, rip-stitch your eyes,

unpack your ears, lash yourself

to the charmed mast, whisper the

two-word incantation of saints -’thank you.’

To get started memorize her body’s contours,

or learn to chew tobacco like your Pepaw,

or collect amber bottles to arrange on a

shelf just so beside the prints a friend

loaned but you never returned.

-John Blase

The Church @ Argenta

2011-11-30T20:08:00.000-08:00

Argenta Church Support Video from Nathan Willis on Vimeo.

We would love for you to support us, find at more at our website: www.churchargenta.org

It's Christmas Time Again!

2011-11-28T16:49:00.000-08:00

This should be the most wonderful time of the year. I look out my window and see houses adorned with lights, Bing Crosby is singing Joy to the World, and the air is getting crisp even for Colorado. But I find myself more like Charlie Brown wondering what Christmas is really all about, wondering why I'm not happy at the happiest time of the year.

Yesterday was the first Sunday of Advent, a time of celebration for Jesus' birth into our world and a time of expectation of his triumphal return. I've come to relish the duel nature of the season; for so long Christmas was simply about me. Then I discovered that it was about Jesus, that he came to us in our darkest hour and filled our greatest need. But I sometimes wonder if that need is really being met; in the midst of decking the halls, I wonder how we'll pay rent on them.

So much of this season is still focused on us, our greed, over-consumption, feelings of inadequacy, and I wonder if Jesus' birth really accomplished all that much. And yet, I look within my own heart, an I know he is birthed there. The bonds of slavery to self-worship and self-hate have been broken and a promise has taken root.

Its this promise that holds my heart captive. A promise to be fulfilled in God's rebirth, His second coming into this world to give the final gift and perhaps the first gift as well. In this current season we find ourselves in the tension of the two Advents. We are children of the not-yet-but-soon-to-be-fully-realized promise. So we wait.

But we do not wait passively. The realization of that inaugural promise is to be achieved in some wondrous way, through us, the children of promise. We are and are becoming the instruments of the change all of our hearts are waiting for. We pray, we turn the other cheek, we go the extra mile, we love our enemies, we give our last mites, we "birth" Jesus into our neighborhood manger.

This season of Advent, I believe God is calling us to another act of Christ-imitation: Simplicity.

In a season when people pepper-spray each other to get the best deal on presents, could we 'birth' Christ into our mess by refusing to be carried away in the 'getting' season.

Our family has begun to wonder if there is enough room in the 'inn' of our home for this birth. After a few years of marriage we have accumulated simply too much stuff. So we're going to give it away.

Each day this Advent we are giving away one thing, not trash, but meaningful items. We're not sure what this looks like or how hard/easy it will be, but we feel compelled to make room. Each week I'll write about our adventure in giving. Please join us as we seek more through less.

Come Lord Jesus.

A Seat at the Table

2011-11-20T20:30:00.000-08:00

This is a re-post of a blog I wrote earlier this year, which in light of Thanksgiving I thought deserved a revisit. Enjoy.

Every Thanksgiving, my family, sometimes as many as 60 people, congregates at Grandma Pierce’s house for a feast My Dad tells the story about his first Pierce Thanksgiving. He described a washtub of dressing, nine pies, and what he thought amounted to enough food to feed an army. However, he underestimated the appetites of the Pierce army and after taking a nap found my Uncle Jimmy picking the last scraps of meat off of the turkey carcass.

I can assure you that this feeding frenzy we call Thanksgiving has not ceased to be a furious survival of the fittest at Grandma's house. There is little decorum to these meals, most carry a fork in their front pockets so that they can sample the goods before Grandma prays and we take turns trying to cut each other in line and pushing the capacity of our paper plates to their limits.

Yet there is one aspect of this meal that us newcomers refuse to intrude upon: who sits at the table. Like I said, sometimes as many as 60 people show up for this meal and sit all sorts of places: on stumps, lawn chairs, the floor, but a few, only about four, sit at the table. These are usually my uncles: Jesse, Steve, Rocky, and Jimmy. Although no one has ever stated that it is off limits to sit there, I wouldn't dare presume to take a chance. Sometimes they do let others sit there, my brother has before and some of my cousins, but none of them lasted very long; my uncles are a tough bunch to sit with I promise you. Throughout my years of sharing this meal, I like my dad, have learned a few lessons, but most of all I learned that you must earn your seat at the table.

Jesus finds himself ,strange enough, at a table similar to my Grandma's. One Sabbath after the Jewish equivalent of church, he is invited to meal at the religious leader's house. There he finds that this extension of hospitality was actually far from it, the host sought to test his guests to evaluate their worth to sit at his table.

Jesus, clever as always, addresses this inhospitable act by reversing the table, pointing to another recipient of the host's up-turned nose, a man with swollen joints. Jesus asks the group what is the right thing to do on this day, to heal or not to heal? The party remains silent, the answer is clear enough but in the answer they find their hypocrisy revealed.

The Sabbath was a day to let go and let God, but they were using it to jockey for position, to earn a right to sit at the table. Instead of showing hospitality to the injured man, they ignore him because he is in their way. Yet Jesus refuses to let them go along in such a manner. Into their silence, he tells them a story that gives flesh to the skeleton of a meal they are sharing. He says:

"When someone invites you to dinner, don't take the place of honor. Somebody more important than you might have been invited by the host. Then he'll come and call out in front of everybody, 'You're in the wrong place. The place of honor belongs to this man.' Red-faced, you'll have to make your way to the very last table, the only place left.
"When you're invited to dinner, go and sit at the last place. Then when the host comes he may very well say, 'Friend, come up to the front.' That will give the dinner guests something to talk about! What I'm saying is, If you walk around with your nose in the air, you're going to end up flat on your face. But if you're content to be simply yourself, you will become more than yourself."

Meals are indeed sacred. They are times when, if we are true to their intent, we are all brought to the same level. We all need meat and bread, we each need sustenance and are utterly dependent upon God and each other for this food. Meals are a time to share our hopes and jokes, time to not only share the gravy but our very lives.

Yet we, like the religious leaders Jesus speaks this story to, have perverted the intent of a meal. It has become a time to hoard as opposed to a time to give, a time to expose our power over another as opposed to a time to humble ourselves, and a time to lament our lack as opposed to a time to praise our abundance. But the beauty of this story like most of Jesus' stories is that it not only exposes our deficiencies, it also offers hope of a better story.

In our humility, Jesus says, we find honor. I said that I never presumed to sit at the table with my uncles; this was not because I had some great sense of humility but because I was scared of them. They are some big bad dudes, but through the years I've sought to honor the men who grew up with my Momma and in small ways I've had some of the honor and even respect reciprocated. And I promise you, those few moments and words have been some of the sweetest in my life.

I think that all along, if I simply had the courage, I could have found a seat at their table, there was always room, because they had no need to prove themselves to anyone, least of all me.

Concerning this story, Eugene Peterson writes, "But these strict Sabbath-keepers had their eyes first on Jesus to see what he was going to do, then on one another to see how they could take advantage of one another. They were betraying the Sabbath in the very act of 'protecting' it.“

And we betray ourselves when we use the good things God has given us to somehow prove ourselves. May we lower our noses and seek the last place and perhaps we may hear Christ himself say to us, "Friend, come up front."

Franciscan Friday

2011-11-18T07:59:00.000-08:00

May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half truths, and superficial relationships, so that you may live deep within your heart. Amen

May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may work for justice and peace. Amen

May God bless you with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and to turn their pain into joy. Amen

May God bless yo with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in this world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done. Amen

And the blessing of God, who creates, redeems, and sanctifies, be upon you and all you love and pray for this day, and forever more. Amen

The Next Step of Our Journey

2011-09-23T15:37:00.000-07:00

We're going home. Arkansas that is.

In January of 2012 Michala, Mary Grace, Cliff, and I are moving back to Arkansas to partner with Michael Carpenter and his family to plant a church in the Argenta District of downtown North Lit tle Rock. This is in many ways a dream-come-true for us. Cliff and I first began to dream of this day over three years ago as we laughed at the idea of starting a church together one day. Well the laughter soon gave way to hope and eventually calling.

We moved to Colorado with expectations of learning and stretching ourselves in a different culture. While here, we faced some rather difficult truths about ourselves, ministry, and life. But we also fell in love with our God all the more. As we prayed for vision and direction about possibly starting a new church here in Colorado, we felt our collective hearts being pulled home.

So when we were contacted by Michael Carpenter with this opportunity, we felt it an answered prayer. Since that initial talk, we have made the arrangements to leave Colorado and to accept this new call on our lives.

We do this humbly, knowing full well that we need much help for this to happen. First and foremost we have a renewed call to be with God in communion, prayer, and loving relationship. As we have contemplated this vocational calling, we realize that our primary calling is to simply be with God. This renewed sense of purpose has given us a new fire to pray and we ask for you to join us.

Your prayers are our most cherished asset as we move forward. While I will not pretend to understand the full mystery of what happens when we pray, it seems to us that while God is not limited to acting in accordance to our prayers he wants to do so. We ask for you to plead on our behalf.

We also need financial support. We have made this decision in good faith

but we have also counted the cost. There is great pain in leaving Colorado and the people we love here but the joy before us gives us strength to push forward. Likewise, there are several financial barriers before us but we press on in faith. If you are willing and able to help support us, we need help moving. Please email me at mchlgallup@gmail.com or Cliff at cliff.hutch@gmail.com and we will give more information in how to help us.

A little under six years ago, I was near death. A life of self-indulgence and addiction had taken its toll. As I prepared to take my life, love intervened. The love of Jesus spoken through the life of my mother saved me and gave me a new life and a new hope. From that day, I knew that my life would be about that one purpose: the love of Jesus. Pray with us that we could somehow share that life-altering, hope-giving love with our brothers and sisters in Argenta.

Divine Sorrow

2011-09-15T20:46:00.000-07:00

Divine Sorrow from The Work Of The People on Vimeo.

I Am (becoming) a Pastor

2011-09-09T12:16:00.000-07:00

I am a pastor. This is more of a promise than a declaration at this point. I have been walking this path long before I ever knew I was on it, each step an arrival. The foremost struggle of my soul is to live not for myself but for others, not some theoretical others but real people with names, jobs, fears and, Lord willing, some hopes as well. As the hymn goes, "Christ died to make men holy, let us live to make men free." This is the cry of my crucified heart, which still finds itself beating despite its demise, beating out of faith, faith in a God who set aside everything to be with us, to be like us so that we may be with Him and perhaps even become like Him.

From the moment I knew that the only path for me worth following was that of sacrifice, I knew that I was to be a shepherd of men. Yet somehow I denied this urging, labeling it as noble vocations. If I ever even hinted of the prospect of becoming a pastor, the hint always came with a disclaimer of "maybe or might." Yet in my heart I knew otherwise and today I see this all the more clearly.

I've been reading Eugene Peterson's story of becoming a pastor. In this story of his discovery of calling, I saw myself and and knew the timing was no accident. Just like Peterson 40 years before me, I found myself at a crossroads having to decide where to step next. One pat

h has a clear title, Pastor, and yet although I have always been on it, its trodden soil seemed foreign beneath my feet. And yet, the stirring of my heart could not be ignored. This is the path for me.

As I read Peterson put words to my soul's song, I dropped to my knees and felt a need to get lower. Laying on the floor, I looked up at the cracked and dirty tile in front of my fireplace and again saw my reflection. But while it was cracked, it was still white and it did its job, protecting our home from the flames. On those tiles sat some of Mary Grace's toys: a sheep surrounded by a lion and tiger. I grasped that sheep and knew it would always be my job to do so.

I brushed away the lion and sat the sheep back down on the tile, noticing its beauty and complexity, its wool ready to be sheered to make something of beauty and of use. I realized that it would keep me warm, that it was not the caricatured stupid-sheep I had expected but was all the more beautiful because of its vulnerability. I know now how much I will learn from these sheep, that in no small way it is the sheep who keep the shepherd.

I say of this before you as an act of public surrender. This is who I am, this is who I am becoming. I ask not only for your prayers but for imaginations also, to see each day, moment, or even tile as sacred. A Place or time where a mysterious God is breaking through and making life known, that you will join me and also lead me in seeking the adventure of hope. This is a journey where every step is a new arrival.

Autumn Kickoff

2011-09-03T13:31:00.000-07:00

Football Season. The most wonderful time of the year. Well, at least in my house. This morning I woke up to 50 degree weather and dreams of running backs dancing in my head.

Since I was in the womb (no exaggeration here) the Fall was a season sanctified solely for football, not just the mere act of watching it but living and breathing it as well. My dad was a walk-on kicker at the University of South Carolina for his first two years and he's been addicted ever since. Our most fond memories have been in section 804 of Williams-Brice stadium rooting on our beloved Gamecocks.

Somehow, I became the Prodigal son and left not only the university but the state in 2005. After only missing 5 home games my entire life, I've missed all but one the past five years. In a way, the mourning never ceases because each approaching season reopens those wounds.

Yet technology has allowed me to not miss a snap. But while the actual game is what gathers us, it was the pageantry surrounding it that kept us coming back. I attended every single sold-out home game in the midst of a 21-game losing streak not because I was riveted by the product on the field but because I loved the people around me.

I cherished eating my weight in wings in between tossing the football with my buddy Rivers. I lived to make the rounds between fraternity tailgating lots, my dads' spot, and the cockabooses. The fare varied from kegs of beer to crab cakes to frogmore stew. Even if the cocks fell flat, the party never would.

But beneath all the fan-fare was an ache to see our boys finally live up to our other-worldly expectations. There were moments when they made us believe, players like Sterling and Sidney, but despite our flirtations they never got the girl. Until now.

Today we embark on a totally new experience for any gamecock fan. We are the defending East champions and have been predicted to not only reclaim that title, but according to some we have a good shot to play for it all. I keep pinching myself waiting to wake up from this dream. And maybe I will tonight, but I don't think I will. This will be a season that I will always remember even if it is with a clause of "if we'd just hit the tight end, he was wide open" because it has taught me to hope again.

And I know that our school and our passion is not unique, that across campuses nation-wide today others will be carrying out their own traditions wondering if this year could be the one, wondering if the drinking they'll be doing tonight will be in celebration or to drown their sorrows. But of course, if your team is playing the Gamecocks, there is always next year.

Go Cocks!!!

Long Term Rescue Project

2011-08-24T14:06:00.000-07:00

St. Patrick's Breastplate

2011-08-05T19:44:00.000-07:00

As I arise today,

may the strength of God pilot me,

the power of God uphold me,

the wisdom of God guide me.

May the eye of God look before me,

the ear of God hear me,

the word of God speak for me.

May the hand of God protect me,

the way of God lie before me,

the shield of God defend me,

the host of God save me.

May Christ shield me today.

Christ with me, Christ before me,

Christ behind me,

Christ in me, Christ beneath me,

Christ above me,

Christ on my right, Christ on my left,

Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit,

Christ when I stand,

Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me,

Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,

Christ in every eye that sees me,

Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise today

Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,

Through belief in the threeness,

Through confession of the oneness,

Of the Creator of Creation.

Amen.

I am a Son of God.

Surprised by Joy: The Joyous Defeat

2011-08-01T08:19:00.000-07:00

There are few things harder than to preach the funeral of a convicted murder who committed suicide. Not just that he was a criminal but that he was a father of an eight year old boy I befriended. This young boy with his father in prison latched on to me at camp and I began to find myself filling some of the hole left by an absent dad. I saw the boy come to follow Jesus. He was so full of life despite his difficult circumstances.

You can read the rest of this third post out of a four part series on joy at The Neighborhood Cafe:
http://bibleconversation.wordpress.com/2011/08/01/surprised-by-joy-the-joyous-defeat/

Sabbath: A Case Study

2011-07-26T20:22:00.000-07:00

Following up last week's blog of reflections on N.T. Wright's newest book, Scripture and the Authority of God, I wan to explore one of the case studies offered at the end of the book. Taking his basic thesis of scripture as a five-act story, Wright shows the interpretation behind how the church today should interact with the commandment to keep the Sabbath. The seemingly obvious contradictions between the Old Testament's commands and the complete lack of mention in the writings of the very Jewish Paul (particularly its absence in his list of the ten commandments in Romans 13) and Jesus' bold opposition to at least what the the Sabbath had become leaves one to wonder what to do. Wright suggests that we must observe the Sabbath's role in the five-act story if we are to understand why and how the New Testament writers used it.

The first act finds God in the initial creation account. After six days, God finds rest and provides the foundation for Sabbath observance. While the passage is simple, to the culture in which it was first told and then repeated, something much deeper but also obvious is happening on that seventh day. The Genesis account is a near mirror-image of other creation accounts from the ancient middle-east. Yet the striking differences are what make Yahweh the unique God he is. All the creation accounts climax with the creating god/gods residing in a temple, yet in Genesis, God resides in the Temple that is his entire creation and his "image-bearers," humanity, will do what their God does.

Act two involves the fall, albeit the actual occurrence only takes up a mere chapter among the thousands of the Bible the ramification of man's choice to sin are seen on every page that follows. Our role as "image-bearers" is tarnished if not completely ruined in the disobedient act and God sets forth in the third act to to right this wrong to return us to the "rest" in the Temple of the perfect creation. Its is and has been a long process.

The next time we see Sabbath spoken of explicitly is in the dispensation of the Law in Exodus. Interestingly here the Sabbath begins to take up a deeper meaning than mere rest. While its undoubtedly a day to worship God, it is also ties tightly to justice and freedom. God makes it clear that the Sabbath would be a day for slaves to be free, not just from work but there very indentured state. The Sabbath becomes a day for the poor and even the animals. God is interested in protecting everything in His Temple. Another feature of Sabbath that will eventually bridge us to the forth act is Jubilee.

Jubilee was a an act of year-long Sabbath every seven years when debts were canceled and ever 49 years (seven times seven) liberty for all, returning to ancestral boundaries, freeing slaves, and rest for the land from plowing and harvesting. Isaiah 61 ties Jubilee to Sabbath observance and offers a picture of what Jubilee (and consequently Sabbath) is ultimately pointing towards, the restoration of God's creation and God's people. It is a day when Israel, His people, can not only observe this restoration but take part in implementing it, a great privilege indeed.

This brings us to the fourth act in the life of Jesus Christ. Jesus opens his public ministry by reading from the Jubilee passage from Isaiah 61, announcing the freedom for the captives, good news for the poor, and such. He caps this reading by proclaiming"Today, this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing." And in those words, His Jewish audience heard Jesus claiming to be the fulfillment of God's plan of restoration, the very thing the sign posts of Sabbath and Jubilee had been pointing to all along. Time had reached the Jubilee of Jubilees. Jesus goes on to make other statements to emphasize the fulfillment of the Sabbath (and also of all markers of God's plan of redemption in the Old Testament). He is the "Lord of the Sabbath," one must come to him to find "rest" and the time is "fulfilled" in the at hand Kingdom.

John conducts a new creation account of sorts in the passion of Jesus. The work of the new creation is "finished" on the sixth day on the cross as Jesus breathes those last words, "it is finished." He finds rest in the grave on the seventh day and "on the first day of the week" Jesus is resurrected and a new creation is born, the first day. The New Testament authors realized the fulfillment of God's plan for Israel coming in the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus, that a new day, a new act, had dawned with the rising Son. The book of Hebrews make this the most clear in 3:7-4:11 detailing the entire new age inaugurated by Jesus as a great "Sabbath rest." And that we enter God's rest, the seventh day, by faith in Christ.

So we find ourselves in an interpretive dance in the fifth-act. The Sabbath as practiced by the Jews is not to be ignored but cherished as an integral part of our story as the rudder on the ship that brought us across the sea. Wright sums it up like this:

"My central point in this section, then, is that the Sabbath command of the Old Testament was a true and necessary signpost, pointing forward to God's purposes for his creation and to the place of Israel in relation to those purposes. but it was always, from the perspective of Genesis 2:3, a sign which spoke of God coming to live in his heaven-and-earth creation, taking up residence, dwelling in the midst of his people. ...Sabbath is a sign of the [end] to come; the New Testament speaks of Jesus acting as if he were the [end] in person, sacred time come to life. This...is what lies behind the wholesale disappearance of the Sabbath command in early Christianity. And this is the clue to the way in which the surprisingly complex scriptural material about the Sabbath can be powerfully authoritative for the Christian in our day, or in any day."

Wright goes on to make some applications of how we are to still practice "Sabbath" today but in a relatively new way. To rephrase his quote, one does not place a sign pointing to Memphis at the Peabody. Our rhythms must point forward to the close of this age of fulfillment, to the new heavens and new earth and to celebrate to the presence of the Spirit in our world as opposed to "waiting" on the coming age in rest. As the New Testament states, Now is the time.

Wright paints a compelling picture of the Bible as a five-part play and gives a convincing meta-narrative to not only buy into but to live within. Reading the Bible in the midst of its entire context is a vastly overlooked discipline that as shown in this case study can deliver fresh avenues for God's authority to to work through and in the scriptures.

Surprised by Joy: The Pursuit of Happiness

2011-07-25T08:55:00.000-07:00

The summer of 2004 found me on the journey many of my generation have found themselves on, I was trying to “find myself.” More specifically I was trying to find happiness. I had been diagnosed with depression and placed on medication. While I found some relief in my meds, the depression still placed heavy chains around me.

So in a quest to figure out why I was so sad, I spent the summer engaging in the places, people, and things that had brought me the most happiness in my short life. I built docks with my dad and brother on the coast of South Carolina, I visited my mom in the Ozarks of Arkansas, I traveled across the country following my favorite band at the time, and I spent time with my friends. Each time I would taste the once distant happiness but each time the overwhelming feeling of emptiness would return, but I kept looking.

To read the rest of this second part of a five part series, go The Neighborhood Cafe.

Relationships are Sacred

2011-07-21T21:18:00.000-07:00

One of the buzz words populating the ears of today's church is "relationships" and its various derivatives. My own church reminds us each week that "relationships are sacred." And this is a good thing. We see throughout scriptures and our experiences that we (people) were created for community.

In the initial creation account in Genesis, God realizes that while His creation is very good, one thing is not, man is alone. In the final close of the scriptures we see the fulfillment of God's new creation: every tribe, nation, and tongue gathered together. Relationships are so sacred that the very nature of God is relational in the form of the Trinity and in His personal presence with us. Relationships are indeed sacred and good.

However, the modern church suffers from the same ailment most in out current culture does, a lack of connection. In some ways we are more connected than ever before, via email, facebook, smart phones, and on; allowing access to the whole world at our very fingertips. While technology does allow unique opportunities to connect, they pale in comparison to face-to-face relationships.

Yet even when we encounter each other face-to-face we are often more interested in (or distracted by) the person far away via our handheld device of choice. I no longer marvel at people gathered together yet all on their phones as opposed to connected to one another. The consequences of our technology are only symptoms of our totally disconnected culture. We have moved from the front porch to the back and the church has followed suite.

It is a shame that our fellowship often only entails a hand-shake during the appointed times on Sunday morning. And it is out of this shame and rekindled theology that the buzz has grown concerning relationships. The problem is that despite this renewed attention, we are still failing to really connect with one another. There are various causes behind all this, most prominently is that we are all too busy.

I remember living in Arkansas a few years back. I would go visit my grandmother Mary nearly every Saturday morning and every time I never failed to laugh and cry. Those were some of the most genuine moments I have ever shared with another human being. Those time changed me, helped to be alive again after such a long time of not being so. Yet life began to happen and eventually every Saturday turned into every once and awhile. One time, while apologizing for not being around, Grandma said, "well you're busy." Although meant with all the tenderness in the world, few words have stung me more in my life. If I'm too busy for Grandma, I'm busy with all the wrong things. And I think when we say we're too busy, we're revealing our loyalties, that we would rather feed our own needs than offer the sacrifice of quality time.

Yet despite the biblical bookends and God's triune nature, why should we make the effort?

This thing we call Christianity is so much bigger than ourselves. It is more than just a story of how Jesus saves us, it is a cosmic story of the redemption of the entire universe both seen and unseen. And somehow this new creation is being brought into this world through only one source: the church.

Everything, our lives, the earth, our relationships have been subjected to the rule of death and decay. But in the work and person of Jesus Christ, all things are being made new, not least of which is our relationships. We are being reconciled to our former enemy God through the unfailing love of Jesus and that same act of love is breaking down the walls of disconnect no matter how large they may be right now.

Too busy to get together? We are too busy not to get together. Because our relationships are not the stuff of TV sitcoms but a force so powerful angels long to look upon them. These are not shake-your-hand moments but giving our very lives away moments. And it is precisely Jesus' prayer, before his death that will set the whole world on its head, that we should be "one." And it is through that oneness, perhaps only through that oneness, that world will be changed.

Our relationships far transcend a bible study where we acquire more knowledge to ignore, but an opportunity, privilege even, to truly live, embracing the fullness of our humanity in the giving of our very lives. It is of course in the dying that we live. And it is of course in the dying of our self-centeredness that we may live, that the church may live, that the entire world may live again.

I dare not speak these words as one who has authority. I dream of right relationships but only from a distance. There are still strong walls built around me, around each of us, that only the power of the Gospel of the Jesus himself can tear-down. But that is the very beauty of the gospel, it will accomplish its purposes and these walls will come tumbling down and we will find ourselves at Grandma's on Saturday, changing the world through our laughter and tears.

Reflections on Scripture and the Authority of God

2011-07-19T15:05:00.000-07:00

I am currently reading through N.T. Wright's latest book, Scripture and the Authority of God. Wright here seeks to look freshly at the question of sriptural authorty, in essence asking the question, "what does it mean for the bible to be authoritative?"

Wright's basic thesis is that the authority of scripture is not found as just a collection of correct instructions, a devotional manual, or a laundry-list of doctrines but is bound up in the One who has all authority, Jesus himself. The scriptures do not merely contain information about God and His story of redemption but takes an active part in that very story. In essence, the Bible holds power because God is exercising power through it. In defense of this basic argument, Wright gives a brief history of how the role of scriptural authority has developed within the church.

One chapter that interested me most concerned how the early church viewed the Old Testament Against claims that Christians merely pick and choose their favorite OT laws to follow or not follow, Wright asserts that the scripture's role in announcing the climax of Israel's story led to a natural understanding of fulfillment in Jesus. Thus the OT was not ignored but viewed with reverence in its detailing of the grand narrative of which the church then and now finds itself in the final act. Thus the OT cannot be ignored or forgotten, but must also be viewed in light of the revelation of Jesus Christ.

One quote that illustrated how the early church viewed the OT is worth repeating at length:

"When travelers sail across a vast ocean and finally arrive on the distant shore, they leave the ship behind and continue over land, not because the ship was no good, or because their voyage had been misguided, but precisely because both ship and voyage had accomplished thier purpose. During the new, dry-land stage of their journey, the travelers remain--and in this illustration must never forget that they remain--the people who made the voyage in that ship." Wright, 57

This does not mean the OT must be set aside, but merely that its role in defining the community must be set aside not because it is out-of-date or misinformed but because its purposes have been fulfilled. Even staunch OT literalists will not defend the practice of sacrifice because the role of sacrifice is no longer needed in light of Jesus' once-and-for-all atonement. This is not the only section of the OT now fulfilled in its purpose and thus not tossed aside but given new life in Jesus.

Wright later offers a case study of how we are to interpret the OT in this light of the refined understanding. I will post next Tuesday evening some reflections on this case study.

The Power of Fiction

2011-07-13T19:05:00.000-07:00

On J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter Series:

Like Lewis, Williams, and other greats, Rowling has written a spiritual allegory of the soul's transformation to perfection in Christ. Fiction, as philosopher and historian of religion Mircea Eliade explained in The Sacred and the Profane, serves a religious function in a secular culture. Moderns are immunized against sacramental experience, prayer, and worship, yet still long for the transcendent, something beyond the ego. We find it in sports, film, and music, but most powerfully in books, especially in novels in which the heart recognizes its reflection in a character like Harry. We recognize and imaginatively experience our hearts' end in Christ's victory over death. -John Granger

Read the rest of the article here: http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2011/july/harryherestay.html

What Did You Get Out of Church Today?

2011-07-12T16:25:00.000-07:00

When Michala and I first moved out here to Denver just over two years ago, we discovered the joy of church-dating. For the uninformed, this is when you attend a handful of churches and 'try them out.' When you find the one, you commit, just like dating. And just like dating, there are awkward churches, quirky churches, very attractive churches with no depth, and if you're lucky, that perfectly imperfect place that just feels right.

Each time we visited a church we would quiz each other following the service, asking all sorts of questions to see if we both agreed in our admiration, apathy, or disgust. We would ask, "what did you get out of that?" This seems like a perfectly valid question, one that no doubt takes place every Sunday after church all over the country. What we implied in this question was how we were served: "was the preaching good?" "Did we enjoy the music?" "Did they have child care?" These are important questions to ask, but I now see they are also misguided questions to ask.

The core around which Sunday morning gatherings are centered is worship of the Triune God: Father, Son, and Spirit. Nothing more, nothing less. This can look a number of ways, singing, praying, conversation, thanksgiving, thinking deeply, but put simply it is an act of love.

Our worship has zilch to do with "what we get" and everything to do with what we offer. This is not another opportunity to feed our egos bloated by a system of consuming that makes us insatiable. We gather to give our meager lives together to the one who gives every good gift.

The receiving of good gifts comes with our every breath, each meal, each smile, and every child. The trees and the mountains are given to us to enjoy and it is only natural that we respond with praise. This is what Sunday morning is all about. Instead of asking "what did you get?" we can ask "what did you give?"

This giving goes far beyond our finances and demands our minds, hands, and hearts, our very being. And yet this is a free sacrifice, God does not look out at our confused, hap-hazard attempts to say thanks and say, "that's it?" Instead he joins in the dance of giving and gives us the greatest gift ever, Himself.

Jesus hinted at this mystery of receiving in our giving, when he said that to find our lives, we must first die. When our weekly meetings become another opportunity to consume, we miss everything. Instead, let us have the mind of Christ who being God himself, humbled himself to execution and in the doing found himself seated at the right-hand of the Father and also found us all.

Michala and I did not settle for the "one." We did not find our home until we found a church that would not let us remain comfortable, that forced us to give of ourselves, and asked a lot of us. We were too busy loving these imperfect people and loving a perfect God together to ask if this was the 'one?" It just was. I've come to realize their is no perfect church and this forces me to stop critiquing the church and simply commit.

May we seek to be a committed people, not seeking to be filled but to be emptied. To give back our money, time, energy, minds, and hearts and to maybe find a God who gives us everything we need.

A Seat at the Neighborhood Cafe

2011-07-11T06:46:00.000-07:00

Here's my weekly contribution to our Church's blog:
http://bibleconversation.wordpress.com/2011/07/11/a-seat-at-the-table/

Craddock Speaks

2011-07-07T16:38:00.000-07:00

An amazing sermon by Fred Craddock:

http://edge.baylor.edu/media/69133/69133.mp3

All is Grace

2011-07-05T18:57:00.000-07:00

I have written about Brennan several times, from his insistence that we should never 'should' on ourselves, to his simple words of grace, "lets play." Few living christian authors or speakers have impacted me as much as Brennan. With his health deteriorating, nearly blind, Brennan has finally co-authored his autobiography, a story of severe brokenness and even greater grace. Above is a promo video for the book from fantastic (non-profit) publisher David C. Cook.

I can't wait to read this book, but in the mean time here are a few of my favorite Manning quotes:

"A Saint is not someone who is good but who experiences the goodness of God."

"When I get honest, I admit I am a bundle of paradoxes. I believe and I doubt, I hope and get discouraged, I love and I hate, I feel bad about feeling good, I feel guilty about not feeling guilty. I am trusting and suspicious. I am honest and I still play games. Aristotle said I am a rational animal; I say that I am an angel with an incredible capacity for beer."

"There is something more important than understanding."

There are countless others and as I come across them I will share them with you in anticipation of Brennan's final book, All is Grace

Final Thoughts on Silence

2011-07-04T12:12:00.000-07:00

Here is my final installment of my series on Silence at The Neighborhood cafe:

http://bibleconversation.wordpress.com/2011/07/04/be-still-final-hurried-thoughts-on-silence/

I will continue to publish there every Monday.

What is a Trader?

2011-07-01T16:30:00.001-07:00

Hope is bursting forth into our dark worlds and somehow we have the ability to carry its banner.

Expecting to Lose

2011-06-29T21:41:00.000-07:00

I have struggled with who I am, how I am defined. Throughout my life, I would give myself to certain interests and seek to be defined by them; whether it be dinosaurs, football, music, girls or even drugs. I would devote myself to be filled with every tidbit of info I could find about these interests and would find gratification in the search. But I have also felt a common thread through each of these things, I would lose.

Football has been the clearest example of this losing for me. My high school team lost 29 straight games during my career and went on to lose 20 more after I left. To be the captain of that team and to love something as much as I loved football, that hurt. I can't even give words to how it felt to lose so much or how demoralizing it is to think we never had a chance. And to add to this, the team that I gave my attention to, the South Carolina Gamecocks, were perennial underachievers. The first time they ever won a post season game came 100 years into their experiment with football back 1995.

We've flirted with success here and there but only to find our hands empty. After a while, you just expect to lose. I have realized that the one word that best sums up my self-opinion is 'loser.' Football seems small compared to the failed relationships, the drug abuse, practically flunking out of college, and severe depression that became my story.

God has this thing for giving new names. The great persecutor of the early church Saul, rode the meager christian out of town and into death, but God defeated him and gave him a new purpose and a new name, Paul. He would go on to write 2/3's of the New Testament and was almost single-handily responsible for bringing the faith to all of Europe. And yet he never forgot his first name, 'chief of sinners' and because he never forgot, the power of his new name was unsearchably immense.

God is giving me a new name too. Once a loser I now find myself living under the moniker of 'victorious.' Its a hard pill to swallow. Even though I sobered up, made it through college with honors, and have the greatest relationship of my life with my wife, I still am scared that I will lose it all, that I will lose even my new name.

And it was in the midst of this fear and uncertainty that I watched the Gamecocks win a second consecutive baseball national championship. And not just win it, but do it in style. Pulling off near-miraculous plays when all seemed lost, breaking the all-time records for consecutive tournament wins, to do it against near-insurmountable odds like your best player playing with a broken wrist. And best of all, I kept expecting them to lose and I was so wrong.

This team comes from a place that knows nothing of winning. The schools athletics seemed so doomed to lose that the local papers refer to the 'chicken curse' as stifling all the opportunities for victory. But this group of self-proclaim nobodies won in way never seen before. And while most simply enjoyed the spectacle, I was floored with the sprig of hope these gamecocks were bringing me.

I am not destined to lose.

Life has thrown me some wicked curve balls, I've had my share of brokenness but my expectations are changing with my name. I am beginning to believe that I might just win. And that, my friend, is the greatest hope I can imagine.

All of Your Chains

2011-06-28T16:06:00.000-07:00

As we turned East into a little box canyon nestled among the San Juan Mountains in Southwest Colorado, we found ourselves transported and perhaps transformed. The glowing groves of aspen trees lined the snow-capped peaks around us with an overwelmingly green bed skirt and drew us into the town of Telluride a bastion of beauty seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Our favortite phase soon became, "look!" We were like three year olds going to the zoo for the first time, bewildered by the scenery. There are a few times in life when you forget about all the pain and suffering that dominate not only our lives but all of creation itself, when you see or experience something so beautiful that it hides all the ugly. Jesus spoke about such things as the light and that the light shines in the darkenss and the darkness is compeltely overwhelmed by the light. This weekend I saw glimpses of that light and for a few moments the darkenss trembled and ran.

I don't want to over sentimentalize my experience, but my life like so many others I know has been filled with little but darkness and even the beautiful things around me have been hard to see. I have begun to doubt that the light will actually overcome and yet it often finds me in the strangest places. When my faith is dragging God has a way of showing up at just the right time although He often seems late or out of place. So in a sea of hippies, missing a shoe, listening to something akin to bluegrass music, I found God again and it was beautiful.

This trip was just a chance to get away and have some fun but I found my expectations lacking. Absent were my girls, my wife and daughter, and consequently my sanity. I struggled to survive camping on a baseball field in the town of Telluride. I found myself during some of the rippingest music I've ever encountered wishing they were there with me. I battled inwardly about whether I deserved to celebrate life when so many in the world were deprived of the very basics of life. But the reality is that life will not die, the light will overcome and when it breaks through we must dance.

In a weekend full of highlights and special moments, one stands out clearest. at a side stage in the midst of what amounts to a yard off of main street Telluride we saw one of my favorite acts, Abigail Washburn, perform an impromptu acoustic set five feet from me. As I sat on the grass and soaked up the surreal moment, tears welled up in my eyes as Abigail sang "Chains." As the wind gushed through the park the band delivered a cry for freedom, a cry that my heart longed to utter. Devoid of amplification, stripped to their rawest, I saw my soul reflected in the honesty of that moment. Life was passing me by. I was chained to darkness by my fears and for a split second the light of hope burst the chains off me and my soul lept to its feet to dance.

I could hardly wait to return home, both literally and figuratively, to start living life instead of merely watching it pass by. Below is a video of the actual performance detailed here captured by the guy sitting beside me, a stranger, but forever a friend for grasping this spark of light.

I pray for the light to shine, for beauty to grasp us and free us. I pray that we breathe in deeply the aroma of life and give ear to the melody of God. I pray we dance.

Telluride to Come

2011-06-27T12:06:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm back. Telluride was such a blast, I needed a vacation from my vacation. So I took two weeks off, sorry about the extended absence. I will have new posts this week detailing my trip and the discoveries and adventures that a bluegrass festival in the San Juan mountains provided, I will publish part four of "Bound to Ramble" and other random sprigs of hope. Thanks for reading!

In the mean time, enjoy part three of a series on stillness and silence I am republishing on The Neighborhood Cafe, our church's blog. You can read it here: http://bibleconversation.wordpress.com/2011/06/27/be-still-hurried-thoughts-on-silence-part-3/

Taking the Week Off

2011-06-13T08:34:00.000-07:00

Here is part one of a five part series on Stillness. This series of blogs are an adaption of a sermon I wrote in 2009. I will not be blogging this week due to a lovely trip I am taking to Telluride, Co for some bluegrass. See ya'll next week.

http://bibleconversation.wordpress.com/2011/06/13/be-still-hurried-thoughts-on-silence/

Reconciliation in Rwanda

2011-06-05T21:17:00.000-07:00

Watch the full episode. See more Religion & Ethics NewsWeekly.

In April of 1994, The world turned its head away as Rwandans killed each other at a rate of 10,000 per day. The wounds of that terrible genocide run deep, far deeper than few of us in the West can ever begin to imagine. And yet something miraculous is happening in Rwanda: Forgiveness and reconciliation. Please take a few minutes and watch the video above of the amazing story of healing that is taking place in Rwanda.

Bound to Ramble, part 3

2011-06-02T17:35:00.000-07:00

It'd been five years since Harold left that place he once called home. Five years since he's seen his family and five years since he's been happy. He wasn't sure just what he would find on the road but he thought maybe he might find what he lost back home. However, life hopping rail cars and working odd jobs just so he could eat wasn't near as glamorous as some of the old songs had made it out to be. Yet pride ruled in Harold's heart and he set his mind to believe he was bound to ramble.

The trains had taken him all over Arkansas. But today he found himself somewhere unexpected. He found himself in the very same delta where he first picked on that old cigar-box banjo. He had hopped off the train the night before on a whim, not knowing where he was just that he wanted to settle for a while, try and find his legs again. The sights and sounds of that old delta town were once like a nightmare to him but today they held a promise. It was here that he had found his voice, found what he once thought was his true calling: to pick the banjo.

He found that old painted house they used to crowd all those summers. It had seen better days, he wondered if anybody had set foot in it since they left. Harold stood on the road side and just stared at it for what seemed like an eternity. He had always envision that the road would lead him to the next step in life not back to where it all began. With a great fear, Harold took his banjo Verne and set foot inside that old beat-up shack.

The place was bare, not a piece of furniture in it, there were signs of someone making a few nights rest here, but that was it. The house was like a picture of Harold's soul, once so full of promise and now so empty. He sat down on the dirt floor and began to pick Verne. And something happened that day that had not happened in a long time. Harold forgot, no, better yet, he overcame all his worries for just a moment and felt himself transported to that place like heaven. It lasted only a moment and the fall from that place hurt worst. He sat there in the silence listening to the echo of his picking and tears began to fill his face. It was almost a cruel joke to get that close again only to wake up and realize it was all a dream.

As Harold lay weeping, he was startled by the door opening. Despite his shock, Harold could hardly fell anymore and just lay there. The man in the door called to him, "Howdy."

Harold didn't respond. the stranger walked over and admired his banjo. "You play?"

Harold nodded.

"Well ain't that something. I sure love some good banjo music. I play a bit too myself, wanna take a go with me?"

The stranger's voice seemed oddly familiar. When he spoke it sounded like he had gravel in his throat. You could hardly make out his lips for the forest of beard hairs that had undoubtedly gone unchecked for decades. and even though the stranger spoke kindly, there was no denying the sense of deep sorrow behind every word.

Harold looked up at the man, "what's your name."

"I am who I am, nobody real important, just an old wayfaring stranger. but about that picking, you wanna play?"

Still reeling from his fall from grace, the last thing Harold felt like doing was playing. " I just ain't got it in me anymore."

The wayfaring stranger stared at him a bit, then he sat down beside him. This was the first time Harold had noticed his hands, they were hands like his dad's. Deeply wrinkled and calloused, they had seen hard days, but they also a gentle sense to them. Harold began to wonder what those hands could do. The stranger noticed Harold's glances, "they may not look like much, been to hell 'n back with these here hands. But I been to Heaven n' back too, play with me, just a song."

Harold's heart sunk at the mention of heaven. He knew that when he left home five years ago, that all he really wanted was to go there, tot hat place his banjo had once taken him but he doubted he would ever find it. And now, in the place he first found heaven and where he flirted with it today, this stranger promised to take him there again. "Heaven, huh? I been there too, now I'm not so sure there's even sucha place." Harold wondered aloud.

"Sure there is, its always just a note away. Its hard to find sometimes but a friend can help. Let me help you."
And with that the stranger pulled out a beautiful Gibson f-style mandolin. It was prettier than gold and then the stranger began to play 'Arkansas Traveler.' He closed his eyes and his fingers seemed to float on the double-strings of that mandolin. Harold thought he had met Bill Monroe himself, and the tears he once cried in mourning were replaced with new tears, tears of promise. The song demanded he do more than listen, that he feel it and ultimately, that he live it too. He picked up Verne and joined in and for the first time in five years, he was free. The two played near all night

Finally his fingers could take no more and with a smile he hadn't smiled in what seemed like forever, Harold asked the stranger, "where you headin?"

"I'm going home"

They both sat there in silence. The moon poked its head in through the window and shed a bit of light across the floor. Harold lifted his hand to look at his shadow.

"Come with me." the stranger asked.

Harold looked at the bearded man , his face full of sorrow and joy. The man's eyes were robust and seemed to peer into his soul. Harold had found what he was looking for, the promise of heaven. He would follow this stranger home.

Rejoice in the Simple Things

2011-06-01T14:07:00.001-07:00

Edifying Thoughts of a Tobacco Smoker

2011-05-31T20:18:00.000-07:00

Edifying Thoughts of a Tobacco Smoker

Whene’re I take my pipe and stuff it
And smoke to pass the time away,
My thoughts as I sit there and puff it,
Dwell on a picture sad and grey:
It teaches me that very like
Am I myself unto my pipe.
Like me, this pipe so fragrant burning
Is made of naught but earth and clay;
To earth I too shall be returning.
It falls and, ere I’d think to say,
It breaks in two before my eyes;
In store for me a like fate lies.
No stain the pipe’s hue yet doth darken;
It remains white. Thus do I know
That when to death’s call I must harken
My body too, all pale will grow
To black beneath the sod ’twill turn.
Or when the pipe is fairly glowing,
Behold then, instantaniously,
The smoke off into thin air going,
Till naught but ash is left to see.
Man’s frame likewise away will burn
And unto dust his body turn.
How oft it happens when one’s smoking:
The stopper’s missing from the shelf,
And one goes with one’s finger poking
Into the bowl and burns oneself.
If in the pipe such pain doth dwell,
How hot must be the pains of Hell.
Thus o’er my pipe, in contemplation
Of such things, I can constantly
Indulge in fruitful meditation
And so, puffing contentedly,
On land, on sea, at home, abroad,
I smoke my pipe and worship God.

Johann Sebastian Bach

Jesus, The Better...

2011-05-28T14:17:00.001-07:00

True & Better from Peter Artemenko on Vimeo.

No Blog Tonight

2011-05-26T14:37:00.000-07:00

This week is rather full, so no new installment of Bound to Ramble this week. I will however have one ready next week. Sorry for any trouble.

A Tree Called Home

2011-05-23T07:38:00.000-07:00

Check out my blog at The Neighborhood Cafe:

http://bibleconversation.wordpress.com/2011/05/23/a-tree-called-home/

The Giving Tree read by Brennen Manning

2011-05-22T14:00:00.000-07:00

Patched Together

2011-05-20T15:29:00.000-07:00

Last year as I traveled to and from my family in Arkansas, I devoured a little book called Patched Together by Brennen Manning. Manning, more than any author or speaker has inspired me and shaped my faith. I was privileged to hear him speak on the furious love of God for us in 2006 and his words of faith forever changed me. I have since read some of his work, mostly non-fiction that deals with aspects of God's love for us, but this book, a piece of fiction was the simplest yet most profound work of Manning's I have yet encountered.

The book was given to me at a conference by a representative from David C. Cook publishing out of Colorado Springs. I shared my testimony of renewed love that stemmed form Manning's work. The story seemed both routine and invigorating for him, I imagine that he meets people everyday touched by Manning's honesty and truth and yet each encounter gives him hope as well. He informed me that Manning was rather ill, almost fully blind and near death even. He promised to give the book if I promised to pray for Brennen. It was an easy promise to make.

The story is autobiographical while still being fiction. We see the life of a man in three stages from childhood to death and the struggles that present themselves but most importantly the impossible victories as well. Not once was I spell-bound by some fancy prose but always I was enthralled with the rawness of Willie Juan's life and his encounters with the Man of Sorrows. With grace, Manning weaves together a patchwork tapestry of life, love, pain, death, and mercy. Thankfully Manning is still with us and his actual autobiography is coming soon. But in the meantime, I encourage you to find yourself patched together and to join me in my promise to pray for this man.

Bound to Ramble, part 2

2011-05-19T19:06:00.000-07:00

Harold returned to Polk County that fall a new creation. That Banjo had changed him deeply, now he could travel to that special place, somewhere like heaven, whenever his heart desired. Harold loved that hollow-back banjo so much, he gave it name, Verne. The name didn't mean anything in particular, Harold just thought it fit. Harold would sprint the mile and half between the bus stop and their old home place every afternoon so that he could pick on Verne. Sure their were chores that need to to be done, but Harold couldn't help himself, he was born to pick.

Harold's chops got pretty fine, pretty quick with all that practice. Anytime their was a singing downtown, Harold and Verne were there ready. Harold even started playing at church, although he hadn't been in a while, the temptation of getting to play more was greater than his sense of religous guilt. And despite how cold that old Baptist church felt, Harold's spirit would soar when Verne and him took a turn at "I'll Fly Away."

Those two were inseparable. Some evenings they would play on the porch and all creation seemed to join in the tune. The lightening bugs would float on the breeze, the willow tress would sway in rhythm and the stars sometimes seemed to jump with delight as Harold and Verne explored "Uncle Pen," embodying the chorus proclimation, "You could hear it talk, you could hear it sing." It wasn't long before Harold's reputation began to spread, folks who wouldn't dare step into a church were washing there Sunday bests to hear Harold and Verne give new life to the Heavenly Highway Hymnal. The Saturday night singings got so big that they had to move them to the park so everyone could hear. While all this seemed like a dream come true, Harold became uneasy with his newfound fame and so did his family.

Its hard to nail down when things started to go wrong and especially why. Maybe from the moment the kids started listening to Harold over their Pa's stories, the root of jealousy struck. Harold's old man had struggled all his life to make a living for his family, he worked odd jobs around town, fixing fences, cutting wood, and of course he had been traveling to the delta every summer sense he was sixteen. But nobody ever come to see him do nothing. That boy put a piece of drift wood on a cigar box with leather laces and all of a sudden Pa didn't matter so much. Unintentionally Pa began to drive the family against Harold, blaming him for everything. Secretly, he justed wanted his boy back, he was scared where all this would take him. Fear and jealously birthed a rift between the two that seemed near impossible to fix.

"Where you off to tonight son?" His Pa inquired.
"I'm gonna play with the Dickerson boys down in the next holler."
"Is that so?"
"Well, I reckon I ain't gotta."
"You dern right right you ain't gotta, there's plenty needs to be done round here fer you go off runnin round."
"Yes sir."
"Just cause you can pick the blasted thing bettern most don't mean you can do whatever you want."
"No sir, I didn't..."
"Don't talk back to me boy," his Pa interrupted, "I reckon it'd been far better had you never started on that old cigar-box."

These exchanges increased in frequency and intensity. What had once been the greatest blessing of his life had begun to drive a wedge between Harold and his family, especially his Pa. All he ever wanted was to escape, to find that place that made him forget his troubles but now instead he just found more trouble. If it weren't his Pa's nagging, then Brother Lee was telling not to stand out too much on Sunday's; they were for the Lord after all not bluegrass, or the ladies down at the auxiliary who thought he should play more jigs, or even Sally, his sister and a good singer in her own right, who thought she oughta to get a chance to shine like Harold. It seemed to him that he hadn't took anyone with him to that place but drove them all away. Of course that wasn't so, the town loved him to death but to Harold all he seemed to do was disappoint. He wondered where that place had gone to, that place like heaven, it had been far too long since he'd had a visit. Now, whenever he plucked on Verne, his heart twisted in pain. The thing that had once been so good, now seemed broken, maybe it was him, maybe it was luck, but it just didn't work no more.

Harold remembers that night just as clear as any in his life. The pressure of everything had finally gotten him. He lay sleepless in his bed, a bit deranged. His chest felt as if an ox were sitting on it, he found it hard to breathe. And all he could hear in his head was "Man of Constant Sorrow." The words reverberated in his mind, he felt bound, like he was caged in. The words became him, he wasn't born to pick but bound to ramble. He had no friends to help him now, so he sat up, packed a sack, grabbed Verne and left the town he was born and raised. He left home and with a purity of confusion determined never to return again. Heaven wasn't there no more and he doubted he would ever find it again.

The Canticle of the Creatures

2011-05-17T21:01:00.000-07:00

The Canticle of the Creatures
by St. Francis of Assisi

Most High, all-powerful, good Lord,
Yours are the praises, the glory, and the honor, and all blessing,
To you alone, Most High, do they belong,
and no human is worthy to mention your name.

Praised be to you, my Lord, with all your creatures,
especially Sir Brother Sun,
Who is the day and through whom you give us light.
And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendor;
and bears a likeness of you, Most High One.

Praised be you, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars,
in heaven you formed them clear and precious and beautiful.

Praised be you, my Lord, through Brother Wind,
and through the air, cloudy and serene, and every kind of weather,
through whom you give sustenance to your creatures.

Praised be you, my Lord, through Sister Water,
who is very useful and humble and precious and chaste.

Praised be you, my Lord , through Brother Fire,
through whom you light the night,
and he is beautiful and playful and robust and strong.

Praised be you, my Lord, through our Sister Mother earth,
who sustains and governs us,
and produces various fruit with colored flowers and herbs.

Praised be you, my Lord,
through those who give pardon for your love,
and bear infirmity and tribulation.

Blessed are those who endure in peace
for by you, Most High, they shall be crowned.

Praised be you, my Lord, through our Sister Bodily Death,
from whom no one living can escape.
Woe to those who die in mortal sin.
Blessed are those whom death will find in your most holy will,
for the second death shall do them no harm.

Praise and bless my Lord and give Him thanks
and serve Him with Great Humility

Is God Safe?

2011-05-16T12:10:00.000-07:00

Every Sunday night I meet with a bunch of losers and rejects and it is beautiful. Each week I hear stories of alcoholic fathers, failed marriages, premature family deaths, depression, suicide, abandonment, and so on. Each of us has deep wounds and have grown tired of easy answers to our tough questions. But in our woundedness we have found a safe place to land, to crash together and in this safety a desire to let others find safety amongst us has taken seed. So we wonder together what it means to be a “safe” place.

Read the rest of this blog here: http://bibleconversation.wordpress.com/2011/05/16/is-god-safe/

Prison or Cafeteria Food?

2011-05-14T16:59:00.000-07:00

This infograph is from GOOD Magazine. Interesting comparison but I have been both to jail and public school and the food in jail is NOT near as good as that from school.

Bound to Ramble, part one

2011-05-13T15:41:00.000-07:00

Harold had the bushiest eyebrows in all of Polk county. Folks when they would meet him would always remark about his eyebrows, no matter what else Harlod did. And that was indeed an impressive feat for Harold also played a mean banjo. Harold had been playing since he was just a boy, traveling with his family to the flatlands in the summers to pick cotton. Those kids swore that those summer evenings in the Arkansas delta were as close to hell as any place on this here earth. The humidity was so thick you could slather it on a piece a bread with a spoon. And so Harold began to pick a homemade cigar-box banjo he had made to keep their minds off the heat. At first, The kids couldn't decide which was worse: the pickin or the climate. But Harold, like his daddy, was as stubborn as an old dog and he picked that poor banjo every night after pickin that poor cotton. With callosed and even bloody hands, Harold would struggle to figure out how to roll his fingers in time to make that banjo sing like all the greats. When they were in the hills in the off-season, they could sometimes pick up the Opry on the AM radio if it were clear enough. They had heard Earl Scruggs and Ralph Stanley and in that hearing they were transported, not to Nashville, but to somewhere even better, somewhere like heaven were their troubles weren't gone but understood. When Stanley would moan Man of Constant Sorrow, they knew that pain instinctively. And it was only in that place, somewhere like heaven, that Harold truley felt home, felt alive. He knew he was destined to pick.

And so he picked and by the end of that first summer, he not only had the finger-roll down but he could play a recognizable Orange Blossom Special and for a moment the family forgot all about the Opry and found that place of understanding had found them there in that ghost of a house they filled. Each of the kids got to spend some of the cotton money on themselves, usually they would buy some prize like a coca-cola or if they had had a real good harvest a new pair of shoes. But this summer, they left the coke in the icebox and threw in to get Harold a real banjo, a used one that a friend at the gin got in Memphis, but a real one nonetheless. Years later, Harold would think back on that day, on that banjo and he would still cry. Never had he been so surprised, so happy, so whole. Harold took that hollow-back banjo in his hands and he smelled the wood, cedar. As he inhaled the distinct smell, he knew it was a good gift, the best even. And as he sat down to pick it, the Orange Blossom Special never sounded so good and perhaps never again. When we was done, he laid it down on the bed beside him and nearly prayed over that instrument, "Its so good, so very good." And so it was, for a time.

This is part one of a five part short-story I will be publishing the next five Thursday nights.

Amazing Grace, video

2011-05-10T18:39:00.000-07:00

The Neighborhood Cafe 5/9/11

2011-05-09T15:21:00.000-07:00

Here is my contribution to The Neighborhood Cafe, a blog written by my pastors (and now me.) This is a revised blog that I posted here originally two years ago. Let me know what you think.

http://bibleconversation.wordpress.com/2011/05/09/the-glory-of-gods-absence/

Happy Mother's Day

2011-05-08T00:43:00.000-07:00

There is only one pretty child in the world, and every mother has it. ~Chinese Proverb

I am thankful to be alive today. In no small way is my mother most responsible for this miricle. Yes she bore me for 9 months and delivered me, fed me, clothed me, spanked me, and believed in me. But what has held me together the most in the roughest parts of my life has been her unfailing love.

Some of you have heard my story of excess, doubt, and despair. As I wallowed away my life in stupidity, depression engulfed me and dragged me to the brink of death. In May of 2005 I decided to kill myself. Life had run its course and I felt no need to perpetuate my suffering any longer. But in the midst of the great darkness, a light broke in, an unexpected guest in my shame. I remembered a simple fact: my mom loved me. And it was this simple but earth-moving reality that saved me, gave me the strength to choose life and to choose love.

Ever since, that has been my song, that love conquers all, even death. The love of my mom saved me and I thank God not only for her but for the mothers that loved her enough to teach me that song. So I honor her today and in some small way everyday, because each is a gift from God given through her love, each is a precious reminder that there is something good out there even when everything else testifies against it. And the greatest gift to date is the chance to teach my own daughter to sing. God has given me a woman in my wife who exemplifies all the beauty of my mother, and has proven to be the greatest mother I could ever hope for my own child.

Thank you Michala

Thank you Momma,

Thank you Grandma Mary

Thank you Great Grandmother Grace

Thank you God.

Love Your Enemies?

2011-05-07T16:10:00.000-07:00

The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. So it goes. Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that. - Martin Luther King, Jr.

Never pay back evil for evil to anyone. Respect what is right in the sight of all men. If possible, so far as it depends on you, be at peace with all men. Never take your own revenge, beloved, but leave room for the wrath of God, for it is written, "Vengeance is Mine, I will repay," says the Lord. "But if your enemy is hungry, feed him, and if he is thirsty, give him a drink; for in so doing you will heap burning coals on his head." Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. - Romans 12:17-21

I have intentionally remained silent on the news of Osama bin Laden's death. I think regardless of one's religion we each of us have a great sense of and desire for justice. This man's choices and influence led not only to the deaths of the victems of 9/11 but also to innumerable child suicde-bombers and various other muslims across the world, all in the name of God. So when I heard the news of his death, I could not help but be thankful. In a world with some many wounds, perhaps this man's demise might mean a few less. But in the midst of witnessing countless celebrations and online responses such as 'burn in hell Osama" I felt that same sense of justice flare up.

I cannot escape the teachings of Jesus in his sermon on the mount, that our love MUST extend to even our enemies, the very ones who wish us dead. Some may consider this as idealism, but in a sense all of Jesus' teachings are idealistic but also deeply rooted in life and in truth. These are not just provocative words but the essence of how Jesus lived his own life. In the face of occupying non-believers who unfairly taxed, enslaved, and even killed his people, Jesus came not as the liberating king the Jews desired him to be. Instead he laid down his power and took all the world's punishment to the point of death and beyond, all the while praying for the ones mocking him. And the funny thing is that it worked, he not only liberated his people but all of us. In his act of nonviolence, of submitting to death, he won us all life. This act which to all, even his closet friends, seemed ludicrous has endured two thousand years and changed the lives of all humanity. Throughout this history others have taken to heart what Jesus said and did, people like Martin Luther King Jr. and Gandhi. Both tasted the same martyr death and both also tasted the fruits of their love: reconciliation and freedom.

Some would say that we cannot be doormats or pushovers and this is true. All of these men, especially Jesus, were strong men who made strong stand and in the doing they overcame evil with good. Someone has to break the cycle of violence; the idea that killing bin Laden and making him a martyr for his radical followers is going to save lives is hard to prove at best and completely erroneous at worst. The response will be vengeance and we will seek to retaliate and the cycle of violence will progress. We only have to look at the middle east to learn the lesson of this deadly cycle, there is only "peace" when one side is stronger than the other, able to keep uprisings at bay. Hatred permeates the religious and ethnic struggles. All sides feel their cause just and even of God and that certitude leads further and further from any form of reconciliation or peace. Someone has to say, "enough already" and begin to love their neighbor even if costs them their own life, only then can the cycle be broken, only in sacrifice can we buy our freedom.

Jesus was that someone and he has dared to ask us to join him in the loving and leave the judging and vengeance to the only one capable of doing so. And maybe just maybe, in the process we might just change the world.

I wonder what you think. Am I being naive? Does my faith blind me or enlighten my perspective on this? What about your faith? How has this incident effected your sense of compassion and/or justice?

A Prayer of Confession and Cleansing

2011-05-05T20:54:00.000-07:00

Abba, on days like these when nothing particularly profound seems to stir within, I thank you that you are still near. The lack of insight is often the consequence of my sin: my ignorance, laziness, and often pure disobedience. Forgive me. Teach to to thirst for You and to hunger for Your words. I want to know the security of Your presence and fear Your absence. I want to run to You and not from You. You know my heart, my fears, and dreams; cleanse me and refine my passions. May I die so that You may live in me. Honor the words of this prayer, not just in me but in all those who read it. Thank You for Your immense grace and over-flowing mercy, O how I need it so. Amen

That We Might Be One

2011-05-04T07:50:00.000-07:00

My friend, pastor, and mentor Eugene Scott recently wrote a blog about the power of intimacy and the danger of isolation (you can read it here). In his work Eugene describes the desperate need we have for each other. I feel this most acutely now that a women who I have cherished my entire life struggles to relearn how to eat a cookie. My aunt Betty suffered a stroke recently and the consequences of that stroke have been difficult to learn of. While I am hundreds of miles from Betty, the strength of her love for me kept her presence close in some mysterious way. But now, I do not doubt her love, but she seems oddly distant. Even though we pray for her to recover and believe she is just stubborn enough to do so, there is pain in the separation from the strong woman we all once knew. When I heard the news of her struggles my response was anger, not sadness. I believed deep within that it was simply not fair for this woman to suffer but also because deep down I feared I might never see her again. She is doing better and I hope to see her soon, and that hope of connection is stronger than all my fears and anger.

As I said before we each of us have not just a desire for connection but a hunger and a thirst. Intimacy with our fellow man is not just pleasant, it is vital. Without each other, though our hearts may still beat, our souls no longer live. Jesus knew this well. Before his death he prays a long prayer in John 17 that repeats the same petition over and over: that we may be one. This oneness is core to his hope in us, to his death with us, and to his resurrection for us. While we often focus on the aspects of forgiveness and new life in Jesus' gospel, we must see that we are forgiven so we may be reconciled to God and each other and that reconciled life is indeed our new life. Jesus also showed that pure unity was central to his gospel message when he summed the entire law of holiness up into two relational commands, that righteousness is found in right relationship with God and with each other, nothing more and certainly nothing less.

Our relationships suffer most severely the consequences of death that our sin produces. In the first instance of disobedience, man runs and hides from the God he walked with everyday and covers himself up from his wife in shame. Our relationships were what defined us in the creation account, God in all his triune glory decides to make us in "our image," the shared image of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in perfect unity with each other. And it is that perfect unity that Jesus uses in his prayer as the model for our oneness, "may they be one as we are one." The day is coming when the groom Jesus will be united with his bridegroom the church and what a celebration of union that day will be. But in the mean time, we struggle to hold on to the beautiful relationships we currently inhabit and fight to repair the broken ones. This is hard work. Never will we open ourselves to more hurt than when we make ourselves vulnerable in relationships, than when we lay aside our fig leaves of shame and dare to live life together, in pure oneness.

All this points to why it hurts so much to hear that a loved one is in pain, because if we truly love that person then their pain becomes our own,that is both the blessing and perhaps the curse of our oneness. The reality is that we are all meant to be each other's loved ones and every instance of isolation, death, and disconnect hurts us to our core even if we do not realize it. But gloriously Jesus became our loved one and on that fateful day he felt our suffering in its fullest and it killed him. But in that act he showed love was stronger than death, that relationships would always win over separation in the end and he burst forth from the divide of death to reconnect all of creation to itself and to himself. Just as he felt our suffering on the cross, we feel his joy in the resurrection. May we find our stories at the intersection of the cross, at the place of Jesus prayer for our oneness, and the birth of our reconciled lives walking anew without shame in the presence of the one we have only dreamed of until now. And that hope of connection is stronger than all our fears and anger.

May we be one.

The Jesus Creed

2011-05-03T21:16:00.000-07:00

Here's a promo video for The Jesus Creed by Scot McKnight. I read this book for my Jesus and the Gospels class at Denver Seminary and really liked McKnight's placement of Jesus' teachings within 1st century Judaism. I recommend this book highly.

A New Conversation

2011-05-02T12:58:00.000-07:00

Here's a blog I contributed to The Neighborhood Cafe. I will be authoring the Monday blog for this site and linking them here. Thanks for reading and I look forward to further conversations.
Creation Carries a Cost, Beauty a High Price

A Children's Message: Good Names

2011-05-01T19:39:00.000-07:00

One of the joys of being a parent is teaching your children about animals. With Mary Grace, this has been a lot of fun. She sometimes gets lions and tigers mixed up, but she has her farm animals down. She will sit in my lap as we flip through a book of animals, pointing out all the ducks, geese, horses, cows, and bunnies. Her new favorite game is for me to ask her if her animal friend, Jack-Jack, who is a cat, is some other kind of animal. She'll sheepishly grin and moan a long "no" that implies that her daddy is silly. It is so funny to her to hear us give the wrong name to Jack-Jack. She like most little kids loves animal names.But how did all these animals get their names?

A long time ago the very first person, Adam, had the huge honor of naming the animals. One can imagine the line of creatures miles long waiting with anticipation to hear Adam pronounce, "woodpecker" or "duck-billed platypus." Adam sure was creative, I would never of thought to call a black-and-white striped horse a Zebra, I would just call him "confused." But I also imagine that this was a lot of fun for Adam and that it meant a lot to him to name the animals. I have had the honor to name some things in my life and those too have been fun and meaningful.

My dog's name is Brandy, I gave her this name because her parents names were Belle and Buddy. I wanted her to have a "B" name too so that she was connected to her parents. Michala and I name our cars too. My old, beat-up white truck was called possum. We named him that because he was white, fast, and ratty. But best of all, I was privileged to name my daughter. She is named after her great-great grandmother, her great grandmother, her grandmother, and her mom. In her name is line of women who loved Jesus and we wanted to her to be connected to these beautiful women before her. Our names mean a lot, they give us our identity.

Long before I named possum and brandy, long before we were named, even before Adam named the animals, God named everything. He gave everything, the sky, the stars, the oceans and the mountains, and especially us our first name. He looked at all he made and he named us "Good." Before we are Michael or Sally, or any other name, our first name, our most important name is the one God gives us: Good.

"God looked over everything he had made; it was so good, so very good!" Genesis 1:31

The Heavens Declare His Glory, a prayer

2011-04-28T22:55:00.000-07:00

Abba,

The heavens declare Your glory.

But what am I?

Do You even think of me?

Why are You mindful of us at all?

And yet You say we matter. I look into the sky and see endless stars, its a joke to even try to count them and I'm reminded in the laughter that they represent your blessings. This sounds nice but even when my life seems so small in comparison with the heavens, my problems and the problems of those I love seem colossal. Why does this distortion of perspective thrive in our hearts?

Maybe, just maybe, it is no distortion. Maybe our fears and pain are as big as creation in Your eyes too. They shouldn't be but I am beginning to believe they are. You have said that Your thoughts and ways are higher than the heavens are from the earth, intrinsically different from all my expectations. And when I pull myself away from the isolated religious speak that says everything will be alright, I find a God big enough to handle my anger. A God so big and yet so intimate.

Tonight, I have no clue how to pray. I just can't ask for this and that and go on my way, I need to know You care, that You are as close and as strong as You've promised to be.

Do I dare be noble now?

I remember when all seemed lost not long ago, when every door slammed in my face except for the love I found in the Pierce women, my family. And in their love, their stories, their prayers, their cooking, I found a home and peace. Now life has led me away from that home and I am afraid that I will never again taste the sweetness of those days. And the truth is I never will, that is why it is so special and why it hurts to even consider losing any of it. But maybe You have another door waiting for me, and this time I know it will be more painful but it will lead me home.

So, lead me, lead us home.

Amen

A Portrait of Christ

2011-04-21T22:17:00.000-07:00

A Portrait of Christ from Jeremy Cowart on Vimeo.

A Spring of Hope

2011-04-19T22:06:00.000-07:00

There are several reasons why I cherish Easter, some theological, some nostalgic but right now I am meditating on the seasonal change that accompanies the holiday. The pastels we drape on us for that eventful morning echo the awakening color blossoming from the earth outside the church walls. Spring is a season of fulfilled promise. After months of often bitter cold and death, we yearn and hope for Easter, for flowers and green and life. Michala has brought this sense of life into our home by the addition of seeds planted on our window sill. Every day we rush to see what has occurred in the dead of night, desperate for a sprig of hope. And miracles of miracles, life emerges.

Is it any wonder that the season of new life we call Spring coincides with the celebration of new life we call Easter? Jesus tells a story of how unless a wheat seed is broken and dies it will not grow to bear fruit, to bear bread, the bread of life. He is that broken seed, crushed underfoot. And yet the reason we will congregate at all this weekend is that the seed does not remain dead. Just as the basil is sprouting from the soil on my window sill, the crushed wheat yields life and abundant life at that.

I've only been observing this phenomenon we call Spring for 27 years but for some reason, each time it roles around, I am always surprised that it all somehow worked again. I marvel that land so barren and cold could possibly produce such abundance again; but it does, every year. In this faithful rebirth I witness the seeds of hope. My soul is often found wandering in a Winter wasteland, barren and even dead. And as I peer within, I wonder if there is any reason to believe that perhaps once more, New Life will bloom. I desperately await the Sprig of Hope. And miracle of miracles, Easter comes and death is laid in the grave. Miracle of miracles Jesus emerges risen and triumphant. Miracle of miracles, Spring dawns full of color and promise. Miracle of miracles, this very soul of mine find more than courage, more than hope, more than my wildest dreams and miracle of miracles I rise.

He is risen, I am risen, we are all risen indeed!

Common Prayers for Palm Sunday

2011-04-17T07:34:00.000-07:00

Right at the crest, where Mount Olives begins its descent, the whole crowd of disciples burst into enthusiastic praise over all the mighty works they had witnessed: Blessed is he who comes, the king in God's name! All's well in heaven! Glory in the high places! Some Pharisees from the crowd told him, "Teacher, get your disciples under control!" But he said, "If they kept quiet, the stones would do it for them, shouting praise." Luke 19:37-40

It is right to praise you, Almighty God, for the acts of love by

which you have redeemed us through your Son Jesus Christ
our Lord. On this day he entered the holy city of Jerusalem in
triumph, and was proclaimed as King of kings by those who
spread their garments and branches of palm along his way.
Let these branches be for us signs of his victory, and grant that
we who bear them in his name may ever hail him as our King,
and follow him in the way that leads to eternal life; who lives
and reigns in glory with you and the Holy Spirit, now and for
ever. Amen.

Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but

first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he

was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way

of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and

peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Almighty and everliving God, in your tender love for the

human race you sent your Son our Savior Jesus Christ

to take upon him our nature, and to suffer death upon

the cross, giving us the example of his great humility:

Mercifully grant that we may walk in the way of his

suffering, and also share in his resurrection; through

Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you

and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Light Reading

2011-04-16T21:03:00.000-07:00

For my fellow bibliophiles here is a quick rundown of my current reads and what's on deck.

First And Second Samuel, Walter Brueggemann - I've come to really enjoy reading a commentary all the way through. Brueggemann has a scholar's mind and a poet's eye.

Lake Wobegon Days, Garrison Keillor - A masterful storyteller and down-right funny

Evil and the Justice of God, N. T. Wright - I am becoming a student of Wright's work and can't wait to wrestle with the hardest question of our time with him: "what to do with evil?"

Setting the Table, Danny Meyer - A restaurant entrepreneur's memoir focusing on the art of hospitality

Tell it Slant, Eugene Peterson - My reading for Lent, Peterson is quickly becoming my favorite author, similar to Brueggemann but also with a pastor's heart

Kindle- I know, why have all these actual books if I have a Kindle? I just can't give them up! On deck in the ebook world: Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton and The Importance of Being Foolish by Brennen Manning.

Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe - My all-time favorite work of fiction

Mystery and Manners, Flannery O'Conner - A collection of essays on faith, writing, and the south from another of my favorite fiction authors. What a storyteller!

Classic Colorado Summit - Gearing up for mountaineering this summer

Life With God, Richard Foster - Foster's work on the discipline of spiritual reading and study. I've been putting this one off too long.

Father, Son, and Spirit, Andreas Kostenberger and Scott R. Swain -A biblical theology study of the Gospel of John's portrayal of the Trinity, really enjoyed Professor Blomberg's additions to this series.

Bird by Bird, Anne Lamont - The humility and honesty with which Lamont writes comes through even stronger in this work on writing. What a valuable resource, it was the primary inspiration for me to write 3 blogs a week.

A Grief Observed, C.S. Lewis - I have enjoyed Lewis so far and look forward to reading this personal book about the loss of his wife, I have much to learn in the realm of grief.

The Great Omission, Dallas Willard - A modern William Carey, Willard here is calling us to the heart of the Great Commission: to make disciples not merely converts.

Secrets in the Dark, Frederick Buechner - A collection of sermons, most of which I've read, that I want to finish this year. Buechner inspired the name of this blog and has been my greatest influence in the art of preaching.

Sermons from Duke Chapel, edited by William Willimon - Over 50 years of diverse sermons each prefaced by Willimon, this is a treasure.

So what are you reading? Share a picture like mine perhaps, but let us know. Enjoy Palm Sunday.

Peace.

Overflow of the Heart

2011-04-14T21:17:00.000-07:00

As we approach Holy Week, I find myself reflective upon this season of Lent. Part of me wonders if I even tried at all to engage with Jesus as our local church has defined Lent. I at least set up a goal for myself, to study and practice the speech ethics of Jesus. To aid me in this I have been reading Eugene Peterson's book Tell it Slant, a study of Jesus' parables as he travels through Samaria on his way to Jerusalem and to the cross. In many ways, this season of Lent has mirrored that journey, as I've walked with Jesus through a foreign land. I wish that I had the same flare for the dramatic as Jesus, that I could interpret people's spiritual situations into well-crafted metaphors that people would be repeating two thousand years later, that I could set aside my agenda to be well-liked and to merely speak words that give life. Yet in my quest to see my tongue changed, I found God working on a very different part of me, my heart. Its often like this, I think, with God, we simply want to change our behaviors but He seems to care far more about who we are at our core. I found that to speak like Jesus did not mean learning smooth rhetoric but to be changed by his words.

And so as Jesus is preparing for his Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem he tells a story about the life he is bringing us into. He tells of a master who entrusts ten servants with some investments, talents. When the master returns a King, he surveys how his tenants spent their talents. One especially daring servant risked his in high-stakes investments and doubled the King's returns. Another held tightly to his, afraid of losing it and is scolded by the master who subsequently takes the servant's little and gives it to the daring one. In this story Jesus is illustrating what it means to live in and move in his coming Kingdom. We are to throw caution to the wind and risk all. He has given us tools to use and what he most desires is for us to go to work, without fear and with great hope.

So often I find myself like the last servant, keeping my talents to myself out of fear. I am so often afraid of failure that I fail to act at all, a failure in and of itself. Yet I see Jesus telling me that anything worth anything is going to take risk. He knew this keenly as he rode that donkey into the death trap that was Jerusalem. He knew what was on the line and he risked it all, even his life for his dream, for our dreams. He died and in that act of bravery he freed us all to do likewise. This season of Lent has challenged my heart at the basic level: I am coward, yet Jesus looks deep into my eyes and sees far beneath and proclaims that my name is "Courageous" and "Victorious." He bids me, and perhaps us all, to follow in his steps of daring even if it costs me my life, for the reward is doubly, even infinitely, greater.

Becoming King

2011-04-12T19:48:00.000-07:00

I finally got around to seeing The King's Speech after numerous testimonies concerning its brilliance. Michala and I snuck away on her birthday to catch a late night showing. We enjoyed a completely empty auditorium which made us feel very important, as if it were a private showing. Despite my a slight fever, we settled into our seats and set our expectations high. We were not disappointed.

By now, most are familiar with the basic storyline of King George's stutter and the help he receives to deliver a speech at the outset of World War II. While the story offers little surprises, it delivers big on content. At its core, this is a story of friendship and transformation and the link between the two. When Bertie (the King's common name to his family) first encounters Lionel, his speech therapist, he is standoffish and unwilling to commit to anything other than pure mechanics. Lionel knows that the stutter is less a product of poor mechanics than of a poor soul and it is only through inner change that Bertie is finally able to produce mechanically. This serves as a great picture of what a group of men I meet with called "being vs. doing."

During our last meeting, we each shared our hopes for our families and careers. Interestingly enough, each of us offered tangible goals as our career hopes, things like opening a restaurant, starting a church, singing music, things that we do. But when we shared our hopes for our families we shared instead rather intangible things, such as our daughters being emotionally healthy and happy, that they would love God and their fellow man, hopes not of what they would do but of what they would become. After this, we posed the question, "what does God our Father hope for us?" We soon realized that He was far more concerned about who we were becoming than what we would do. Even if we accomplished every career goal but had not love, it might just be meaningless.This truth was driven home by the transformation Bertie undergoes in the King's Speech.

Even though Bertie is initially hesitant to explore his heart and not just his mouth, the death of his father begins to bring his pain and insecurities to the surface. Lionel is there to hear him and comfort him. Perhaps in a moment of greatest vulnerability what we need most is not help but a simple presence, especially that of a friend. It is here, that Lionel's goals to "get at" Bertie's heart actually leads away from their professional relationship and towards a friendship.

All throughout the story, Lionel refuses to call Bertie by his proper titles such as "Your Majesty," eventually this becomes indicative of their friendship and of their mutual respect. Later Lionel is exposed as not being an actual doctor and yet, he argues, titles are meaningless without any substance. It is not the title that defines Lionel but who he is and Berte soon realizes that his title also gives him no real rights. Yet in the face of war Bertie begins to find courage to face his own fears so as to help the nation face their collective fears. As he addresses a nation on the brink of war, he speaks of standing up to fear and perhaps he speaks less of the Nazis as of his own demons. Yet he delivers the speech and in the process triumphs over his fears. As he emerges, Lionel looks into his eyes and finally calls him by the name he has finally grown into, "Your Majesty." Bertie is now the true King, not because he has spoken well, not because of what he has done but because of what he has become, courageous.

It was only with the help of his friend that he is able to be transformed. It was only with the help of my friends that my ideas of success have been transformed, and hopefully it with the help of a friend that each of us may one day be transformed and fill the form of who we are with the substance of our being.

A Seat at the Table

2011-04-07T20:02:00.000-07:00

Every Thanksgiving, my family congregates at Grandma's house for a feast, sometimes as many as 60 people in attendance. My Dad would tell the story about his first Pierce Thanksgiving. He described a washtub of dressing, nine pies, and what he thought amounted to enough food to feed an army. However, he underestimated the appetites of the Pierce army and after taking a nap found my Uncle Jimmy picking the last scraps of meat off of the turkey carcass. I can assure you that this feeding frenzy we call Thanksgiving has not ceased to be a furious survival of the fittest at Grandma's house. There is little decorum to these meals, most carry a fork in their front pockets so that they can sample the goods before Grandma prays and we take turns trying to cut each other and pushing the capacity of our paper plates to their limits. Yet there is one aspect of this meal that us newcomers refuse to intrude upon, who sits at the table. Like I said, sometimes as many as 60 people show up for this meal and sit all sorts of places, on stumps, lawn chairs, the floor, but a few, only about three, sit at the table. These are usually my uncles: Jesse, Steve, Rocky, and Jimmy. Although no one has ever stated that it is off limits to sit there, I wouldn't dare presume to take a chance. Sometimes they do let others sit there, my brother has before and some of my cousins, but none of them lasted very long; my uncles are a tough bunch to sit with I promise you. Throughout my years of sharing this meal, I like my dad, have learned a few lessons, but most of all I learned that you must earn your seat at the table.

Jesus finds himself ,strange enough, at a table similar to my Grandma's. One Sabbath after the Jewish equivalent of church, he is invited to meal at the religous leader's house. There he finds that this extension of hospitality was actually far from it, the host sought to test his guests to evaluate their worth to sit at his table. Jesus, clever as always, addressses this act of inhospitability by reversing the table, he points to another reciepiant of the host's up-turned nose, a man with swollen joints. Jesus asks the group what is the right thing to do on this day, to heal or not to heal? The party remains silent, the answer is clear enough but in the answer they find their hypocrisy revealed. The Sabbath was a day to let go and let God, but they were using it to jockey for position, to earn a right to sit at the table. Instead of showing hospitalty to the injured man, they ignore him because he is in their way. Yet Jesus refuses to let them go along in such a manner. Into their silence, he tells them a story that gives flesh to the skeleton of a meal they are sharing. He says:

"When someone invites you to dinner, don't take the place of honor. Somebody more important than you might have been invited by the host. Then he'll come and call out in front of everybody, 'You're in the wrong place. The place of honor belongs to this man.' Red-faced, you'll have to make your way to the very last table, the only place left.

"When you're invited to dinner, go and sit at the last place. Then when the host comes he may very well say, 'Friend, come up to the front.' That will give the dinner guests something to talk about! What I'm saying is, If you walk around with your nose in the air, you're going to end up flat on your face. But if you're content to be simply yourself, you will become more than yourself."

Meals are indeed sacred; times when, if we are true to their intent, we are brought to the same level. We all need meat and bread, we each need sustenance and are utterly dependent upon God and each other for this food. Meals are a time to share our hopes and jokes, time to not only share the gravy but our very lives. Yet we, like the religious leaders Jesus speaks this story to, have perverted the intent of a meal. It has become a time to hoard as opposed to a time to give, a time to expose our power over another as opposed to a time to humble ourselves, and a time to lament our lack as opposed to a time to praise our abundance. But the beauty of this story like most of Jesus' stories is that it not only exposes our deficiencies, it also offers hope of a better story.

In our humility, Jesus says, we find honor. I said that I never presumed to sit at the table with my uncles; this was not because I had some great sense of humility but because I was scared of them. They are some big bad dudes, but through the years I've sought to honor the men who grew up with my Momma and in small ways I've had some of the honor and even respect reciprocated. And I promise you, those few moments and words have been some of the sweetest in my life. I think that all along, if I simply had the courage, I could have found a seat at their table, there was always room, because they had no need to prove themselves to anyone, least of all me. "But these strict Sabbath-keepers had their eyes first on Jesus to see what he was going to do, then on one another to see how they could take advantage of one another. They were betraying the Sabbath in the very act of 'protecting' it. (Peterson, 82,3)" And we betray ourselves when we use the good things God has given us to somehow prove ourselves. May we lower our noses and seek the last place and perhaps we may hear Christ himself say to us, "Friend, come up front."

Working Ideas

2011-04-05T18:57:00.000-07:00

Church divisions are almost exclusively academic divisions. The reason I don’t understand my Lutheran neighbor is because a couple academics got into a fight hundreds of years ago. And the rest of the church followed them because, well, they were our leaders. So now we are divided under divisions caused by arguments a laboring leadership might never have noticed of cared about. Practitioners care about what works, what gets things done. They have to agree because there are projects on the line. Educators don’t have to agree at all. They can fight and debate and write papers against each other because, well, the product they are churning out is just thought, not action. - Donald Miller

These words were part of a blog post Donald Miller shared today. In essence, Miller was challenging what he perceived to be the status quo, that scholars are in control of the church today. He argued that this has caused numerous problems that would not have occurred had practitioners been in control. To this I offer both an "Amen!" and an "uhh?" Without a doubt, academics who sit in their ivory towers of scholarship and pronounce judgement upon the church while never dirtying their hands are not who we need as our leaders. I agree that doctrine is fluid and must be adapted in the face of real-life ministry but also that ministry must be adapted in the face of truth.

I am a big fan of Miller's writings but perhaps he, like so many, saw an aspect of the church that has not been entirely beneficial and choose to throw the baby out with the bathwater. He argues that the Apostles were undereducated labors and that this sense of hard work empowered them to lead a revolutionary movement as opposed to merely argue about it (which they also did). Yet what we often forget was that while they were indeed labors, they were far from uneducated. Most Jews during this time, even if they failed to complete school, still the had the first five books of the Bible memorized. While some were fishermen, others were doctors and even Pharisees. In fact, as the book of Acts progresses, we see the twelve fade away and witness the largest surge of focus and growth coming from Paul, who was a leading scholar in his time. But here is the difference between what Miller is decrying and what the early church did. While they absolutely put an emphasis on educating themselves in the things of God, they also acted upon this knowledge. The answer for the church today is not to toss out scholarship but combine the practices of study and work.

I hardly would call myself a scholar, I spent nine years building docks on the coast of South Carolina, I been a bouncer at a bar, worked at a feed store, and now manage a restaurant, but despite my history of work, I have always benefited from the pursuit of knowledge. Not knowledge simply for the sake of knowledge but for the sake of refining my practices, so that my labor can be informed and productive. Paul exemplified this balance of knowledge and work. He pondered the depths of what Christ's resurrection meant for us and in I Corinthians 15 he lays out a beautiful theological argument for this doctrine but he sums it all up in these words, "With all this going for us, my dear, dear friends, stand your ground. And don't hold back. Throw yourselves into the work of the Master, confident that nothing you do for him is a waste of time or effort." Paul understood that this theology fueled our work-ethic, that even if our good deeds seem meaningless, their will be a resurrection one day and then we see just how meaningful those deeds were.

So I say all this to challenge you and me to not forsake either our minds nor our hands (nor our hearts for that matter). For to do so leaves us with either a puffed up and crippled faith or uniformed, aimless works. Neither is healthy. Instead we should think deeply on the mercies of God, having our minds transformed and consequently live sacrificed lives. Then perhaps we can begin to live in the unity that Miller and myself so deeply long for.

Its something to think about.

Covered in Manure

2011-03-31T16:11:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite movies scenes occurs near the beginning of Les Miserables. The main character, Jean Valjean, a convict, steals from and attacks the bishop who offered his home to the wandering stranger. When the authorities catch Valjean and bring him back to the bishop, the bishop actually testifies that he gave Valjean everything and insists that he take the silver candlesticks as well. Valjean is undone in this totally unrequested act of forgiveness. In his confusion he looks at the bishop and asks why he is doing this. The bishop responds, "Jean Valjean, my brother, you no longer belong to evil. With this silver, I've bought your soul. I’ve ransomed you from fear and hatred. And now I give you back to God."

In this season of Lent, I have both failed miserably and yet also seen moderate success in my attempts to speak with a good tongue. So much of what I am learning is found not in specific commands but in the everyday language of Jesus as he travels to Jerusalem. Just as Jesus is preparing for the events of the Passion week, I too am preparing. Jesus has taught me the humility and community-creating power of asking questions and being silent, the commonality in which we are to approach our God in prayer, and the freedom found in not boasting. Most of this has been seen in his stories, his parables. These illustrious stories often cause deep reflection and even shock despite their simple garb. One such parable is found in Luke 13:6-9:

Then he told them a story: "A man had an apple tree planted in his front yard. He came to it expecting to find apples, but there weren't any.He said to his gardener, 'What's going on here? For three years now I've come to this tree expecting apples and not one apple have I found. Chop it down! Why waste good ground with it any longer?'"The gardener said, 'Let's give it another year. I'll dig around it and fertilize,and maybe it will produce next year; if it doesn't, then chop it down.'"

Here Jesus is teaching us to not do something. So much of what Jesus commands involves action and this appeals to us, it feeds our sense of control and power, but here Jesus is teaching us that patience and waiting should define our relationships with those who "waste good ground." A recent book has come out by a prominent pastor that before it even reached publication caused some to decry him a heretic and to bid him farewell from the community of God. Yet despite the validity of these claims, Jesus seems to warn against our swift judgments, even against judgments based on years of observance. We are to not be so swift to chop it down, chop him down, chop each other down. The gardener's response "let it be" is the same Greek word Jesus uses when he himself is chopped down and nailed to a cross, "forgive them." Too often in life we desire the role of judge, jury, and even executioner. We leave little room for God, let alone forgiveness. Perhaps we should heed the gardener's advise and give it a year, spread it with manure. It is hard work, undesirable work, but desperately needed work. In the process we cover each other in manure, in forgiveness.

Interestingly enough, in both of these examples, the one being forgiven has done little if nothing at all to deserve it. The tree is barren and, if a tree could be such a thing, unrepentant. Jesus prays for us all as our horrible choices and voices were responsible for his death. It is our very ignorance of our error that gives the cause to Jesus' pronouncement of grace, "forgive them, for they know not what they do."

Perhaps it is not the ones I encounter day-to-day that need forgiveness so much as it is me. I am precise in my judgments on another, quick to tell anyone who will listen of the wrongs I have been wrought. What if I had the audacity, the patience, the grace to keep my mouth shut or better yet, to pronounce forgiveness. What if I was just as quick to tell the listening ear of my forgiveness, not in a boasting way but in a sincere and vulnerable way.

"I forgive you."

And in the midst of these simple words perhaps lives will change. Forgiveness not only frees the offender from the burden of his debt but also the victim from the burden of his own debt, hatred and pain. Forgiveness brings healing in a way no drug could hope to duplicate. Jean Valjean leaves that Bishop's presence a new man, given to God. He changes the lives of those around him sacrificing much for not only the noble but prostitutes and their daughters and ultimately it is his unceasing capacity for grace that breaks the hardest heart of all. Jesus looks out from his bloody brow and whispers a prayer that will and has changed us all. The one who will himself wipe away all of our tears, cries himself not for his pain but for our's. He is ever patient with us and is quick to tell anyone who will listen: "I forgive you, now go and do likewise."

Sounds good to me.

Empty Together

2011-03-26T22:40:00.000-07:00

I wanted to share what my dear friend (and house-mate) Cliff had to share with our local congregation out here in Denver. I resonate with his feeling of emptiness and need for community.

I sat in front of my blank computer screen for about two hours searching myself for something of value to offer. My mind wandered about to other stresses taking place elsewhere in my life. The longer I sat, fewer ideas came to mind. What seemed to be such a simple task slowly became more and more daunting with each scattered thought. Why was it that I couldn’t find something to share with my community? Something encouraging. Something uplifting. Something… spiritual.

I was spiritually dry. I am spiritually dry.

I remember hearing Eugene’s message on hoarding both the good and bad. That I can relate to. Sure there are things in my life taking up my time that aren’t good wholesome things, but most of what I give my time to are good things. They really are. Work, Church, my music, my friends, all quality time well spent. The simple fact is, rarely do I just sit with the Father. Rarely do I spend time sitting in the presence of God soaking him in for all he’s worth.

It was through community, through relationship that I was able to verbally process the stuff in my life and become aware of my spiritual drought. I believe it will only be through community and relationship that I heal. Growing up in the South, attending a Baptist church as all good Southerners do, I’ve never participated in Lent. This being my first Lenten season as a participant, I’m anxious to set out on this journey of rediscovering God. I wouldn’t dare begin this journey alone. Come with me?

Thank God for friends like Cliff how do not remain silent in their struggles but through their honesty offer hope. I think many of us could sign our names to the bottom of this, filling our time with seemingly good things all the while leaving no room for the Good Thing. As I have taken a break from some of the filler this season, God has led me to a place of emptiness, a state of poverty. This is indeed a good thing; Eugen Peterson has this to say, ‎"Only when we stand emptied, stand impoverished before God can we receive what only empty hands can receive."

Abba, lead me and my brother Cliff into this abundant life in you. Lead us not only together but with all your children. Lord, make this world right, starting in my heart. Feed us, forgive us, and keep us safe. Grant us the guts to be empty and to be ok with it all. Be our God and help us to be your people. Amen

Providence in Pavlov's

2011-03-24T19:48:00.000-07:00

Broken glass, spilt beer, and cigarette butts
fill the field of my vision.
My gaze is upon
the tread-upon.

Some may have a lofty eye
yet mine sighs a lonely "why?"

Peering down on the scarred tile
undeserving of even that home.

Lost, dead, blind, alone
these adjectives are mine, I own.
Inadequete, devoid, these words lack the fill,
they lack the fullness of my emptiness, my seal.

How did I ever get so far?
How did I find my home in Pavlovs Bar?

Everywhere I look I see illusion,

my heart overcome with confusion.
Is today tommarow?

Yesteryear now?
Is up down?

Horse cow?

I feel like truth was once a friend of mine.
In the playground of my youth, it's beauty I'd find.
Innocent and alive, no sense of worry,
caught up in an my own life story.

Then...
Providence arrives.
And by Grace alone,
my soul survives.

Sent as an angel with beer in tow,
came and gave ear to my groans of woe.
This word and that word, it really didn't matter,
just a taste of concern, even a smatter.

Okay truth,
here I come.
See ya lies,
I'm done.
Maybe truth is in this bar,
maybe truth is in a home afar.

I partake on my Exodus, seemingly aware that I'm alone,
Yet my flight is guided by the Chief Cornerstone.
Unknowing of my Divine Guide,
until later when I have died.

Amazing Grace how sweet the sound,
I once was lost, but now I'm found.
Melodious, haunting, and yet inviting I find the hymn,
the words come alive as does my heart so dim.

Then my past I must face.
And I feel unworthy of even dirty grace.

Broken

Awoken!

Tear upon tear, wash away each fear,
Grace upon Grace, gives my soul a face.

Words fail me
My God avails me...

Big Shoulders

2011-03-22T21:06:00.000-07:00

What does it mean to grow up? I often ask myself this question. As I probe my heart and mind, to this one word I keep returning: responsibility. As a child I had little responsibility outside of a few chores that I always undertook begrudgingly. Then, if I didn't finish unloading the dishwasher, the worse consequence would be a spanking; now, I don't have anything of which to eat off. When I was a kid, I couldn't wait to grow up because I could do whatever I wanted. Little did I realize the freedom I experienced as a kid would never be matched again. This wasn't a freedom that allowed everything, but a freedom that because I was my parent's responsibility, I had no need to worry and could simply have fun. While I was limited in the available actions, I was limitless in freedom of spirit. Now that I am experimenting with this whole grown-up thing, I realize that while I have limitless options, my responsibilities limit me. I cannot stay up all night because I have to go to work in the morning. I cannot eat lobster everyday because I have to pay rent at the end of the month. Being a grown-up is not quite what I imagined.

Responsibilities are great things, they give us passion, purpose, and direction. But they can also deliver worry and stress. All my life my actions only seemingly affected me, but now there are several people at least partially dependent upon me keeping it together and to be honest, I'm not so sure I'm capable. And yet, I find the courage to get out of bed each day and at least attempt to be productive, to put on a happy face that betrays the heavy-laden condition of my soul. I fear less that I will fail as that I will be found out. And with each day a new role or task or worry or fear adds to the mountain upon my shoulders. How can I hold it all, how can I, of all people, be that strong.

I can't.

What being a grown-up has taught me is that it is about responsibility but not just my own. I share my load with you and you share yours with me. Each of us was meant to carry each other. And above all, I believe, God is there, not to heap more on us, things like shame and guilt, but to carry our burdens. This is perhaps the hardest thing to not only believe but to live. Somehow I make it up in my mind that I have to be perfect, not let God down. But I am reminded that I do not hold Him up but that He holds me up.

Jesus taught His disciples to pray as such: "Father, Reveal who you are. Set the world right. Keep us alive with three square meals. Keep us forgiven with you and forgiving others. Keep us safe from ourselves and the Devil." This is not a prayer that assumes much at all on behalf of the one praying. We see a simple series of commands, not flowery requests but demands. We go bold before the maker of all things and demand that He make this world right, that He feed us, forgive us and protect us. We will settle for nothing less. But core to this is that we need Him at every level and at its most basic. Our lives as grown-ups are not about making sure we take care of our responsibilities, but rather coming to a point where we not only know but live by the truth that we are utterly incapable. It is in this moment of of emptiness that we are filled. It is in this confession that we find strength. When we release our responsibilities to the only one capable of shouldering them, we finally have that same freedom we knew as children, to be free in our souls. And it is in this freedom that we can truly live, that we can truly shoulder the days ahead.

Questions of Silence

2011-03-20T00:03:00.000-07:00

Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt. -Abraham Lincoln

I was born to talk.

My dad, when he had enough of my rambling, would say to me, "you could talk the ears off a brass monkey." I'm not sure I knew exactly what that meant but I knew it was his way of telling me to shut up. I spent so much time in the principal's office for talking in class that the principal from the local high school where my mom taught thought I was the office assistant at the elementary. As I've grown older, I have learned that I am a verbal processor, that I have to talk things out to understand them better. This often looks like a spew of unrelated mutterings and apologizes as I chase rabbits only to realize that everything I was trying to say made no sense at all. See, processing. And yet, it is in the act of speaking that I find myself most fully connected with others and even with God. This deep connection has forced me to contemplate how I use my words, to dig into the meaning and power of speech. One of the scriptures primary lessons on on how to speak is to not do it. The Teacher in Ecclesiastes warns that we are human and thus our words before God must be few. Jesus' brother James also commands us to be slow to utter a word, but instead to speed to listen. Jesus himself warns that merely calling someone a fool can bring fiery judgment upon us. But, as one born to talk, learning to be silent is rather hard.

Jesus showed excellent skill in public speaking. His proclamation of ministry intent at the synagogue, the sermon on the mount, the sermon on the plain, the pronouncement of woes against hypocrisy, and his various parables all exemplify a person who not only had something rather valuable to say but also wielded the power to say it well. Yet there are these times when Jesus is oddly silent, especially before the Sanhedrin. With his life on the line, he offers no great rhetoric to prove his divinity or even his innocence but merely remains silent, save a few choice words. Even though I know the ending, that He must die, I still read that story and just want him to stand up and tell them off, but he remains silent. He had the wisdom to know that no matter what he said, the end would remain the same and so he used his silence as a witness.

But this scenario is not likely for my daily encounters. How did Jesus speak in his day-to-day conversations? One great example is found in Luke 10:

Just then a religion scholar stood up with a question to test Jesus. "Teacher, what do I need to do to get eternal life?

He answered, "What's written in God's Law? How do you interpret it?"

He said, "That you love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and muscle and intelligence-and that you love your neighbor as well as you do yourself."

"Good answer!" said Jesus. "Do it and you'll live."

Looking for a loophole, he asked, "And just how would you define 'neighbor'?"

Jesus answered by telling a story. "There was once a man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. On the way he was attacked by robbers. They took his clothes, beat him up, and went off leaving him half-dead.Luckily, a priest was on his way down the same road, but when he saw him he angled across to the other side.Then a Levite religious man showed up; he also avoided the injured man."A Samaritan traveling the road came on him. When he saw the man's condition, his heart went out to him.He gave him first aid, disinfecting and bandaging his wounds. Then he lifted him onto his donkey, led him to an inn, and made him comfortable.In the morning he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, 'Take good care of him. If it costs any more, put it on my bill-I'll pay you on my way back.'

"What do you think? Which of the three became a neighbor to the man attacked by robbers?"

"The one who treated him kindly," the religion scholar responded. Jesus said, "Go and do the same."

Here we see a conversation dominated by questions. These are not integrating questions but ways of opening up, disarming one another. I recently watched a movie in which a teenage boy and girl try to get to know each other better and they play a game where they can only ask questions. The interesting thing is that it works, the questions spoke of a desire to not promote oneself but to know the other. Jesus here knows that the religious scholar wants to know what he's about and Jesus turns the question right back. Jesus seems less concerned about "preaching" the truth here as he is about connecting with this man. Even though Jesus speaks the most in this encounter, He never makes any commands other than supporting the conclusions the religious leader makes himself. Jesus could have simply explained all this without the use of leading questions and story, but by doing so, He let himself be silent and listened to the answer that was already inside this man, and inside us all.

In our conversations we should be quick to listen and slow to speak. And in so doing we may find less and less need to defend ourselves and our beliefs but to nurture the truth that is already in those around us. And just maybe, the act of listening will nurture the truth within us as well. The religious scholar challenged Jesus to find justification for how he treated his neighbor but in listening to Jesus' story he finds no defense of his definition of who his neighbor is, only a plea to be a neighbor. He finds not the answer to his question but the answer to a much more important one. And perhaps, he finds what he asked about in the beginning, eternal life.

What, I wonder, will we find?

???

2011-03-18T20:26:00.000-07:00

I normally post on Thursday nights, however St. Patrick had other plans. I want to explore the question of, well, questions tomorrow night, but for now here are some of the questions Jesus asks in the Bible:

"Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?"

"Who do you say that I am?"

“What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”

“Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

“You are Israel’s teacher,” said Jesus, “and do you not understand these things?"

Again Jesus said, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

“Will you give me a drink?”

"Why are you troubled, and why do doubts rise in your minds?"

"My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?"

What are some others that have challenged or encouraged you?

Let My Words Be Few

2011-03-15T20:25:00.000-07:00

As I continue to explore and practice a renewed speech ethic this Lenten season, I hope that scripture will guide my path (and my tongue). While I am learning about speech by studying how Jesus spoke, there are places where the scriptures speak directly about a framework that should support the use of our words. Here is a sampling of these that merely refer to the tongue itself.

Keep your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking deceit. Psalm 34:13

Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God, O God of my salvation,and my tongue will sing aloud of your righteousness. Psalm 51:14

The tongue of the righteous is choice silver, Proverbs 10:20

There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts,but the tongue of the wise brings healing. Proverbs 12:18

Death and life are in the power of the tongue,and those who love it will eat its fruits. Proverbs 18:21

If anyone thinks he is religious and does not bridle his tongue but deceives his heart, this person’s religion is worthless. James 1:21

Whoever desires to love life and see good days,let him keep his tongue from evil and his lips from speaking deceit; 1 Peter 3:10

Jesus came, among many reasons, to show us that our words were not the problem but our hearts that produce them. So, perhaps I am a bit misguided in my attempts to tame the tongue, for James says this is impossible. But we must also remember that nothing is impossible with God. Lent is a bit of a quandry when you think about it, we "do good" and "cease bad" so that we may be more like Christ? Is not the heart of the Gospel our utter lack of ability to save ourselves? Yet also in the heart of that same gospel is a plea to be changed. So perhaps the the greatest speech ethic I can learn this season is that of prayer.

My God, take this heart of stone and make it new. I am afraid of the chiseling you must do, but Lord do it please. Teach my heart to give worth to my words. Tame my tongue to not speak folly, lies, slander, and even death, but praise, joy, healing, and especially life. May Your Son, the Word of life give life to my words and defeat death in my heart. Thank you God that you have granted me, a man of unclean lips, the privalage to proclaim that you are holy, holy, holy. Amen

Help, I Need Somebody

2011-03-12T21:58:00.000-08:00

I have been a little under the weather recently and have succumbed to the woe-is-me regiment of sleeping all day, taking drugs, and whining. I, like most men, revert to a two-year old any time my temperature even flirts with triple digits. More than anything, what I desire the most is for someone to take care of me. Michala does an excellent job of this, rubbing my forehead, bringing me blankets, and always offering them with a smile. Sometimes I wonder if I have a secret longing to be sick just so she can fly to the rescue. Even though I feel as if I just got out of the ring with Mike Tyson, everything is OK. Perhaps I am not alone in this longing to be cared for, I can see this desire manifest itself in other places than merely my sickbed. When the responsibilities of being a grown-up pile up and I feel as if I could be destroyed under the pressure of it all, I merely want someone to share my load, to hold me tight and tell me it will be alright. Maybe I am just weak or maybe just honest. Yet it is in the moments where I admit my desperate need for help that I fell the greatest peace, the most acute sense of hope, and a faith that I can make it.

I think that our DNA is wired in such a way that we operate best when we operate together. This game called life is a team sport. Yet we often live in a way that does not showcase this fact, in fact we often live in away that shouts "It is all about me!" We want to be the strongest, the bravest, the smartest and we want to do it alone. But as someone once said, "Its lonely at the top." What if we redefined our ideas of what it means to be fulfilled, successful, or even happy. What if intrinsic to all these was a sense of connectedness, that we need one another. I think we would find ourselves more fulfilled, more successful, and even happier. But beyond this we may just find ourselves.

One of my favorite area of theology is how Orthodox Christianity portrays God, as the three-in-one. Instead of a simple monotheism, we instead have this difficult idea that God is one but also three. I will not risk the cramping of my brain in trying to articulate how all this works, but I will bask in the glory of a God beyond comprehension but also in a God so very accessible. In the beginning, God made everything and it was good, everything except for one thing. Man was alone. I find this to be haunting that God looks around at all He has made is left scratching His head by this one thing. But in His head-scratching, He is teaching us. God made us in His image, in His image of togetherness, in His image of wholeness found only in community. God wrote His unique love in our hearts: we are only complete, only human when we have and love one another. We are most alive when we depend on each other. Jesus would later affirm this idea by stating that the sole purpose of our existence is to love God and man, in no particular order. His friend John would later write that in fact our love of God was so deeply rooted in how we loved one another that we could not claim one love without the other.

This season of Lent, we seek to grow closer to Christ, to share in his sufferings so that we may share in His victory. When we look at the cross, we see how deep Jesus believed in sharing with us the fullness of being alive. He so desperately wanted us to be alive that He died. With one of his final cries he felt the pain of our isolation, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" If we are to share in Christ's sufferings then we must be honest with our isolation; we must admit that we think more highly of ourselves than we ought, that we think we can do this on our own. In this admission, may we begin to share in his victory too. May we find a new life in the death of ourself, a life of togetherness, a life that not only finds peace in another's helping hand, but also finds the courage to give our hands back. May we be a people, plain and simple, truly a people, one although many. And perhaps we will find life there, a life unlike anything we have ever seen or known before.

Communion Prayer

2011-03-10T19:53:00.000-08:00

We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy. Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen. -The Common Book of Prayer