Divine Erasure

Nowhere am I so blank as at my desk of creativity. I sense a sort of divine erasing going on… not the erasure of deity, but the divine erasure of me. Like Thoreau, who once said, “I’ve always wished I was as wise as the day I was born,” I find myself wishing I was as articulate – with age has come my babbling. But something is happening that I recognize, an erasing of sorts. Not that I am left empty or void of all meaningful events in my life prior to now, there is just not as much to say about them as there once was. The memory is still present, the commentary has left me and, therefore, silent is the narration that tells me purpose has filled my life.
It is a struggle, but maybe I detect grace to this quiescence. Perhaps God is quieting me for His purposes. It is expectant, really. Like a blank chalkboard with which the teacher starts class. Prior to beginning he swipes clear the extraneous markings from the day before. (Though all can clearly see the film of yesterday’s notes clinging to the board.) This clarity must – I need it to – bring expectancy for new words, new writings, and markings and scribbles that connect dots for the student and bring sight to deaf ears.
Like my daughter said while randomly strumming a guitar yesterday, “That sounds like a rainbow!” There are those who hear when they see, and there are those who see when they hear. Well, I am quiet. Quiet and blank. So, the board has been swiped clean for a fresh word, lest the board itself be erased, too. What shall He say today?
- Tob Adams

God is not "safe"...

I have the opportunity to teach the writings of CS Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien in a public high school. It has been a fantastic learning experience for me and my students.
As I prepared for the class last year I picked up the Lewis classic The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and poured through it to create discussion questions. Lewis's characterizations of Jesus in parts of this novel struck me in a way they hadn't before.

I still get chills thinking about the dinner conversation at the Beaver's house. Mr. Beaver explained to the children that Aslan is actually a lion, and the sisters Susan and Lucy question the safety of meeting a lion...

"Then he isn't safe?" asked Lucy
"Safe?" said Mr. Beaver..."Who said anything about safe?"
"Course he isn't safe. But he's good."

"Course he isn't safe." Sometimes I wonder where that idea is in my own theology. It seems that we have made our Christianity very safe. Jesus seems to be a safe enough guy. After all, people who follow Jesus are ... well, really nice.

I love taking my boys to the zoo. Our local zoo has nice lions and my crew loves to walk over to see them on every visit. These nice lions seem little like Aslan. They are lethargic, blue, like a Counting Crows tune, and yet, I still imagine them glancing over at me and my family through their sleepy eyes with looks that seem to say, "you know who would be the king if I weren't trapped in here."
I am eternally amazed at their beauty but extremely thankful for the cage, the moat, and everything else that keeps me safe from them - and they are a very far cry from the wild, powerful creatures we see roam and hunt through Africa on the Animal Planet. I can't imagine how it would feel to witness them up-close outside of captivity.

At times I work very hard to pretend the "lion" of the New Testament is more like the one at the zoo - passive and caged.

I know better.

Yes, sometimes it is good for my theology to realize that this Jesus I am always talking about is dangerous.

He can't be placed in a cage safely out of reach, used as a ladder, put in a box, systematized, or chained down with bureaucracy... He is love - wild, ferocious, untamed, unpredictable...

I wonder what would happen to my heart, my worldview, my church, and my family if I ventured close (but not too close) to the "Lion of Judah."

- Matt Litton

God's Timing is Perfect

One of my good friends told me a funny story the other evening. She went to church with her son and his family on Christmas Eve. At their church, communion is a tradition of the holiday. When it came time to take communion, she leaned over to her son and whispered that she was going to take the four- year-old grandson down to the altar with her so he could partake. She assured him that she would explain everything ,so that the little boy would understand.
At the altar they knelt. When served, they both took a portion of wine and bread. My friend explained to the little boy that the bread represented the broken body of Jesus and the wine was just like the blood of Jesus. She instructed him to dip the bread into the wine and eat it. He protested, rather loudly, after cupping his hand over his mouth dramatically, “No, that’s gross. I don’t want to eat that Grammy!”
After returning discreetly to the pew, the whole family proceeded to participate in the candle lighting ceremony. Her son lit his wife’s candle. She lit her son’s. The little boy lit the candle held by his grandmother. As they sang a carol, he whispered, “The water is dripping.” His grandmother admonished him, “That’s not water. It is candle wax. Be careful. If it touches you, it might burn.”Immediately the boy handed his grandmother the dripping candle declaring, “I don’t like the candle or the blood.”
My friend said she became so tickled that she could hardly restrain herself. However, when she regained control, she realized that the young child just wasn’t ready for all of this church symbolism.The meaning was lost on him and probably would be for a couple of more years.
Her story made me think about the many times in my life when I have faced painful situations.Well meaning Christian friends have shared scripture, stories, and personal wisdom with me. Their intentions were honorable. They wanted to help me survive victoriously….to see God’s lesson for me in the experience. I think specifically about the death of my daughter three years ago. So many friends and family have tried to console me, inspire me, and raise me up. I know that they look at me now in my grief and think impatiently, “It should be over, she should be healed, it shouldn't take this long.”
I am not condemning them for their efforts. Truly, they are heroic. But human love involves some impatience because of our preoccupation with time limits. God has taught me much through this experience. But there are lessons yet to be learned, God has given me no deadlines. My friends and family don’t quite understand this. They just want to do whatever they can to stop the hurt and bring healing.
Isn’t this the way it always is with spiritual lessons and growth. We cannot understand why it is taking so long for ourselves or someone else to heal emotionally, to kick a bad habit, or to see the light. We must recognize that God cannot do the work in us until we are ready, and only He knows when that time arrives. His spirit bears witness with ours, and we sometimes inch forward and sometimes leap forward. My friend so wanted her grandson to experience the meaning and joy of communion, but she kindly recognized that he wasn’t there yet. St. Augustine said, “Patience is the companion of wisdom.” For that reason, let us be patient with one another. Let’s not worry over the quick fix. According to the scriptures, “Love is patient…” May we offer our love and compassion to others and ourselves over and over and over again with no limitations or set time table.
- P. Elzey

What does it take to build community?

There is a lot of talk in the circles I run in of what it really means to live "in community" with other Christians. To most people I think community means getting together for Sunday school, maybe having lunch at O'Charleys after church, and sitting in the same pew around the same people on Wednesday nights. There is nothing wrong with all that, but I think community means a bit more - I believe when we begin to wrestle with what it means to live "in community" - we are wrestling with what it would look like to be honest, vulnerable, and transparent with other believers. To be really honest, as much as I hope for that type of community and work towards it - sometimes the idea scares the hell out of me...

The weekend found my wife and I burning the midnight oil with old friends from Nashville, people we have known and loved for over ten years. It was one of those evenings of ageless conversation around the kitchen table where people who have shared the same story can sit and struggle and celebrate and laugh at old jokes, new dreams, who we are, and what we want to become - with a lot of honesty and very little pretense. Everything seemed right and holy from the pints of left-over summer ale, to the laughter of our children playing in the background, to the soundtrack of college favorites smoking like incense into the mood of the room, and the graceful way each of our stories blended to affirm each others subtle transformations - our journeys toward being the people God intended us to be. It was a memorable evening...

And so with that familiar mixture of heart-ache and thankfulness, we saw our friends to the road the next day and began reflecting on the time we had spent with them. There is something powerful about that type of community experience, and it rarely happens in a church setting. We attend a rather large church that is working hard to involve its members in home-based small group meetings, I know it is something that has been a struggle for our pastoral staff. I was fixated on what it would take to experience that depth of community with a small group of people that barely know each other? Can it happen?

The people we worship with are also a part of our story, the greater story that runs timeless and deeper than we can know, one that truly defines us for who we are becoming. I find that the intimate sharing with our old friends comes from a familiarity and trust built by years of knowing - but it pales in comparison to the eternal story that we share with fellow believers. What could happen if through prayer and commitment we allowed those we worshipped with, maybe those we were starting a new small group with, that same level of trust and intimacy? I believe that is the type of transparency the Gospel is calling us to.

My prayer in this struggle to build community, is that the greater story we all share, the one that says, "In the beginning was the Word..." would be the story that draws us together, that gives us the strength to offer, the trust to be honest, the commitment necessary to build lasting community with other believers.
Intentional Christian community begins with intentional transparency.
- Matt Litton

My Thousand Anxious Desires

Somewhere between leading a bible study last night and catching a few minutes of Jay Leno’s bravery in the face of a writer’s strike, Thomas Merton nailed me and my preoccupations in one fell swoop: a “thousand anxious desires” he said. It is the result of a lack of detachment, characteristic of the agitated spirit. “In order to defend ourselves against agitation, we must be detached not only from the immediate results of our work – and this detachment is difficult and rare – but from the whole complex of aims that govern our earthly lives.” When we lack this detachment we succumb to a thousand fears corresponding to our thousand anxious desires.

My agitation – my restless spirit – exudes this angst. “No matter what our aims may be, no matter how spiritual, no matter how intent we think we are upon the glory of God and His Kingdom, greed and passion enter into our work and turn it into agitation as soon as our intention ceases to be pure.” So when I yelled at the children to get in the right building last night prior to our children’s program, my thousand anxious desires revealed a fearful knot. I was as eager to see them leave the church property, as I was to see them enter the sanctuary. “Agitation is the useless and ill-directed action of the body. It expresses the inner confusion of a soul without peace” and it is an enemy of the spirit; the precise opposite the goal of the disciplined life.

I long for this detachment, and in my longing I fear that I will cling to this detachment; hence my wrongful attachments tie me up again. Merton recognizes, “It is just as easy to become attached to an ascetic technique as to anything else under the sun.” (Merton, No Man Is An Island, Dell Publishing Co.: 1955, pp118-120.)

O Lord, in my confession, help me to seek You and Your purposes.

Coupled with the Merton reading my devotion took me to Numbers 18 where God spoke to the Aaronic priests (not to be confused with the Ironic ones…) saying, You will not receive any allotment of land among the Israelites in this claiming of the Promise. You will receive no share. “I am your share and your possession…(v.20).” I have to believe this is more than a pronouncement that their weekly paycheck will come from the tithes and not the marketplace economy. I have to believe there is something deeply reassuring about God’s saturation of the priestly purpose and meaning in life. One so deeply consuming that an entire nation of priests, who fail to identify with Aaron’s financial portion, can affirm together, “He’s all I need.”

How many times have I wished I were a carpenter, or a tradesman? Or have I longed for new areas of study? Or any one other of my thousand anxious desires?

“For you made us for Yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You.” We never stop confessing, do we Augustine…

Experiencing God's Presence

Happy New Year! I hope you have had a good holiday break. It is good to spend time with family and loved ones. My heart is heavy with news reports of folk whose Christmas season has been spoiled by tragedy. One family in Milwaukee lost their 4-year-old son to a fluke accident that involved a toppling television set. The father described his son as full of life and energy. He loved to run and jump, climb and watch cartoons. The description fit my own 4-year-old son.

I don’t know why we have accidents like this. There are so many times when our children fall off a step, or turn chairs over on themselves. We usually rush to the scene to help pick them up, brush them off, kiss their wounds and assure them everything will be fine. I can’t imagine the horror of discovering the incident went the other way – no fixing, no patching up, no shared kisses. How senseless…how pointless…At a time of the year when we are supposed to sit around with one another,watch each other open presents, and spend a whole lot of time just being together, we are reminded how meaningful presence is.

So born out of this holiday of non-productivity is a renewed appreciation for my loved ones; not for their performance in any way, or what they help me to achieve…just the fact that they are gifts from God to grace my life in meaningful ways. God visits us throughout our lives through other people, whether tumbling-tots or affectionate lovers, faithful friends and loyal church family. Many of our own have had troubling holidays. Some have spent their break in the hospital, others experience interior isolation none of us may ever detect.

Here is the Good News: You are not alone. God is among you. Seek Him and enjoy abundant Life.

Blessings,
Pastor Chet

“Let me hear of Your steadfast love in the morning, for in You I put my trust. Teach me the way I should go, for to You I lift up my soul.” {Psalm143:8}