In case any one was wondering, I love what I do. Seriously.
Today, as always, was Mondo-Thursday, a day consisting of over 9 hours of classes, 2 hours of work, and a long day with little opportunity to stop, to rest, to breathe...and to eat. Yet, for some reason, my Thursdays leave me at 9 PM in some sort of weird ecstatic state of utter sufficient joy.
Amazing.
From translating Hesiod to analysis of Priority monist and Assertion to Phenomenology to the genius, and sometimes quasi-insanity, of the Christian philosopher Soren Kierkegaard. I love it.
Is there any greater blessing than fulfilling the person God made you to be? I mean, I'm not saying that for some strange, prodigious reason I have a precise and minute grip on my entire being and I have nothing left in this world via self-reflection to unveil and reveal. But, in the enigma of identity, both the vulgar shallows and the rigorous depths, we are given glimpses in life of our God-created origins which are meant to be our guiding lights on paths less, or not, travelled. Who are we? We attempt our entire lives to figure that out and in the process of that self-discovery we run into gaping potholes which drastically and tragically hinder our voyage.
It's our fallenness. Our depraved human condition. It's this world constantly raped and scorned by the pain and birth pangs of our broken state. It's the holes, the darkness, the inner deeps in our very existence which no drink or drug, no kiss nor knick-knack, no trinket nor trade-off, can ever satisfy such a hole (no matter how hard we try).
Too often we bare witness to broken people. We witness wrecks who hammer and pound a boyfriend, a hobby, mass quantities of hedonism and intellectualism, in order to feel complete, whole, full. In Kierkegaard's Either/Or he presents the disillusioned picture of the Seducer Johannes, who in the seduction of Cordelia, pleasures himself not with the sex, nor the relationship, nor even the social aspect, but in the pure aspect of the chase in the avoidance of the dubious 'sin' of boredom. For the aesthetic, such as the Seducer, boredom is the deepest of flaws, so deep that the aesthetic pleasure and beauty seeker sacrifices history, memory, and even his very identity as a person, for the sake of avoiding feelings of triviality and the impending lack of novelty and excitement. For the Seducer it is better to forget everything, good and bad, pleasurable and uneventful, than to place one's self into the ruts of friendship, marriage, vocation, and structure of the ethical system. Let one's hair into the wind, admit the lack of concrete meaning in life, and, in the quoting of Hesiod's Theogony concerning the artful and pleasurable Muses;
For if someone has pain and newly scorned grief
he would shrivel dry, grievous in the heart, yet the singer,
the servant of the Muses, hymns songs of men of old
and of the blest gods who dwell atop Olympus,
and at once surely the suffering man forgets his anxiety
he does not remember any cares. (Theogony 98-102)
In sum, for the Seducer, the aesthetic, and the average joe and jane seeking to subdue their inner emptiness, the only way to temporarily avoid the pain via one's busyness and interest for the sake of forgetting the grievous hearts that rest there.
We cannot fill these empty chasims on our owns. In fact, though we cannot subdue the entirety of our wounds, we still are persons, children of God, created in His image.
And thus, we are people. Not individuals who self-decide who we are; we are people whose very identities are God created. To fulfil who God created us to be is to find our truest joy, to fit in our skin, to realize that our existence is not one of completion in this world. Our reality is not fulfiled until on that final day we exalt to the uttermost in our Lord and Savior. It is then our natures and truest meaning is made real. We become less spector and more angelic.
I love life. I love knowing I am inching towards the direct center that God is (tho I have far to go)
life is good
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Homecoming Tattoos
Who do we think we are?
Literally.
Our very inner personhood is dramatically masked behind our outer ego. We wear layers of fabric with fancy knick-knacks, brand names, and quasi-art. We place our language ahead of ourselves, verbs and adjectives, nouns and pronouns, articulate jargon and the vulgar tongue of our current period. In front of our language, we allow our feelings and anxieties to march along in proud lines, straight and attentive. Yet, behind it all, we have personhood, who God created us to be. And in the midst of the dark and dreary human condition of spiraling disappointment, despair, and deadly desires of our fallen and crooked world we lose that little piece of us still aligned with our creator. And thus, we hide from our very identity and whisper of it in the shadows, a dream that now seems too good to be true.
In spite of the horrid words we say, the silly and frivolous things we do, and the empty promises we make, there is, and will be, a heaven.
A heaven.
What is heaven? It's where our vulgar and veiling habits pale, they fade, their unreality becomes the shadows and specters that they truly are. And there, finally, we can become real, more real than we were before. Our inability to be as real as him floats away, falls off like scales and dust. We become less of our individuality and more like Christ-followers.
I thought about heaven driving yesterday, a place I've never been and want so dearly to be. How easy it is to be proud of where you want to be, and how hard it is when you're somewhere foreign or hostile to such an idea. Isn't that sad? Here I am, a proud citizen of my Lord and Savior's kingdom, and in the coming of battle or conflict I fade into oblivion our of sheer cowardice and suddenly realize my allegiance was never completely to Him, for I kept a piece of myself behind.
One always must preach with conviction, whether by method of life or by the words we say. It is by the grace and love of God that we carry on, but lest we forget our maker and His lifting of us, we must mark Him upon our hearts, wear Him upon our lips, and tattoo Him upon our very being, a marker of His territory upon our hearts.
I love Him. Just not very well. What a great Father to forgive a chump like me!
Even Elephants Forget
Love you all too! Sleep tite
Literally.
Our very inner personhood is dramatically masked behind our outer ego. We wear layers of fabric with fancy knick-knacks, brand names, and quasi-art. We place our language ahead of ourselves, verbs and adjectives, nouns and pronouns, articulate jargon and the vulgar tongue of our current period. In front of our language, we allow our feelings and anxieties to march along in proud lines, straight and attentive. Yet, behind it all, we have personhood, who God created us to be. And in the midst of the dark and dreary human condition of spiraling disappointment, despair, and deadly desires of our fallen and crooked world we lose that little piece of us still aligned with our creator. And thus, we hide from our very identity and whisper of it in the shadows, a dream that now seems too good to be true.
In spite of the horrid words we say, the silly and frivolous things we do, and the empty promises we make, there is, and will be, a heaven.
A heaven.
What is heaven? It's where our vulgar and veiling habits pale, they fade, their unreality becomes the shadows and specters that they truly are. And there, finally, we can become real, more real than we were before. Our inability to be as real as him floats away, falls off like scales and dust. We become less of our individuality and more like Christ-followers.
I thought about heaven driving yesterday, a place I've never been and want so dearly to be. How easy it is to be proud of where you want to be, and how hard it is when you're somewhere foreign or hostile to such an idea. Isn't that sad? Here I am, a proud citizen of my Lord and Savior's kingdom, and in the coming of battle or conflict I fade into oblivion our of sheer cowardice and suddenly realize my allegiance was never completely to Him, for I kept a piece of myself behind.
One always must preach with conviction, whether by method of life or by the words we say. It is by the grace and love of God that we carry on, but lest we forget our maker and His lifting of us, we must mark Him upon our hearts, wear Him upon our lips, and tattoo Him upon our very being, a marker of His territory upon our hearts.
I love Him. Just not very well. What a great Father to forgive a chump like me!
Even Elephants Forget
Love you all too! Sleep tite
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
A Second Leg
A person close to myself mentioned recently that my last post was...well...a bit harsh lets say. She insinuated that the language was sharp and the message somewhat bitter and brash. For the last couple days I've thought about that, pondered it, prayed about it, and somehow I've actually found the time to respond.
I stand by what I wrote. Completely. However, I stand behind it like a one-legged man stands besides a brick wall...one leggedly. In that sense I feel that my message did not fail, nor state something wrong or heretical (much less utterly honest) rather, it was incomplete, underfed, and...well...
one legged.
We have given ourselves to our idols; daily. Not merely our greed, our lust, and our "college culture morality" but also our facetiousness, our prejudice, and even our sloth. Everyday we succumb to mere animalistic pleasures, to our own poor inclinations, and the easy paths we pave across unstable grounds. The thing is, many of us have given up on our God via our methods and actions and have allowed these 'foreign deities' to become our objects of worship thru unholy sacraments of our many sins and trespasses. Still, I see others, some figments of the media, some close friends, and even the guy writing this garbage.
Yeah, me too.
None of us are acting like grace matters. We cry for comfort and rest, but what we really mean by that is that we want to be sedated, numbed, pumped full of anaesthesia and laughing gas in the fashion of a Houdini. We're Christians, not escapists. For how down-trodden and vapidly wretched this earth is, our catharsis will be (and is) very short lived if we are embracing our very limited (not to mention cheap and powerless) resources of hap and laugh. There's nothing wrong enjoying a beer or two, indulging upon a pizza, or wrapping one's arms around their beloved, but it is when we have exalted these goods to the highest of peaks that we have begun the construction of our own Mt. Olympus and it's precious, but shoddy, Parthenon of knick-knack gods, bubbly and empty-headed nymphs, and angels of dissension and disdain.
And that's why we need grace. That's why grace matters. Until we can accept His hands as our guide, and until we can honestly admit the dirt and filth we have not only swallowed but have considered a feast and have venerated as such, is just what it really is; until then we cannot accept grace whatsoever.
As for grace...what an amazing thing! John 10:10 states that the thief comes only to kill and steal, but that Christ comes that others may have life. That's the thing about these idols we have fallen to venerate; they don't come to us, we must come to them. Christ reverses this, in fact, he comes to us. He knocks at the door and beckons us to answer and let Him in. He asks us to set Him upon our highest place, to offer Him our praise and daily devotion. We cannot serve two masters, we cannot sing two songs, our hearts cannot be aligned to two polar opposites.
And thus we come back to heaven. We come back to the only thing that can truly satisfy our hearts. This is why I miss heaven. I'm sick of screwing up, I'm sick off worshiping mythological gods and goddesses and following their empty rituals. I hate our modern temples of capitalism, ambiguous lust, and empty evenings devoid of moral intentions. That's the other leg of it all.
What a great Savior!
I stand by what I wrote. Completely. However, I stand behind it like a one-legged man stands besides a brick wall...one leggedly. In that sense I feel that my message did not fail, nor state something wrong or heretical (much less utterly honest) rather, it was incomplete, underfed, and...well...
one legged.
We have given ourselves to our idols; daily. Not merely our greed, our lust, and our "college culture morality" but also our facetiousness, our prejudice, and even our sloth. Everyday we succumb to mere animalistic pleasures, to our own poor inclinations, and the easy paths we pave across unstable grounds. The thing is, many of us have given up on our God via our methods and actions and have allowed these 'foreign deities' to become our objects of worship thru unholy sacraments of our many sins and trespasses. Still, I see others, some figments of the media, some close friends, and even the guy writing this garbage.
Yeah, me too.
None of us are acting like grace matters. We cry for comfort and rest, but what we really mean by that is that we want to be sedated, numbed, pumped full of anaesthesia and laughing gas in the fashion of a Houdini. We're Christians, not escapists. For how down-trodden and vapidly wretched this earth is, our catharsis will be (and is) very short lived if we are embracing our very limited (not to mention cheap and powerless) resources of hap and laugh. There's nothing wrong enjoying a beer or two, indulging upon a pizza, or wrapping one's arms around their beloved, but it is when we have exalted these goods to the highest of peaks that we have begun the construction of our own Mt. Olympus and it's precious, but shoddy, Parthenon of knick-knack gods, bubbly and empty-headed nymphs, and angels of dissension and disdain.
And that's why we need grace. That's why grace matters. Until we can accept His hands as our guide, and until we can honestly admit the dirt and filth we have not only swallowed but have considered a feast and have venerated as such, is just what it really is; until then we cannot accept grace whatsoever.
As for grace...what an amazing thing! John 10:10 states that the thief comes only to kill and steal, but that Christ comes that others may have life. That's the thing about these idols we have fallen to venerate; they don't come to us, we must come to them. Christ reverses this, in fact, he comes to us. He knocks at the door and beckons us to answer and let Him in. He asks us to set Him upon our highest place, to offer Him our praise and daily devotion. We cannot serve two masters, we cannot sing two songs, our hearts cannot be aligned to two polar opposites.
And thus we come back to heaven. We come back to the only thing that can truly satisfy our hearts. This is why I miss heaven. I'm sick of screwing up, I'm sick off worshiping mythological gods and goddesses and following their empty rituals. I hate our modern temples of capitalism, ambiguous lust, and empty evenings devoid of moral intentions. That's the other leg of it all.
What a great Savior!
Friday, September 18, 2009
Eatting Our Own Filth
No one drives in construction.
I remember a few years ago, Melissa and I were driving down some back country roads in the Jamestown area. After going to visit a friend's newborn baby boy we said our goodbyes, got in my decrepit yet cozy 1986 duct-tape gray Taurus, and started heading out as the sun set behind the horizon, covering the grassy hills in total darkness. So, I was behind the wheel, talking together, paying little attention where we were actually going, after all, eventually we would find our way out. Suddenly, a road sign, an orange flash, a construction sign. She smiled and reassured me, hey, it's Michigan, they're always filling in a couple potholes, no big deal. As we drove my headlights shook as my tires hit a massive bump, THUD! The pavement road without warning became a vast, indiscernible stretch of mud, stones, and gravel, not an inch of concrete or asphalt in sight.
Not cool.
I leaned over the steering wheel, hunching over it and squinting in a desperate attempt to grasp any apparent obstacles in the road. She stared back at me, stating how bad an idea this was and how she really didn't trust my driving abilities. Confidence builder right there, folks. As she mentioned this as I attempted to shrug off the last remark we watched as a massive concrete pillar passed inches away from the hood of my car. Luckily, in the next mile we eventually got back on solid pavement with very few other close calls.
Next time, it would be wise to pay attention to bright orange signs on a dark, desolate country road. Lesson learned.
But we don't. It's kills me to see people driving into the dark places, all the while ignoring the hunter's orange warning we have in our very midst. Can our hearts and souls truly fly under the banner of His kingdom when our desires and misconceived conceptions of joys have blinded our better judgements to the graces of God.
We have satisfied our lives with the merest and most humble of trinkets and knick-nacks, plastic coins and counterfeits dollars, imitations and illusions. We have offered sacrifices to Bacchus and Aphrodite and have somehow asked their graces to justify the lust and devious lifestyles we choose to live. And we have made it alright, in fact, natural, based upon such a fickle allegiance. And each day we prove it. This world was not created by a loving God, no. We have affirmed time and time again by our midnight festivals of greed and excess and glorious antics that our world belongs to Eros and Dionysus, our actions are mere rituals to our pagan idols, our hearts are corrupted and pump their luxury to feed our longings, and our God is nothing more than a joke or, at best, a brand name of ideology which we have complete choice to remove, to hide, or to completely disown when necessary for our own selfish gain of status, of sex, of solution. We have profaned what is holy, we have taken God gifts and converted them and twisted them into weapons of scorn and disgrace. We live, we die, we hang desperately on every inch of sex, of pleasure, of anything we can certainly get our hands on, or at least envision and dream of such, in that process we have lost our God and when we cry out to him, we have realized the most horrible thing;
We forgot His very name.
I miss heaven. I have never been there, but I dearly miss it right now. I miss the lack of hedonism, I miss the open spaces, I miss the warm hearts and the loving eyes, I miss seeing Christ glow unheeded in every person by their every word and movement. I miss that feeling of waking up after a good night's sleep, feeling the covers wrapped around your legs as they stretch between lays of linen as the sun gently pushes itself through the thin blinds. Poison is flowing as freely as we breath and eat and sleep. We are ingesting our own filth and vermin, swimming in our feces and vomit, with the dreadful lack of realization that we can no longer live in the shadow of probity or morality; we enjoy the dark places better. We enjoy the muck and the grime, it has become our home and soon it comes...yes...that the simple pleasures of the underbelly push aside the grandest heavens and the most joyful promises of salvation, for the wallowing and the eating of trash is suddenly our feast. We have been offered a cash for clunkers deal and have turned it down, foolishly finding sentiment and enjoyment in our old, rusted rigs.
I'm sorry if I step on toes, or if I'm too straight-forward, or too old-fashioned and, dare I say, sectarian here, but here's what is killing me; we have so much need for sex and a drunken night and for lust and supposed love and our greed that we forget to ask the two main questions anyone should ask about any action...how and why is this fulfilling my personhood? Are we truly being fulfilled by such simple, clay vessels? Is this truly the glory of God, the emulation and actualization of such pagan idols we've grown so far of. Can the banner of God fly over such a dump as this?
Grace is prevalent, grace is perfect, grace will never forsake us, never let us down, never let us go. God will ALWAYS be there fore His children, who suffer through hardships, who miss their heavenly homes. Who struggle with numerous sufferings, who fear the possible affects of sickness and affliction, who have lost their income and are desperate to find a way to feed their families. God is there. Grace is there.
Sadly, I have seen the unthinkable. Christians don't want grace. Not the one's I've seen. They want Eros, they want Bacchus, they want wine and folly, sex and sensuality, hedonism and all the pleasure of the world. In the deplorable vulgar terms not uncommon, they want to be touched in everywhich place in the most sacred of ways, they want to be wasted beyond recognition and to wake with fuzzy memories which in some strange metaphysical way means that "joy was in this place". Christianity may be fading in many parts of the modern world, but on the contrary, the Bacchae, the wild priestesses and priests of Dionysus who roamed his realm in drunken rage, devouring raw animal flesh and tearing apart innocent bystanders, it is this cult who is growing and multiplying quite nicely in the bars and clubs across America. The classics departments may be dwindling at universities across the board, yet the pagan gods are living quite well and are as popular as ever if we would only take a second to look. Christians want these gods, non-Christains the same want these gods. These gods are ruling our realm with a satisfying fist, and we suddenly find grace stuffy and prudish, boring and predictable, a concept or fine memory of childish religious lore with no place in our weekends (though church may offer an hour and a half of happy memory).
We don't want grace. Sadly, warning signs are posted, hell is a pillar on a torn road away. If we miss such warning we will awake some morning to find that years of aliengence to the underworld and our pagan gods has suddenly left us in a vapid state, that our hedonism has, rather than fill us, indebted us to our own unquenchable desires, desires which we only meant to be quenched by a heavenly ambrosia straight from Christ Himself. And then, at that moment, our lives will hold no meaning nor point, our faith will be at the last stage of antrophy and we will wish for "the good ol' days" where the cross held meaning, when life seemed purposeful, when community was centered on more than the local drink and love was something found mostly outsides of one's bedroom door. And then, at that moment, we will try to sip from grace and find its taste pungent to our wine-coated lips, and at that moment a hard road awaits, and sadly most will divert, toss their vile of grace, and find their vodka and gin a much more suitable cocktail.
Pity those who miss grace.
If you thirst for something, if you desire for more than evenings of pleasure which ends in empty dreams, then you miss heaven too.
Miss it with me.
I hope to see you on this earth. I hope even more to see you soon in the higher realm.
Love you all
I remember a few years ago, Melissa and I were driving down some back country roads in the Jamestown area. After going to visit a friend's newborn baby boy we said our goodbyes, got in my decrepit yet cozy 1986 duct-tape gray Taurus, and started heading out as the sun set behind the horizon, covering the grassy hills in total darkness. So, I was behind the wheel, talking together, paying little attention where we were actually going, after all, eventually we would find our way out. Suddenly, a road sign, an orange flash, a construction sign. She smiled and reassured me, hey, it's Michigan, they're always filling in a couple potholes, no big deal. As we drove my headlights shook as my tires hit a massive bump, THUD! The pavement road without warning became a vast, indiscernible stretch of mud, stones, and gravel, not an inch of concrete or asphalt in sight.
Not cool.
I leaned over the steering wheel, hunching over it and squinting in a desperate attempt to grasp any apparent obstacles in the road. She stared back at me, stating how bad an idea this was and how she really didn't trust my driving abilities. Confidence builder right there, folks. As she mentioned this as I attempted to shrug off the last remark we watched as a massive concrete pillar passed inches away from the hood of my car. Luckily, in the next mile we eventually got back on solid pavement with very few other close calls.
Next time, it would be wise to pay attention to bright orange signs on a dark, desolate country road. Lesson learned.
But we don't. It's kills me to see people driving into the dark places, all the while ignoring the hunter's orange warning we have in our very midst. Can our hearts and souls truly fly under the banner of His kingdom when our desires and misconceived conceptions of joys have blinded our better judgements to the graces of God.
We have satisfied our lives with the merest and most humble of trinkets and knick-nacks, plastic coins and counterfeits dollars, imitations and illusions. We have offered sacrifices to Bacchus and Aphrodite and have somehow asked their graces to justify the lust and devious lifestyles we choose to live. And we have made it alright, in fact, natural, based upon such a fickle allegiance. And each day we prove it. This world was not created by a loving God, no. We have affirmed time and time again by our midnight festivals of greed and excess and glorious antics that our world belongs to Eros and Dionysus, our actions are mere rituals to our pagan idols, our hearts are corrupted and pump their luxury to feed our longings, and our God is nothing more than a joke or, at best, a brand name of ideology which we have complete choice to remove, to hide, or to completely disown when necessary for our own selfish gain of status, of sex, of solution. We have profaned what is holy, we have taken God gifts and converted them and twisted them into weapons of scorn and disgrace. We live, we die, we hang desperately on every inch of sex, of pleasure, of anything we can certainly get our hands on, or at least envision and dream of such, in that process we have lost our God and when we cry out to him, we have realized the most horrible thing;
We forgot His very name.
I miss heaven. I have never been there, but I dearly miss it right now. I miss the lack of hedonism, I miss the open spaces, I miss the warm hearts and the loving eyes, I miss seeing Christ glow unheeded in every person by their every word and movement. I miss that feeling of waking up after a good night's sleep, feeling the covers wrapped around your legs as they stretch between lays of linen as the sun gently pushes itself through the thin blinds. Poison is flowing as freely as we breath and eat and sleep. We are ingesting our own filth and vermin, swimming in our feces and vomit, with the dreadful lack of realization that we can no longer live in the shadow of probity or morality; we enjoy the dark places better. We enjoy the muck and the grime, it has become our home and soon it comes...yes...that the simple pleasures of the underbelly push aside the grandest heavens and the most joyful promises of salvation, for the wallowing and the eating of trash is suddenly our feast. We have been offered a cash for clunkers deal and have turned it down, foolishly finding sentiment and enjoyment in our old, rusted rigs.
I'm sorry if I step on toes, or if I'm too straight-forward, or too old-fashioned and, dare I say, sectarian here, but here's what is killing me; we have so much need for sex and a drunken night and for lust and supposed love and our greed that we forget to ask the two main questions anyone should ask about any action...how and why is this fulfilling my personhood? Are we truly being fulfilled by such simple, clay vessels? Is this truly the glory of God, the emulation and actualization of such pagan idols we've grown so far of. Can the banner of God fly over such a dump as this?
Grace is prevalent, grace is perfect, grace will never forsake us, never let us down, never let us go. God will ALWAYS be there fore His children, who suffer through hardships, who miss their heavenly homes. Who struggle with numerous sufferings, who fear the possible affects of sickness and affliction, who have lost their income and are desperate to find a way to feed their families. God is there. Grace is there.
Sadly, I have seen the unthinkable. Christians don't want grace. Not the one's I've seen. They want Eros, they want Bacchus, they want wine and folly, sex and sensuality, hedonism and all the pleasure of the world. In the deplorable vulgar terms not uncommon, they want to be touched in everywhich place in the most sacred of ways, they want to be wasted beyond recognition and to wake with fuzzy memories which in some strange metaphysical way means that "joy was in this place". Christianity may be fading in many parts of the modern world, but on the contrary, the Bacchae, the wild priestesses and priests of Dionysus who roamed his realm in drunken rage, devouring raw animal flesh and tearing apart innocent bystanders, it is this cult who is growing and multiplying quite nicely in the bars and clubs across America. The classics departments may be dwindling at universities across the board, yet the pagan gods are living quite well and are as popular as ever if we would only take a second to look. Christians want these gods, non-Christains the same want these gods. These gods are ruling our realm with a satisfying fist, and we suddenly find grace stuffy and prudish, boring and predictable, a concept or fine memory of childish religious lore with no place in our weekends (though church may offer an hour and a half of happy memory).
We don't want grace. Sadly, warning signs are posted, hell is a pillar on a torn road away. If we miss such warning we will awake some morning to find that years of aliengence to the underworld and our pagan gods has suddenly left us in a vapid state, that our hedonism has, rather than fill us, indebted us to our own unquenchable desires, desires which we only meant to be quenched by a heavenly ambrosia straight from Christ Himself. And then, at that moment, our lives will hold no meaning nor point, our faith will be at the last stage of antrophy and we will wish for "the good ol' days" where the cross held meaning, when life seemed purposeful, when community was centered on more than the local drink and love was something found mostly outsides of one's bedroom door. And then, at that moment, we will try to sip from grace and find its taste pungent to our wine-coated lips, and at that moment a hard road awaits, and sadly most will divert, toss their vile of grace, and find their vodka and gin a much more suitable cocktail.
Pity those who miss grace.
If you thirst for something, if you desire for more than evenings of pleasure which ends in empty dreams, then you miss heaven too.
Miss it with me.
I hope to see you on this earth. I hope even more to see you soon in the higher realm.
Love you all
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
In the Midst of Distraction
It's been a while...time flies when you're supposedly busy.
Christians are irking. Christians are easily distracted. It's no wonder the greater mass of philosophers have often looked at Christianity as a quasi-political, financial, or ignoramus social-structure whose assertion of power is only overshadowed by their ungrace and disgrace of those "sinners" who are so "different" from themselves. Sadly, there is a horrible and tradgic correlation often between one's adjective of Christianity and one's dilusion of purpose within the life of being a genuine, faith-driven Christ-follower. How easy it is to, despite our obvious commitment to adhere to God's Will and Word, to blind ourselves with self-agendas while we slowly alienate ourselves from the path Christ has called for us. In this way, we've become idol-worshipers whose concern is political and cultural (not that these do not have purpose) rather than primarily as a loyal citizen of God's kingdom. For example, abortion is never explicitly mentioned in the entire Bible yet often it becomes a halmark issue for the Christian community, we cry out "murder, murder" and create sarcastic phrases such as "How would you feel if you were aborted?" and such which only further divided the undecided and lost, the pregenant prostitute and the raped teenager. Yet, in the midst of such protest and petition, enraged speech and outright condemnation, have we yet realized that one of the most spoken topics in the entire Bible is in fact the horrors of the sin of greed? Yet, how often are we as Christians so happy to scream out the wrongs of abortion while our bank accounts are full and soon emptied on our own selfish desires rather than the world's suffering?
Here's the deal. We've destracted ourselves, we've let ourselves become totally blinded by our idealogies and have forgotten that our love and proclomation of the gospel, the "good news" (euangellos), is first and foremost concern in our lives rather than creating an earthly kingdom where we can remain comfortable. We are supposed to be proclaiming our savior in our schools, our jobs, our homes, and on our way throughout the world, as St. Francis says using words if our actions through our faith fail utterly. We are to proclaim. As Barth says in his Church Dogmatics;
"If the social work of the Church as such were to try to be proclamation, it could only become propaganda, and not very worthy propaganda at that. Genuine Christian love must always start back at the thought of pretending to proclamation of the love of Christ with it's only too human action." Church Dogmatics; Vol. 1, Sec. 3, pg. 50
Our social activism is meaningful and important, but in the midst of our political and cultural action, we cannot ignore the importance of our calling to truly bring Christ to the alienated and isolated. We cannot as Christ-followers continue to concern ourselves with our self-will and self-proclamation of our greatness and ideals while the gospel and love of Christ remains a dormant object, a resounding gong.
It doesn't matter what it is, if it is of this earth it is mere noise and racket unless such action proclames revelation to God and His perfect will. We have spent too much time complaining about political oppression, cultural shock, and even the supposed falling-short of our fellow Christians. In fact, we could fill sermon after sermon criticizing each other and our fallenness, and I am sure we would never come close to running out of material! But, is that what it means to be a Christ-follower? To proclaim something or someone other than Christ, His will, love, and work in us? Take a second. Think about it. In the midst of conforming to our Savior, we have tripped up again and in this way we have gone from abundance to decay and are now just realizing something is wrong with Christianity, and believe me, removing our educators, petitioning our government, or hiding our blasphemous greed is mere idolitry of this world rather than dedication to our Lord and Savior.
We must proclaim with our lives and our mouth first and foremost. Live your agendas and self-issues at the door. The truest servent of their Savior will let His Source flow living water through him or her rather than their own brilliance, arrogance, or proclamations.
Devote yourself to Him, He won't let you down.
Christians are irking. Christians are easily distracted. It's no wonder the greater mass of philosophers have often looked at Christianity as a quasi-political, financial, or ignoramus social-structure whose assertion of power is only overshadowed by their ungrace and disgrace of those "sinners" who are so "different" from themselves. Sadly, there is a horrible and tradgic correlation often between one's adjective of Christianity and one's dilusion of purpose within the life of being a genuine, faith-driven Christ-follower. How easy it is to, despite our obvious commitment to adhere to God's Will and Word, to blind ourselves with self-agendas while we slowly alienate ourselves from the path Christ has called for us. In this way, we've become idol-worshipers whose concern is political and cultural (not that these do not have purpose) rather than primarily as a loyal citizen of God's kingdom. For example, abortion is never explicitly mentioned in the entire Bible yet often it becomes a halmark issue for the Christian community, we cry out "murder, murder" and create sarcastic phrases such as "How would you feel if you were aborted?" and such which only further divided the undecided and lost, the pregenant prostitute and the raped teenager. Yet, in the midst of such protest and petition, enraged speech and outright condemnation, have we yet realized that one of the most spoken topics in the entire Bible is in fact the horrors of the sin of greed? Yet, how often are we as Christians so happy to scream out the wrongs of abortion while our bank accounts are full and soon emptied on our own selfish desires rather than the world's suffering?
Here's the deal. We've destracted ourselves, we've let ourselves become totally blinded by our idealogies and have forgotten that our love and proclomation of the gospel, the "good news" (euangellos), is first and foremost concern in our lives rather than creating an earthly kingdom where we can remain comfortable. We are supposed to be proclaiming our savior in our schools, our jobs, our homes, and on our way throughout the world, as St. Francis says using words if our actions through our faith fail utterly. We are to proclaim. As Barth says in his Church Dogmatics;
"If the social work of the Church as such were to try to be proclamation, it could only become propaganda, and not very worthy propaganda at that. Genuine Christian love must always start back at the thought of pretending to proclamation of the love of Christ with it's only too human action." Church Dogmatics; Vol. 1, Sec. 3, pg. 50
Our social activism is meaningful and important, but in the midst of our political and cultural action, we cannot ignore the importance of our calling to truly bring Christ to the alienated and isolated. We cannot as Christ-followers continue to concern ourselves with our self-will and self-proclamation of our greatness and ideals while the gospel and love of Christ remains a dormant object, a resounding gong.
It doesn't matter what it is, if it is of this earth it is mere noise and racket unless such action proclames revelation to God and His perfect will. We have spent too much time complaining about political oppression, cultural shock, and even the supposed falling-short of our fellow Christians. In fact, we could fill sermon after sermon criticizing each other and our fallenness, and I am sure we would never come close to running out of material! But, is that what it means to be a Christ-follower? To proclaim something or someone other than Christ, His will, love, and work in us? Take a second. Think about it. In the midst of conforming to our Savior, we have tripped up again and in this way we have gone from abundance to decay and are now just realizing something is wrong with Christianity, and believe me, removing our educators, petitioning our government, or hiding our blasphemous greed is mere idolitry of this world rather than dedication to our Lord and Savior.
We must proclaim with our lives and our mouth first and foremost. Live your agendas and self-issues at the door. The truest servent of their Savior will let His Source flow living water through him or her rather than their own brilliance, arrogance, or proclamations.
Devote yourself to Him, He won't let you down.
Friday, August 14, 2009
A Right to speak, A Right to life; A Right to take and a Right to Strife
"The teaching of the sermon on the mount is not 'Do your Duty' but is, in effect, "Do what is NOT your duty.' It is not your duty to go the second miles, or to turn the other cheek, but Jesus said that if we are His disciples, we will always do these things. We will not say 'oh well, I just can't do anymore, and I've been so misrepresented and misunderstood.' Everytime I insist on having my OWN rights, I hurt the Son of God, while in fact I can prevent Jesus from being hurt if I will take the blow myself.
That is the real meaning of filling 'up in my flesh what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ...' (Colossians 1:24). A disciple realizes that it is his or her Lord's honor that is at stake in his life, NOT his or her OWN honor." -Oswald Chambers My Utmost for His Highest July 14
One thing I have seen this summer is this; people always have rights (or at least think they do). People have come into to our church wishing to work their right to be married, and then their right to be married in THIS church at THIS time in THIS building. We have a right to life, liberty, and happiness. A right to buy our own cars and houses, to listen to our favorite bands and read any book we desire. We believe there is a right to free speech, to bearing arms, and to having individual opinions and beliefs. Some want more rights; the right to marry anyone of any gender, the right to abort their unborn children, the right to research stem cells or to have universal health care. And so we argue these rights, we debate on Capitol Hill, we fight and say why or why not something is right, wrong, or just plain gray. And in the end, if we are truly followers of Jesus Christ we need to affirm one thing, and one things only.
We have no rights.
Our rights are merely us emphasising us. It is a necessity in government to have rights in order to keep the weakerthans from complete and utter oppression, but in the end what is our right as a Christian? Are we not slaves and servants to our Savior rather than our own self-serving rights? We live in a society of hierarchies and principalities. We go to our city councils who adhere to our state governments, who adhere to our Capitol and we can keep going higher and higher but in the end, who is allegiance really to? America? Grand Rapids? Our family name or favorite sports team? No. It's to Him, Christ.
People presuppose their rights. In fact, it is one of the greatest duties of the church to break down such a misconceptions that we have such rights. People come to church, stating they have rights. A right not to tithe due to their lack of possessions. A right not to sing due to their right to have their praise music as they like it. A right to treat one's body as one's will desires, that gluttony of food and drink, drug and sex, lust and greed, is merely archaic law killing our joy and natural inclination towards enjoyment. A right to be angry at one's friends, parents, and brother because of their hurtful words, their malicious treatment, and their inability to look past our skin and bones to who we really are.
Is it no wonder that Christ asked that before we come to him in prayer, that we go forgive anyone whom has sinned against us before going to Him (Mark 11:25)? As Christ-Followers, NEVER did he make it a requirement that we turn our cheek to others, rather, He simply says that those who truly follow and have faith in Him will naturally, though maybe unwillingly, will do so. They will conform to the will of Christ rather than one's self right to be angry at their brother, sister, or friend. The Christian at his or her perfected state admits no rights to themselves or anything else; their possessions, friends, loves, and life are His, the world and all that is in it. This world is on-loan and until the Christian can accept this, they will only consistently and persistently break the heart of their Savior by asserting their rights and ownership over what is not theirs. We, in the process of placing our name and title upon our possessions, our friends, our family, our bodies, and our feelings of anger and pain, merely ignore the Creator of all while idolizing and worshiping the paintings and charcoal sketches of our Lord. Creation, gift that it be, is by no means the one who created it. A creation is to be marvelled, but it is it's Creator that we must love. To state that we have rights to anything in their cosmic piece of art is little else than to anchor ourselves in an imperfect world when what Christ called us to all along was to throw off our fetters and bonds of right and privilege in order to allow our wings to stretch and our hearts to soar to the one who calls them.
As C.S. Lewis writes "When God arrives (and only then) that the half-gods can remain" (The Four Loves) It is only when we accept that our rights to indignation and sympathy our meaningless that we can, for the first time, throw caution to the wind and allow the Spirit of God to come inside our torn and wretched bodies and hearts. And it is in that moment that we can truly accept that our lives and all that is in them is not a right fulfilled, but a gift given. And it is when we accept that this gift; a life we are not worthy of, colours and sounds fit for a king, and loved ones irreplaceable, that we can finally accept the gift of grace; Divine Love.
It is by this Divine Love that "...in man and woman, enables them to love what is naturally unlovable; lepers, criminals, enemies, morons, the sulky, the superior, and the sneering." (The Four Loves). Our only right in this world is a right to rebel, to be an individual, to sin and err and spew fallacy and hurt. Christianity is not a right, it is a sacrifice of worship holy and pleasing to our Lord (Romans 12:1-2), it is stating we are not our own but belong every inch and hair to our Savior, that we burn and refine away all that is not Him in order that what little remains is pure and perfect reflection of Him.
Have we let our own honor and individuality and rights to privilege come in our way on the path towards our utmost conformity to Christ? Are we drowning in pools of self-pity and remorse in aquatic pits and tanks we constructed around ourselves? Are we so busy screaming to the world that our rights and feeling have been hurt that we cannot hear the whispers of Christ desiring us to let go of such rights and control, that we can, in fact, be free from such petty and ugly bickering and hate?
Someday, when we pass from this earth, we will face those who we quarrelled with, bickered with, accepted tremendous and grievous hurt from, and in that Heavenly realm it will not be our store of bitter and snarky statements that we will remember, no, it will be our love that will be remembered. Even the greatest of enemies of war come to realize in the Heavenly Realms that their right to war and anger carries very little weight in a world where such hate and indignation is nothing more than the waste and feces of our new bodies.
It's all about grace. What is grace? It is that we have no outstanding right to.
Forgive your brother
Forgive your sister
Forgive your friends, your ex's, your deepest and darkest nemesis
Forgive yourself.
And give up your rights. Love. Simple as that.
Yet so hard...
Take care you all...will be home soon!!
That is the real meaning of filling 'up in my flesh what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ...' (Colossians 1:24). A disciple realizes that it is his or her Lord's honor that is at stake in his life, NOT his or her OWN honor." -Oswald Chambers My Utmost for His Highest July 14
One thing I have seen this summer is this; people always have rights (or at least think they do). People have come into to our church wishing to work their right to be married, and then their right to be married in THIS church at THIS time in THIS building. We have a right to life, liberty, and happiness. A right to buy our own cars and houses, to listen to our favorite bands and read any book we desire. We believe there is a right to free speech, to bearing arms, and to having individual opinions and beliefs. Some want more rights; the right to marry anyone of any gender, the right to abort their unborn children, the right to research stem cells or to have universal health care. And so we argue these rights, we debate on Capitol Hill, we fight and say why or why not something is right, wrong, or just plain gray. And in the end, if we are truly followers of Jesus Christ we need to affirm one thing, and one things only.
We have no rights.
Our rights are merely us emphasising us. It is a necessity in government to have rights in order to keep the weakerthans from complete and utter oppression, but in the end what is our right as a Christian? Are we not slaves and servants to our Savior rather than our own self-serving rights? We live in a society of hierarchies and principalities. We go to our city councils who adhere to our state governments, who adhere to our Capitol and we can keep going higher and higher but in the end, who is allegiance really to? America? Grand Rapids? Our family name or favorite sports team? No. It's to Him, Christ.
People presuppose their rights. In fact, it is one of the greatest duties of the church to break down such a misconceptions that we have such rights. People come to church, stating they have rights. A right not to tithe due to their lack of possessions. A right not to sing due to their right to have their praise music as they like it. A right to treat one's body as one's will desires, that gluttony of food and drink, drug and sex, lust and greed, is merely archaic law killing our joy and natural inclination towards enjoyment. A right to be angry at one's friends, parents, and brother because of their hurtful words, their malicious treatment, and their inability to look past our skin and bones to who we really are.
Is it no wonder that Christ asked that before we come to him in prayer, that we go forgive anyone whom has sinned against us before going to Him (Mark 11:25)? As Christ-Followers, NEVER did he make it a requirement that we turn our cheek to others, rather, He simply says that those who truly follow and have faith in Him will naturally, though maybe unwillingly, will do so. They will conform to the will of Christ rather than one's self right to be angry at their brother, sister, or friend. The Christian at his or her perfected state admits no rights to themselves or anything else; their possessions, friends, loves, and life are His, the world and all that is in it. This world is on-loan and until the Christian can accept this, they will only consistently and persistently break the heart of their Savior by asserting their rights and ownership over what is not theirs. We, in the process of placing our name and title upon our possessions, our friends, our family, our bodies, and our feelings of anger and pain, merely ignore the Creator of all while idolizing and worshiping the paintings and charcoal sketches of our Lord. Creation, gift that it be, is by no means the one who created it. A creation is to be marvelled, but it is it's Creator that we must love. To state that we have rights to anything in their cosmic piece of art is little else than to anchor ourselves in an imperfect world when what Christ called us to all along was to throw off our fetters and bonds of right and privilege in order to allow our wings to stretch and our hearts to soar to the one who calls them.
As C.S. Lewis writes "When God arrives (and only then) that the half-gods can remain" (The Four Loves) It is only when we accept that our rights to indignation and sympathy our meaningless that we can, for the first time, throw caution to the wind and allow the Spirit of God to come inside our torn and wretched bodies and hearts. And it is in that moment that we can truly accept that our lives and all that is in them is not a right fulfilled, but a gift given. And it is when we accept that this gift; a life we are not worthy of, colours and sounds fit for a king, and loved ones irreplaceable, that we can finally accept the gift of grace; Divine Love.
It is by this Divine Love that "...in man and woman, enables them to love what is naturally unlovable; lepers, criminals, enemies, morons, the sulky, the superior, and the sneering." (The Four Loves). Our only right in this world is a right to rebel, to be an individual, to sin and err and spew fallacy and hurt. Christianity is not a right, it is a sacrifice of worship holy and pleasing to our Lord (Romans 12:1-2), it is stating we are not our own but belong every inch and hair to our Savior, that we burn and refine away all that is not Him in order that what little remains is pure and perfect reflection of Him.
Have we let our own honor and individuality and rights to privilege come in our way on the path towards our utmost conformity to Christ? Are we drowning in pools of self-pity and remorse in aquatic pits and tanks we constructed around ourselves? Are we so busy screaming to the world that our rights and feeling have been hurt that we cannot hear the whispers of Christ desiring us to let go of such rights and control, that we can, in fact, be free from such petty and ugly bickering and hate?
Someday, when we pass from this earth, we will face those who we quarrelled with, bickered with, accepted tremendous and grievous hurt from, and in that Heavenly realm it will not be our store of bitter and snarky statements that we will remember, no, it will be our love that will be remembered. Even the greatest of enemies of war come to realize in the Heavenly Realms that their right to war and anger carries very little weight in a world where such hate and indignation is nothing more than the waste and feces of our new bodies.
It's all about grace. What is grace? It is that we have no outstanding right to.
Forgive your brother
Forgive your sister
Forgive your friends, your ex's, your deepest and darkest nemesis
Forgive yourself.
And give up your rights. Love. Simple as that.
Yet so hard...
Take care you all...will be home soon!!
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
A Quiet Tuesday
"Another Tuesday morning...
The usual, morning staff morning, prayer, reviewing new bulletin designs and so on and so forth. By now it's almost 11:30 and very little constructive work got done. Then again, what can you expect, after all, I have three and a half work days left here. All I could ever have asked for in a summer has been fulfilled. Any ministry experience I could ever need has been offered and has been treasured and pondered. Not to mention that at this point of the year we are at that standstill, the calm before the storm, the days between the end of summer and the beginning of the fall semester of the local schools. For a brief period our church is quiet. The halls are silent. Tom is off in Columbia for the day with his family, Lynda is with hers. Cliff is in his office as is Tricia. The only noises from my office? John's carpet cleaner is in the sanctuary and The Doors are playing off my computer speakers (I Can't See Your Face in My Mind to be exact off their "Strange Days" album...great song). Weird. So busy for so long, a summer of activity upon activity and then...
silence.
The music stops. Album over. Better find something to listen to...something more upbeat, acoustic, folksy...the Good Old War, that's what I want...yeah. "I'm going to Coney Island to have myself a dog, and reminisce how i still hate it here. It's all these people with their Cotton Candy eyes, it's so sweet now put the train in gear." Funny, I don't hate it here...I love it here in fact, I enjoy it to the very utmost. I love the people, their sincerity and honesty. It is too easy to talk with "Cotton Candy" eyes, offering sweets instead of substance, fluff instead of stuff, a muffled "fine" rather than a heavy sigh. I love the beach; the many late afternoon runs to the beach, walking across the silky yet sturdy sand during low tide while splashing along the shore during the high tide..."
Sorry, I was just interrupted. A church member looking for John, he commented on how he enjoyed my sermon Sunday, how comfortable I seemed and how it should reach to a younger generation. This summer Hana and I have talked often on the horrid task of accepting compliments, it's hard to say the least. After all, all we as Christians can desire it to be merely vessels...we call this humility. Yet, are we sufficiently accepting God's grace and glory when we constantly, without thought, divert positive re-enforcement and thanks from those around us towards Him without mention of ourselves? Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that Blake Jurgens deserves endless praise and worship...but aren't the Blake Jurgens, the Hana Smiths, the Nick Baas and Brandon Haans, the Nate Doors and the John Debraskys, the AJs, Jennas, and all those others, aren't they, body and soul, created to glorify their creator though their freedom to worship thru their abilities and talents? That's hard, to affirm God's grace while accepting the praise of our humanity; a much harder task to maintain God's work, our humility as vessels, and our autonomy as His creation. Does our conformity to Christ allow emphasis on our gifts and our role in His redemptive purposes? Can a child accept thanks for His father's work? Maybe our feeble scribbles and scratches are worth more than we realize, and just maybe, perhaps, our work in this world is more than just acting as a mere puppet, but rather a child, watching his or her ma or pa, picking up bit by bit the trade they passed onto them.
Back to typing. I like that here. Easy-going, patient, agendas and calenders are suggestion or emphasised suggestion, but never a solid, concrete barrier or restriction. It's Christ-like. After all, Jesus NEVER emphasised that his schedule was too busy to love, to full to heal, to complicated and exhausting to teach. Though he was always on His way to Jerusalem, He always watched the side of the road, searching for those who needed His love for no other reason than He loved them first. What if we, as Christians, put away our agenda and conceptions of our lives for just a few seconds and allowed ourselves to envision to roadsides, the leper colonies, the empty and distraught places and the driest of deserts. Is it too much to ask that Christianity be a religion based on relationship-spontaneity? That we, as Christians, throw aside our schedules and pick up our hearts out of our bags as we pull off our bluetooth headsets and turn our phones to vibrate. Is it possible that we have been sucked into the world and in the midst of worrying about adapting to a sick and depraved culture, worrying about music with naughty words and bad movies, political images and all that such, that we have become like the world in the sense that we are little more than consumers consuming rather than reformers always reforming? That we are, in the midst of the morning commute, the afternoon business meetings, and our social conformity, that we have become exactly what Christ warned us not to become, even as we, with near-unnecessary fervor, protest abortion, perverted sexuality, and other 'hot topics'?
I spilled melted butter on my pants this morning; slid right off my bagel. Drat. I tried warm water and no difference. The Lemon Pledge looked promising...and it was. The stains are gone. How simple it is to wash stains away when you use the right tools.
Is Christianity washing away the stains of Christ? Do we go through life not noticing that the very stains that set us free from bondage to sin are now the very stains we are trying to wash away? Humanity is wounded, imperfect, fallen. It is there, in those empty rotting wounds that Christ fits the best, He fills such space and will further when we close our eyes the final time. Why then are we trying to cover these wounds up with bandage and attempt limping through life screaming out in our pain "I'm fine, I swear!" Can it be true that to be most Christ-like is to be most-broken and ravaged with sin? Can being in conformity with Christ mean such freedom? We all want to be free; free from discrimination, free from laws and decrees, and often we say we want freedom from sin. We want freedom, or so we think...yet, when Christ offers such deep freedom we deny it. We never truly want such freedom, we do not care to be open with our deepest wounds and sin, and in that quick moment of isolation and individuality we instantly hide ourselves from His light, and we shackle ourselves.
Christians want freedom. Any Christian who asks for such freedom needs to know that this freedom is the hardest freedom you will ever have. It will force you to admit your stumbles, it will push you towards choices you would never care to make, it kick you to be open even in the most uncomfortable situations. This freedom will force you to share your home with the inhospitable, to hug those you could care less to hug, to forgive over and over for the same mistakes, and to admit the gaping holes within our cavities and hidden places to complete strangers. Did not Jesus, in his freedom, seek not a political kingdom, nor a society of monks, or even an army of hardened soldiers and dry and cracking hearts. No, in His freedom he marched towards a cross and the scorn of humanity. He disappointed men! He took dreams and visions of a political and religious Messiah and dashed them and did what a rebel and revolutionary should never do; he let himself be killed a sinner's death. In His freedom he allowed himself to be chained to the sufferings of the world and in that act he most freely loved us. Our freedom in Christ is only fulfilled when we chain ourselves to such acts of love, giving ourselves and our wounds in order to assist His lost children, wandering and searching for a place to call home.
Ok, time for lunch. Hopefully a run later on. Thanks for stopping by"
God is love.
Therefore, we must be so too.
Pray.
The usual, morning staff morning, prayer, reviewing new bulletin designs and so on and so forth. By now it's almost 11:30 and very little constructive work got done. Then again, what can you expect, after all, I have three and a half work days left here. All I could ever have asked for in a summer has been fulfilled. Any ministry experience I could ever need has been offered and has been treasured and pondered. Not to mention that at this point of the year we are at that standstill, the calm before the storm, the days between the end of summer and the beginning of the fall semester of the local schools. For a brief period our church is quiet. The halls are silent. Tom is off in Columbia for the day with his family, Lynda is with hers. Cliff is in his office as is Tricia. The only noises from my office? John's carpet cleaner is in the sanctuary and The Doors are playing off my computer speakers (I Can't See Your Face in My Mind to be exact off their "Strange Days" album...great song). Weird. So busy for so long, a summer of activity upon activity and then...
silence.
The music stops. Album over. Better find something to listen to...something more upbeat, acoustic, folksy...the Good Old War, that's what I want...yeah. "I'm going to Coney Island to have myself a dog, and reminisce how i still hate it here. It's all these people with their Cotton Candy eyes, it's so sweet now put the train in gear." Funny, I don't hate it here...I love it here in fact, I enjoy it to the very utmost. I love the people, their sincerity and honesty. It is too easy to talk with "Cotton Candy" eyes, offering sweets instead of substance, fluff instead of stuff, a muffled "fine" rather than a heavy sigh. I love the beach; the many late afternoon runs to the beach, walking across the silky yet sturdy sand during low tide while splashing along the shore during the high tide..."
Sorry, I was just interrupted. A church member looking for John, he commented on how he enjoyed my sermon Sunday, how comfortable I seemed and how it should reach to a younger generation. This summer Hana and I have talked often on the horrid task of accepting compliments, it's hard to say the least. After all, all we as Christians can desire it to be merely vessels...we call this humility. Yet, are we sufficiently accepting God's grace and glory when we constantly, without thought, divert positive re-enforcement and thanks from those around us towards Him without mention of ourselves? Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that Blake Jurgens deserves endless praise and worship...but aren't the Blake Jurgens, the Hana Smiths, the Nick Baas and Brandon Haans, the Nate Doors and the John Debraskys, the AJs, Jennas, and all those others, aren't they, body and soul, created to glorify their creator though their freedom to worship thru their abilities and talents? That's hard, to affirm God's grace while accepting the praise of our humanity; a much harder task to maintain God's work, our humility as vessels, and our autonomy as His creation. Does our conformity to Christ allow emphasis on our gifts and our role in His redemptive purposes? Can a child accept thanks for His father's work? Maybe our feeble scribbles and scratches are worth more than we realize, and just maybe, perhaps, our work in this world is more than just acting as a mere puppet, but rather a child, watching his or her ma or pa, picking up bit by bit the trade they passed onto them.
Back to typing. I like that here. Easy-going, patient, agendas and calenders are suggestion or emphasised suggestion, but never a solid, concrete barrier or restriction. It's Christ-like. After all, Jesus NEVER emphasised that his schedule was too busy to love, to full to heal, to complicated and exhausting to teach. Though he was always on His way to Jerusalem, He always watched the side of the road, searching for those who needed His love for no other reason than He loved them first. What if we, as Christians, put away our agenda and conceptions of our lives for just a few seconds and allowed ourselves to envision to roadsides, the leper colonies, the empty and distraught places and the driest of deserts. Is it too much to ask that Christianity be a religion based on relationship-spontaneity? That we, as Christians, throw aside our schedules and pick up our hearts out of our bags as we pull off our bluetooth headsets and turn our phones to vibrate. Is it possible that we have been sucked into the world and in the midst of worrying about adapting to a sick and depraved culture, worrying about music with naughty words and bad movies, political images and all that such, that we have become like the world in the sense that we are little more than consumers consuming rather than reformers always reforming? That we are, in the midst of the morning commute, the afternoon business meetings, and our social conformity, that we have become exactly what Christ warned us not to become, even as we, with near-unnecessary fervor, protest abortion, perverted sexuality, and other 'hot topics'?
I spilled melted butter on my pants this morning; slid right off my bagel. Drat. I tried warm water and no difference. The Lemon Pledge looked promising...and it was. The stains are gone. How simple it is to wash stains away when you use the right tools.
Is Christianity washing away the stains of Christ? Do we go through life not noticing that the very stains that set us free from bondage to sin are now the very stains we are trying to wash away? Humanity is wounded, imperfect, fallen. It is there, in those empty rotting wounds that Christ fits the best, He fills such space and will further when we close our eyes the final time. Why then are we trying to cover these wounds up with bandage and attempt limping through life screaming out in our pain "I'm fine, I swear!" Can it be true that to be most Christ-like is to be most-broken and ravaged with sin? Can being in conformity with Christ mean such freedom? We all want to be free; free from discrimination, free from laws and decrees, and often we say we want freedom from sin. We want freedom, or so we think...yet, when Christ offers such deep freedom we deny it. We never truly want such freedom, we do not care to be open with our deepest wounds and sin, and in that quick moment of isolation and individuality we instantly hide ourselves from His light, and we shackle ourselves.
Christians want freedom. Any Christian who asks for such freedom needs to know that this freedom is the hardest freedom you will ever have. It will force you to admit your stumbles, it will push you towards choices you would never care to make, it kick you to be open even in the most uncomfortable situations. This freedom will force you to share your home with the inhospitable, to hug those you could care less to hug, to forgive over and over for the same mistakes, and to admit the gaping holes within our cavities and hidden places to complete strangers. Did not Jesus, in his freedom, seek not a political kingdom, nor a society of monks, or even an army of hardened soldiers and dry and cracking hearts. No, in His freedom he marched towards a cross and the scorn of humanity. He disappointed men! He took dreams and visions of a political and religious Messiah and dashed them and did what a rebel and revolutionary should never do; he let himself be killed a sinner's death. In His freedom he allowed himself to be chained to the sufferings of the world and in that act he most freely loved us. Our freedom in Christ is only fulfilled when we chain ourselves to such acts of love, giving ourselves and our wounds in order to assist His lost children, wandering and searching for a place to call home.
Ok, time for lunch. Hopefully a run later on. Thanks for stopping by"
God is love.
Therefore, we must be so too.
Pray.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Sunday Morning...
Finished my first big-people church sermon 35 minutes ago.
Round 2 coming in about 11 minutes.
God's grace is good.
Powerpoint and headset microphones not so much : )
But God's grace is still king...hands down.
God is good. Life is good. I am SO lucky to be me. My prayer is this;
May God continue to make me more a person
less an individual.
May I preach with conviction
speak with hope
and radiate with love.
May His plan be set first
and may my shortcomings pale in comparison to His greatness.
May my successes lift His kingdom up
and may even my failures draw His kingdom closer.
Amen
Round 2 coming in about 11 minutes.
God's grace is good.
Powerpoint and headset microphones not so much : )
But God's grace is still king...hands down.
God is good. Life is good. I am SO lucky to be me. My prayer is this;
May God continue to make me more a person
less an individual.
May I preach with conviction
speak with hope
and radiate with love.
May His plan be set first
and may my shortcomings pale in comparison to His greatness.
May my successes lift His kingdom up
and may even my failures draw His kingdom closer.
Amen
Friday, August 7, 2009
Stirrups
Little things matter, a lot.
I think it was C.S. Lewis who said that minute and miniature actions of grace are not merely added together, rather they multiply exponentially.
So often we're worrying about the big things. We wish so dearly to do the big things well, to the very edge of perfection. Yet, when it comes to the tiny things, the behind-the-scenes moments, the dirty jobs, the non-recognized acts of service, we often seem to...well...drag our feet. It's been really easy to take care of the big things here at Grace. Really easy. Sure, there's a lot of work involved in planning and teaching a small group leadership class, organizing and leading worship for Sunday morning, or carefully exegeting and artfully crafting the words of a sermon. They're work, don't get me wrong, but it's illustrious work, important work.
Big people work.
But what about the little things? What about changing the rolls of toilet paper in the bathroom stalls? How about changing church banners or moving a shed? What about taking 10 minutes from a semi-busy afternoon to talk to a group of pre-teen boys?
Our economy of actions is of this kingdom. However, our currency and credit of action is severely distorted when it comes to the truest picture of the near-infinite universe of possibility and action. Have you ever thought about how even the smallest change in history could have dire consequences today? Take this for example; what is the greatest and most influential invention in the history of man...the light bulb?...the telephone?...how about anesthetic?
Try stirrups.
In the 11th century William the Conqueror had invaded England, fighting in a war that seemed a lost cause at best. After all, his troops were outnumbered almost 3 to 1, the terrain was vast and left his men exhausted from travel, and to make it worse they were on an island with no easy access to new supplies. Watching the fighting from a distance, he noticed that his men were often falling off their horses from the sheer jarring of hurled rocks and banging swords. That night in the camp, he called together some of his military strategists and had them construct a harness place across the horse with some sort of attachment device in order to anchor one's feet into their horse. And so, the stirrup was created.
Big deal.
Well, it was this new ability to stay on their horses that changed the tides of war. William's forces were victorious and subdued the native people. From there, they began inhabiting the island soon to be called England. It was there that William began the building of an empire which soon grew to prevalent force in the centuries to follow. It was this nation that eventually went to colonize a new world across the ocean. A land we call America. What does this mean?
The narrative known as world history was changed by stirrups.
Little things matter. How will it change us someday to look around heaven and see the janitors and carpenters, the bus drivers and fishermen, the stay-at-home moms and garbage men, who will be wearing the brightest of crowns. Their work may have seemed small, insignificant, pointless...but how little actions have changed the world!!! Even the simplist of bathroom cleaners may be the vessel of grace who has brought thousands to Christ.
And we call preaching and worship leading ministry!!!
You're important. What you do matters.
Especially if it is not you, but Christ within you.
Home in 11 days. : ) hope to see you soon!
I think it was C.S. Lewis who said that minute and miniature actions of grace are not merely added together, rather they multiply exponentially.
So often we're worrying about the big things. We wish so dearly to do the big things well, to the very edge of perfection. Yet, when it comes to the tiny things, the behind-the-scenes moments, the dirty jobs, the non-recognized acts of service, we often seem to...well...drag our feet. It's been really easy to take care of the big things here at Grace. Really easy. Sure, there's a lot of work involved in planning and teaching a small group leadership class, organizing and leading worship for Sunday morning, or carefully exegeting and artfully crafting the words of a sermon. They're work, don't get me wrong, but it's illustrious work, important work.
Big people work.
But what about the little things? What about changing the rolls of toilet paper in the bathroom stalls? How about changing church banners or moving a shed? What about taking 10 minutes from a semi-busy afternoon to talk to a group of pre-teen boys?
Our economy of actions is of this kingdom. However, our currency and credit of action is severely distorted when it comes to the truest picture of the near-infinite universe of possibility and action. Have you ever thought about how even the smallest change in history could have dire consequences today? Take this for example; what is the greatest and most influential invention in the history of man...the light bulb?...the telephone?...how about anesthetic?
Try stirrups.
In the 11th century William the Conqueror had invaded England, fighting in a war that seemed a lost cause at best. After all, his troops were outnumbered almost 3 to 1, the terrain was vast and left his men exhausted from travel, and to make it worse they were on an island with no easy access to new supplies. Watching the fighting from a distance, he noticed that his men were often falling off their horses from the sheer jarring of hurled rocks and banging swords. That night in the camp, he called together some of his military strategists and had them construct a harness place across the horse with some sort of attachment device in order to anchor one's feet into their horse. And so, the stirrup was created.
Big deal.
Well, it was this new ability to stay on their horses that changed the tides of war. William's forces were victorious and subdued the native people. From there, they began inhabiting the island soon to be called England. It was there that William began the building of an empire which soon grew to prevalent force in the centuries to follow. It was this nation that eventually went to colonize a new world across the ocean. A land we call America. What does this mean?
The narrative known as world history was changed by stirrups.
Little things matter. How will it change us someday to look around heaven and see the janitors and carpenters, the bus drivers and fishermen, the stay-at-home moms and garbage men, who will be wearing the brightest of crowns. Their work may have seemed small, insignificant, pointless...but how little actions have changed the world!!! Even the simplist of bathroom cleaners may be the vessel of grace who has brought thousands to Christ.
And we call preaching and worship leading ministry!!!
You're important. What you do matters.
Especially if it is not you, but Christ within you.
Home in 11 days. : ) hope to see you soon!
Monday, August 3, 2009
Touching
Last night I was at a young adult Bible study, talking about Jesus and his interaction with a leper. Here's a man; an outcast, ostracized from society due to his wretched condition, a man who had little contact with his loved ones, in fact, the only people lepers talked with were really other lepers. So what does Jesus do. He doesn't just heal him, no, he goes beyond that, way beyond that.
He loves him.
He extends his hands and touches him (Mark 1:41) and feels compassion for the man. The Greek word is splagchnizomai literally means 'to have one's intestine's wrung / twisted'. You see, ancient anatomy concluded that the center of one's empathetic feelings was in their intestines and lower organs. It makes sense, after all, whenever we feel utter sorrow or sympathy for someone a heavy weight seems to press upon our chest, jerking our insides around (a broken heart, so to say.)
Jesus didn't just heal as a publicity stunt. He didn't visit the sick, the lame, the depressed and the isolated merely to satisfy some superiority complex or to prove something to anyone. If anything, Christ did not come to make himself something exquisite or admirable; He came to make himself nothing, taking on not simply the appearance but the form of a slave (Philippians 2:6-9). Not only that, he touches the man. Jesus touches him. Have you ever just needed to be touched? To be hugged, to have your back scratched or your hand held? To have your arm squeezed or your cheek kissed? For years this leper had been avoided, isolated, and pushed to the very outskirts of society. To be touched and to desire to be touched is to be human. Anyone doctor or nurse can prescribe pills, treatments, or surgeries for aches, pains, and illnesses. But in the midst of the medical miracles of our current age, we've ignored what it really means to heal, to cleanse, to care with genuine sincerity.
We need to touch people. We need to be wrung with compassion. We need to love them.
I've been here in Hilton Head eight weeks and it's been an amazing 8 weeks. To summarize it all with a list of pragmatic and concrete activities I've participated would be looking past what I was supposed to be learning; how to touch, how to love. What is love?
-Love is a 48 year old man driving 9 hours to labor his entire weekend around a run down house fixing toilets and sinks and other odds and ends, and then driving 9 hours back...for his ex-wife.
-Love is a woman known for her quick-temper and indignant attitude who, in the midst of caring for her 94 year old bed-ridden mother for the last two years, has discovered a patience and Christ-like heart that she had been searching for the last 30 years.
-Love is a college graduate who, instead of teaching in a cushy public or Christian high school here, takes a drastic pay cut in order to spend the year in Jordan teaching missionary kids, spending 8 months away from her family, friends, and loved ones...and she leaves again Monday for another year!
-Love is a community who, in the death of one of their patriarchs, comes together to love a family grieving.
-Love is man who teaches financial security to people in a hurting economy...and not only that practices what he preaches; trading utter wealth in order to better offer what has been given to him back to his Lord and Savior.
What does our society need? It needs touchers. It needs lovers. We can always find another doctor, another chef, another airline pilot, novelist, or musical stand-out (much less another pastor!). It needs professional, full-time lovers who go the extra mile through thick and thin, storm and sleet, tragedy and lack of comfort, in order to be Jesus to those who need him.
The truth is this; Our hearts are dried-up yards covered in crab grass and dandelions well past decay. We are soiled in filth and decorated in the rusted toys and cracked ornaments of our yesteryears. We are dry, decrepit, lifeless. We have histories, we have wretched pasts, we have unkempt bushes and overgrown trees. We are in a terrible state and in no way are the gardens of paradise our Creator has intended us to be. But rain comes and the sun rises as the clouds roll away; our Heavenly Father nourishes us to be fertile and green, lush and crisp, the smell of violets and orchids floating across our multitude of dark green blades. The question is this; have we opened our newly cleansed and redeemed hearts for the lonesome children of this world to have sanctuary for play or have we locked the gate and placed our "Do Not Walk On The Grass" signs across the perimeter to protect our precious resource? Are we keeping up our gardens for mere appearance or will we, dare I say it, allow our lawns to be ravaged by any heavy soul who dares to come in? Do we dare allow our gates to be open? Do we dare risk loving only to watch our gardens becomes battlefields of utter suffering and distruction? Is not a garden meant to be enjoyed, a flower to be smelled, and patches of cool grass to be lain upon?
Let others in. Let others rest in your love, regardless of the danger they may bring with them.
A garden is meant to be enjoyed. A heart is meant to be used and used frequently.
Touch someone unlovable today, for we may be the ones who are hard to love.
God loves us. How can we not be joyful?
He loves him.
He extends his hands and touches him (Mark 1:41) and feels compassion for the man. The Greek word is splagchnizomai literally means 'to have one's intestine's wrung / twisted'. You see, ancient anatomy concluded that the center of one's empathetic feelings was in their intestines and lower organs. It makes sense, after all, whenever we feel utter sorrow or sympathy for someone a heavy weight seems to press upon our chest, jerking our insides around (a broken heart, so to say.)
Jesus didn't just heal as a publicity stunt. He didn't visit the sick, the lame, the depressed and the isolated merely to satisfy some superiority complex or to prove something to anyone. If anything, Christ did not come to make himself something exquisite or admirable; He came to make himself nothing, taking on not simply the appearance but the form of a slave (Philippians 2:6-9). Not only that, he touches the man. Jesus touches him. Have you ever just needed to be touched? To be hugged, to have your back scratched or your hand held? To have your arm squeezed or your cheek kissed? For years this leper had been avoided, isolated, and pushed to the very outskirts of society. To be touched and to desire to be touched is to be human. Anyone doctor or nurse can prescribe pills, treatments, or surgeries for aches, pains, and illnesses. But in the midst of the medical miracles of our current age, we've ignored what it really means to heal, to cleanse, to care with genuine sincerity.
We need to touch people. We need to be wrung with compassion. We need to love them.
I've been here in Hilton Head eight weeks and it's been an amazing 8 weeks. To summarize it all with a list of pragmatic and concrete activities I've participated would be looking past what I was supposed to be learning; how to touch, how to love. What is love?
-Love is a 48 year old man driving 9 hours to labor his entire weekend around a run down house fixing toilets and sinks and other odds and ends, and then driving 9 hours back...for his ex-wife.
-Love is a woman known for her quick-temper and indignant attitude who, in the midst of caring for her 94 year old bed-ridden mother for the last two years, has discovered a patience and Christ-like heart that she had been searching for the last 30 years.
-Love is a college graduate who, instead of teaching in a cushy public or Christian high school here, takes a drastic pay cut in order to spend the year in Jordan teaching missionary kids, spending 8 months away from her family, friends, and loved ones...and she leaves again Monday for another year!
-Love is a community who, in the death of one of their patriarchs, comes together to love a family grieving.
-Love is man who teaches financial security to people in a hurting economy...and not only that practices what he preaches; trading utter wealth in order to better offer what has been given to him back to his Lord and Savior.
What does our society need? It needs touchers. It needs lovers. We can always find another doctor, another chef, another airline pilot, novelist, or musical stand-out (much less another pastor!). It needs professional, full-time lovers who go the extra mile through thick and thin, storm and sleet, tragedy and lack of comfort, in order to be Jesus to those who need him.
The truth is this; Our hearts are dried-up yards covered in crab grass and dandelions well past decay. We are soiled in filth and decorated in the rusted toys and cracked ornaments of our yesteryears. We are dry, decrepit, lifeless. We have histories, we have wretched pasts, we have unkempt bushes and overgrown trees. We are in a terrible state and in no way are the gardens of paradise our Creator has intended us to be. But rain comes and the sun rises as the clouds roll away; our Heavenly Father nourishes us to be fertile and green, lush and crisp, the smell of violets and orchids floating across our multitude of dark green blades. The question is this; have we opened our newly cleansed and redeemed hearts for the lonesome children of this world to have sanctuary for play or have we locked the gate and placed our "Do Not Walk On The Grass" signs across the perimeter to protect our precious resource? Are we keeping up our gardens for mere appearance or will we, dare I say it, allow our lawns to be ravaged by any heavy soul who dares to come in? Do we dare allow our gates to be open? Do we dare risk loving only to watch our gardens becomes battlefields of utter suffering and distruction? Is not a garden meant to be enjoyed, a flower to be smelled, and patches of cool grass to be lain upon?
Let others in. Let others rest in your love, regardless of the danger they may bring with them.
A garden is meant to be enjoyed. A heart is meant to be used and used frequently.
Touch someone unlovable today, for we may be the ones who are hard to love.
God loves us. How can we not be joyful?
Thursday, July 30, 2009
It's the end of the world as we know it...
Eschatology.
For those of you who could care less about Greek-based theological terms, eschatology is the study of the end times, the final days on this earth, often specifically concerned with the Book of Revelation in the Bible.
What has been quite interesting here in Hilton Head, SC is that many of the people here take the book quite literally, expecting rapture and tribulation, the beast and the four apocalyptic horsemen, the 1,000 year reign of Christ on the earth and the rule of a certain anti-Christ.
Me? Not so much. Jesus said that the day of His return will come "...as a thief in the night..." and I put my trust in that. Who am I? I'm student at a Christian college with a very limited epistemological perspective of this world.
In short, I don't know a lot about a lot. This included.
Many a conversation has been held in my office (of all places) between people talking about how it would stink to be on a plane during the rapture, or how they've visited the hill where Jesus left and where he will return again, or how reading Revelation it is very clear that we are in the last few years, that soon and very soon the world will fade into oblivion with those under the wing of Christ whisked away to heaven.
There sits me, quiet. The last thing I want to do is to get into a heated argument over the meaning of Revelation, the literary and generic aspect of Scripture, and the entire inerrant / infallibility fiasco argument. If there's one thing I learned in life, sometime you avoid the argument until you cannot any longer, after all, there's no point of arguing with anyone if you're doing it merely to prove your correctness and another's fault. Rather, to argue means that such a subject means so much to me that I wish dearly for the others to see where I come from and even more dearly, I wish them to accept what I say.
That's easier said than done. Righteous indignation is not fought without difficulty.
Lately I've been reading Richard Hays Moral Vision of the New Testament and, as I've said before, it amazes me how deeply the return of Christ drastically affected the authors of the New Testament. Mark felt the coming was soon, and his gospel reflected that, whereas Matthew was admitting not to know such an hour. Paul's eschatology was much different in his first letters than his last letters and John passionately preached hope to those being persecuted and discriminated, stating that when Christ returns all will be made better.
Whether you're Paul, Mark, Pastor Roy or Blake Jurgens this matters. After all, this is the end of this world as we know it (and I feel fine) we're talking about, regardless of whether we may have very dogmatic views or just eager expectation of the coming of Christ, whether we are looking towards tomorrow, next week, next year, or two thousand years from now.
I want Jesus. I need Him. The thing is let us not forget in the midst of our planning for the future that He is here, working about us. How awesome is that?!? That the Creator of the universe works in us, us of all people! He works in rough and gruff construction workers, in sleepy hotel managers, grumpy mechanics, and even in silly psychologists and philosophers...every day!!! And our response?
We're working towards his kingdom. Til then, we are pilgrims on a journey, travelers on the road, and merchants without a place to rest their heads. Our work? To bring the love of Christ to those here, to be His hands and His feet.
My fellow believers. In this way, we are as close to heaven on earth that this planet will get until He comes again? How cool is that? That we of all people are the ropes and chains which are, inch by inch, slowly pulling heaven down here to this earth. Sure, we are frayed ropes, cracked chains, and our strength is insufficient on it's own terms, but when we are enforced with His spirit, we becomes strong. Two ropes are not easily broken, three not easily snapped, and a multitude unbreakable as long as they are weaved together by their heavenly Father. Heaven is coming, someday...just don't ask me when...but it comes. Be excited!!!
Even if there's no rapture...sorry premillennialist folks!
Love u all.
Staying busy, pray often.
Blake
For those of you who could care less about Greek-based theological terms, eschatology is the study of the end times, the final days on this earth, often specifically concerned with the Book of Revelation in the Bible.
What has been quite interesting here in Hilton Head, SC is that many of the people here take the book quite literally, expecting rapture and tribulation, the beast and the four apocalyptic horsemen, the 1,000 year reign of Christ on the earth and the rule of a certain anti-Christ.
Me? Not so much. Jesus said that the day of His return will come "...as a thief in the night..." and I put my trust in that. Who am I? I'm student at a Christian college with a very limited epistemological perspective of this world.
In short, I don't know a lot about a lot. This included.
Many a conversation has been held in my office (of all places) between people talking about how it would stink to be on a plane during the rapture, or how they've visited the hill where Jesus left and where he will return again, or how reading Revelation it is very clear that we are in the last few years, that soon and very soon the world will fade into oblivion with those under the wing of Christ whisked away to heaven.
There sits me, quiet. The last thing I want to do is to get into a heated argument over the meaning of Revelation, the literary and generic aspect of Scripture, and the entire inerrant / infallibility fiasco argument. If there's one thing I learned in life, sometime you avoid the argument until you cannot any longer, after all, there's no point of arguing with anyone if you're doing it merely to prove your correctness and another's fault. Rather, to argue means that such a subject means so much to me that I wish dearly for the others to see where I come from and even more dearly, I wish them to accept what I say.
That's easier said than done. Righteous indignation is not fought without difficulty.
Lately I've been reading Richard Hays Moral Vision of the New Testament and, as I've said before, it amazes me how deeply the return of Christ drastically affected the authors of the New Testament. Mark felt the coming was soon, and his gospel reflected that, whereas Matthew was admitting not to know such an hour. Paul's eschatology was much different in his first letters than his last letters and John passionately preached hope to those being persecuted and discriminated, stating that when Christ returns all will be made better.
Whether you're Paul, Mark, Pastor Roy or Blake Jurgens this matters. After all, this is the end of this world as we know it (and I feel fine) we're talking about, regardless of whether we may have very dogmatic views or just eager expectation of the coming of Christ, whether we are looking towards tomorrow, next week, next year, or two thousand years from now.
I want Jesus. I need Him. The thing is let us not forget in the midst of our planning for the future that He is here, working about us. How awesome is that?!? That the Creator of the universe works in us, us of all people! He works in rough and gruff construction workers, in sleepy hotel managers, grumpy mechanics, and even in silly psychologists and philosophers...every day!!! And our response?
We're working towards his kingdom. Til then, we are pilgrims on a journey, travelers on the road, and merchants without a place to rest their heads. Our work? To bring the love of Christ to those here, to be His hands and His feet.
My fellow believers. In this way, we are as close to heaven on earth that this planet will get until He comes again? How cool is that? That we of all people are the ropes and chains which are, inch by inch, slowly pulling heaven down here to this earth. Sure, we are frayed ropes, cracked chains, and our strength is insufficient on it's own terms, but when we are enforced with His spirit, we becomes strong. Two ropes are not easily broken, three not easily snapped, and a multitude unbreakable as long as they are weaved together by their heavenly Father. Heaven is coming, someday...just don't ask me when...but it comes. Be excited!!!
Even if there's no rapture...sorry premillennialist folks!
Love u all.
Staying busy, pray often.
Blake
Friday, July 24, 2009
A Few of My Favorite Things . . .
After reading Brandon Haan's list of his current favorites, I realized that I as well have things that are my favorites currently (some people too). God blesses us in many different ways...so here how I've been blessed lately (some big profound ways...some not so profound...)
1) Michael Trent; He's the lead singer / guitarist of one of my favorite bands The Films. Well, lately I treated myself to his self-titled solo album and his alt-country album he put out with Cary Ann Hearst titled Shovels and Rope. Utterly Amazing! He has this ability to put into simple words humorous and heart-breaking stories. Earlier this summer The Films put out their new album Oh, Scorpio which began to show a new side to the band, a more folk / country tinged side, which was, as usual for the band, simple yet intricately creative and enjoyable. Need I say more, buy these three albums...they are all extremely different and yet carry a consistent, lyrically and melodically thrilling theme.
2) Richard Hays' book The Moral Vision of the New Testament. I never truly realized how varying the gospel and epistle writers differed on their comprehensive ethical visions until reading this book. Hays, a professor at Duke Divinity, spent the last 10 years on and off trying to synthesize all these accounts into one ethical philosophy that can, in one way or another, overlap each and every books ethical themes and views. It has been eyeopening, enlightening, and insightful. Who knew how deep eschatology affected the 1st century Christian ethical system, or how many apparent paradoxes exist in the moral vision of the New Testament. If you like a lengthy book that subscribes to detail and you enjoy a book that is a bit eggheaded pick it up, give it a read.
3) The beach; after all, I'm here in South Carolina for only 3 and 1/2 more weeks...one thing I will miss when I leave is my after-work runs to the beach. 2 miles there, 2 miles back, and nice quite time in between. The sea air, the soft sand, the cooling summer sun behind me, what an awesome world we live in!
4) Selfless people; when you work in a community like Grace, you begin to see how selfless some people are. The thing is you have to look really hard to find such people. for such people often are so selfless they try not to bring such attention to themselves. I've tried to emulate that, to be more Christ-like and realize the suffering servent mindset that Henri Nouwen talked so much about during our Fellow's reading of The Wounded Healer. Whether this selflessness means taking a back seat on a project, sacrificing study time for a much-needed talk, or to spend a beautiful afternoon visiting the old, the grouchy, and the sick, it is refreshing and beautiful and an honor to witness such serventhood.
5) My family; they're up for the weekend. Good times ahead.
6) Housemates...even tho I haven't seen them in a while it's something to look forward to. I love my house, 7 guys under one roof, 6 of them decent charecters...and then there's Tim Slager (just kidding...sort of). The senior year of college will be odd, much more odd than leaving high school, so I can't wait to once again reside at the Beltline Manor, playing Super Smash Bros on the N64, watching Saturday morning TV, and trying not to be too mean to Branden.
7) My sexy friend Nate Door coming to end my trip...road trip back to MI.
8) The book of Matthew...I've been working through sections of the Beatitudes and other portions of the book, digging deep into comentaries and translating the Greek...between that and Hays Moral Vision... I've really been blessed in learning a lot...not just in experiance this summer, preforming baptisms in the ocean, offering communion to the elderly, leading worship, or much more, but also in the knowledge I've been graced with...tho it still amazes me how God can shove what I need to know in when I need to know it (i've got a lot more to learn still)
9) Chamber's My Utmost for His Highest; Hana and I have been diving into this during out nightly talks. It has been great to have one-on-one discussion from two people who can see things so differently with Christ at the forefront. She has enlightened me and I sure hope I've done the same for her! Everyone needs someone to confide in, to trust, to tell the stupid and mundane to over and over again...and I'm glad I got her!
10) Life; it is a joy to be alive. Happiness is founded upon hap, chance, luck. Joy never ceases, it does not fade, it is God smiling upon us and us responding by putting him first. Rejoice in the Lord always and again I say, rejoice! Grace Community has been 7 weeks of joy and truly God has given me such a gift to be here. I hope you all know how much i appreciate being here.
And I appreciate you
you all are my favorites.
Blake
1) Michael Trent; He's the lead singer / guitarist of one of my favorite bands The Films. Well, lately I treated myself to his self-titled solo album and his alt-country album he put out with Cary Ann Hearst titled Shovels and Rope. Utterly Amazing! He has this ability to put into simple words humorous and heart-breaking stories. Earlier this summer The Films put out their new album Oh, Scorpio which began to show a new side to the band, a more folk / country tinged side, which was, as usual for the band, simple yet intricately creative and enjoyable. Need I say more, buy these three albums...they are all extremely different and yet carry a consistent, lyrically and melodically thrilling theme.
2) Richard Hays' book The Moral Vision of the New Testament. I never truly realized how varying the gospel and epistle writers differed on their comprehensive ethical visions until reading this book. Hays, a professor at Duke Divinity, spent the last 10 years on and off trying to synthesize all these accounts into one ethical philosophy that can, in one way or another, overlap each and every books ethical themes and views. It has been eyeopening, enlightening, and insightful. Who knew how deep eschatology affected the 1st century Christian ethical system, or how many apparent paradoxes exist in the moral vision of the New Testament. If you like a lengthy book that subscribes to detail and you enjoy a book that is a bit eggheaded pick it up, give it a read.
3) The beach; after all, I'm here in South Carolina for only 3 and 1/2 more weeks...one thing I will miss when I leave is my after-work runs to the beach. 2 miles there, 2 miles back, and nice quite time in between. The sea air, the soft sand, the cooling summer sun behind me, what an awesome world we live in!
4) Selfless people; when you work in a community like Grace, you begin to see how selfless some people are. The thing is you have to look really hard to find such people. for such people often are so selfless they try not to bring such attention to themselves. I've tried to emulate that, to be more Christ-like and realize the suffering servent mindset that Henri Nouwen talked so much about during our Fellow's reading of The Wounded Healer. Whether this selflessness means taking a back seat on a project, sacrificing study time for a much-needed talk, or to spend a beautiful afternoon visiting the old, the grouchy, and the sick, it is refreshing and beautiful and an honor to witness such serventhood.
5) My family; they're up for the weekend. Good times ahead.
6) Housemates...even tho I haven't seen them in a while it's something to look forward to. I love my house, 7 guys under one roof, 6 of them decent charecters...and then there's Tim Slager (just kidding...sort of). The senior year of college will be odd, much more odd than leaving high school, so I can't wait to once again reside at the Beltline Manor, playing Super Smash Bros on the N64, watching Saturday morning TV, and trying not to be too mean to Branden.
7) My sexy friend Nate Door coming to end my trip...road trip back to MI.
8) The book of Matthew...I've been working through sections of the Beatitudes and other portions of the book, digging deep into comentaries and translating the Greek...between that and Hays Moral Vision... I've really been blessed in learning a lot...not just in experiance this summer, preforming baptisms in the ocean, offering communion to the elderly, leading worship, or much more, but also in the knowledge I've been graced with...tho it still amazes me how God can shove what I need to know in when I need to know it (i've got a lot more to learn still)
9) Chamber's My Utmost for His Highest; Hana and I have been diving into this during out nightly talks. It has been great to have one-on-one discussion from two people who can see things so differently with Christ at the forefront. She has enlightened me and I sure hope I've done the same for her! Everyone needs someone to confide in, to trust, to tell the stupid and mundane to over and over again...and I'm glad I got her!
10) Life; it is a joy to be alive. Happiness is founded upon hap, chance, luck. Joy never ceases, it does not fade, it is God smiling upon us and us responding by putting him first. Rejoice in the Lord always and again I say, rejoice! Grace Community has been 7 weeks of joy and truly God has given me such a gift to be here. I hope you all know how much i appreciate being here.
And I appreciate you
you all are my favorites.
Blake
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
It's All About The Benjamins, Baby
Under the reign of Emperor Valerian Rome again induced into a phase of vigorous persecution of Christians during the years between 253 and 260. In the city of Rome lived it's governor, Marcianus, who followed the ruling and verdicts of Valerian to a T. He blissfully killed Christian leaders without a second thought, after all, Marcianus was concerned with one thing and one thing only.
Drachma. Coin. Benjamins. Money. You get it.
It consumed him, ate him up, night and day thinking and pondering, scheming and plotting, planning and obsessing just how to gain more financial clout.
By word of mouth, one fateful day, Marcianus heard a legend, an urban myth so to say, that the Christians living in Rome were in possession of many riches. Gold and silver, jewels and cattle, strings of pearl and clothes of purple dye. Marcianus drooled at the thought of such riches, riches which had been under his nose the entire time. He immediately called Lawrence, the distributor of the goods of the church in Rome, to stand before him. It was them that he promptly ordered with a regal gesture and a wicked, unconfined smile, to tell him where all these riches of the church were being held. Lawrence nodded his head and asked the greedy governor to allow him three days to gather all these riches and to bring them before the governor. Marcianus agreed, smacking his gums. For three nights Marcianus waited, his eyes twinkling whenever he thought about all the treasures that were soon to come. He couldn't eat, he could barely sleep, all he could do was consume his daily thoughts with pictures of golden vases, emerald studded statues, and piles upon piles of precious coins.
On the third day, he eagerly ordered Lawrence to stand before him, commanding him to present these riches to him in order that he may take them for himself. Lawrence walked the governor outside his hall and stretched out his arm towards the stairs descending from the great hall.
Beggars, the homeless, the old and the dirty, the decrepit and the blind, the lame and the weak. Hundreds of them. "These are the precious riches of the Church." Lawrence proclaimed proudly "They are the treasure in which faith in Christ reigns, in whom Christ has His dwelling place. What more precious jewel can the church have than those in whom Christ promised to dwell?"
Marcianus raged. He burned. He screamed from the stairs "Light the fire! Do not spare the wood! This villain has tried to deceive the emperor. Away with him! Whip him with scourges, jerk him with hooks, buffet him with fists, bash him with clubs. Does this traitor joke with the emperor? Pinch him with fiery tongs, wrap him in burning plates, bring out the strongest chains, and the fire forks, and the grated bed of iron. Put the bed on the fire and when it is red hot, bind the traitor on it hand and foot and roast him, broil him, toss him, turn him! Torture him every way you can or you will be tormented yourself!"
And they did just that.
For those with little to lose, Christ is such an infinite gain! Just read the Beatitudes of Matthew 5...Blessed are the poor in spirit, the mourners, the weak, the meek, the persecuted, the peacemakers...why are they blessed? If anything, they are far from blessed! This standard Christ establishes here is impossible from the start, why...because who wants to be poor in spirit, a mourner, weak or meek, or persecuted? None of us!!! Yet, what reward, what a blessing; to be called children of God, to taste sweet grace, to reach what Pastor Roy calls "your last healing".
Heaven is so near, yet so far. Am I ready for it? Seriously. Am I prepared to see the face of my savior the way I am, caked in the muck and mire that is my sin, my shortcomings, my frailties? Am I prepared to let go of those secret desires and lusts which pervert my very self? Am I willing to make myself poor for His kingdom?
His grace is so good. So very good. Are we truly the riches of His kingdom? Can it be true? Me? Really?!?
I thirst deeply for heaven, I hope you feel the same!!!
Pray often
Love always
Have hope
Oh, and enjoy life! Be joyful! God is too good to us not to rejoice, and again I say, rejoice!
Blake
Drachma. Coin. Benjamins. Money. You get it.
It consumed him, ate him up, night and day thinking and pondering, scheming and plotting, planning and obsessing just how to gain more financial clout.
By word of mouth, one fateful day, Marcianus heard a legend, an urban myth so to say, that the Christians living in Rome were in possession of many riches. Gold and silver, jewels and cattle, strings of pearl and clothes of purple dye. Marcianus drooled at the thought of such riches, riches which had been under his nose the entire time. He immediately called Lawrence, the distributor of the goods of the church in Rome, to stand before him. It was them that he promptly ordered with a regal gesture and a wicked, unconfined smile, to tell him where all these riches of the church were being held. Lawrence nodded his head and asked the greedy governor to allow him three days to gather all these riches and to bring them before the governor. Marcianus agreed, smacking his gums. For three nights Marcianus waited, his eyes twinkling whenever he thought about all the treasures that were soon to come. He couldn't eat, he could barely sleep, all he could do was consume his daily thoughts with pictures of golden vases, emerald studded statues, and piles upon piles of precious coins.
On the third day, he eagerly ordered Lawrence to stand before him, commanding him to present these riches to him in order that he may take them for himself. Lawrence walked the governor outside his hall and stretched out his arm towards the stairs descending from the great hall.
Beggars, the homeless, the old and the dirty, the decrepit and the blind, the lame and the weak. Hundreds of them. "These are the precious riches of the Church." Lawrence proclaimed proudly "They are the treasure in which faith in Christ reigns, in whom Christ has His dwelling place. What more precious jewel can the church have than those in whom Christ promised to dwell?"
Marcianus raged. He burned. He screamed from the stairs "Light the fire! Do not spare the wood! This villain has tried to deceive the emperor. Away with him! Whip him with scourges, jerk him with hooks, buffet him with fists, bash him with clubs. Does this traitor joke with the emperor? Pinch him with fiery tongs, wrap him in burning plates, bring out the strongest chains, and the fire forks, and the grated bed of iron. Put the bed on the fire and when it is red hot, bind the traitor on it hand and foot and roast him, broil him, toss him, turn him! Torture him every way you can or you will be tormented yourself!"
And they did just that.
For those with little to lose, Christ is such an infinite gain! Just read the Beatitudes of Matthew 5...Blessed are the poor in spirit, the mourners, the weak, the meek, the persecuted, the peacemakers...why are they blessed? If anything, they are far from blessed! This standard Christ establishes here is impossible from the start, why...because who wants to be poor in spirit, a mourner, weak or meek, or persecuted? None of us!!! Yet, what reward, what a blessing; to be called children of God, to taste sweet grace, to reach what Pastor Roy calls "your last healing".
Heaven is so near, yet so far. Am I ready for it? Seriously. Am I prepared to see the face of my savior the way I am, caked in the muck and mire that is my sin, my shortcomings, my frailties? Am I prepared to let go of those secret desires and lusts which pervert my very self? Am I willing to make myself poor for His kingdom?
His grace is so good. So very good. Are we truly the riches of His kingdom? Can it be true? Me? Really?!?
I thirst deeply for heaven, I hope you feel the same!!!
Pray often
Love always
Have hope
Oh, and enjoy life! Be joyful! God is too good to us not to rejoice, and again I say, rejoice!
Blake
Friday, July 17, 2009
Can You Die From A Sneeze?
Anton Chekhov knew how to weave a good story (Pardon my length here, there is a point...eventually)
There was a man named Ivan Cherviakov (the Russian word for 'worm' is cherviak, an intended pun no doubt), a fine office manager, was sitting in the opera, attentively cocking an ear towards the melodious lyrics as he gazed warmly through his opera glasses. When suddenly his throat tickled, his eyes watered, and his nose twitched ever so slightly. With instantaneous reflex he lay aside his brass glasses and wrenching back his neck let go a monstrous sneeze.
Ac-CHOO!!!!
He pulled out a white handkerchief, glancing to his left and right, taking inventory of any disturbance his little uproar may have caused. But it was only a sneeze, a mere sneeze at that. Everyone sneezes at times, policemen, politicians, even interns in South Carolina (like this one); it wasn't a big deal, no one ever died from a sneeze. Seeing no returning glances of disapproval, he returned to the music only to behold a horrible sight for right in front of him sat a bald older gentleman who currently was wiping his dome clean of the sudden shower of sticky moisture.
It was gross.
But this wasn't any man. No, this was General Brizzhalov (a play on the Russian verb meaning 'to spray'...go figure), a distinguished government official and an important politician in the district, not to mention a decorated war veteran. Embarrassed to say the least, Cherviakov leaned forward ever so slightly, tapping gently upon the General's shoulder;
"Pardon me, sir...your excellency...I ask your forgiveness, for I just sprayed you, my deepest regrets sir."
"Never mind son, never mind"
"No sir, what I am saying is that I sneezed....I mean, my deepest apologies to you and any inconvenience I may have caused your greatness."
"Son, it's alright. No harm done, now please let me listen if you'd be so kind."
The General turned around, facing the stage as Cherviakov once again sat in his chair, reclining slightly as he placed his hand to his face, feeling slightly upset. Upset enough where he couldn't enjoy the opera. The General did not deserve such disrespect. Of course not, the man was a military genius! He deserved an eloquent and sincere apology. Again, Cherviakov leaned forward.
"Sir, your utter greatness...I have deeply erred here and I ask humbly for your forgiveness attaining to these matters" Cherviakov bowed his head, a bead of sweat rolled past his ear.
"It's quite alright..."
"No sir, i insist I have made a huge mistake and...well, I should be able to control such things..."
"Please, Please just let it go...I wish to pay attention. No more of it!"
Cherviakov returned a third time to his seat, distraught, after all, the General did not even care to hear his entire apology, well-worded and eloquent. This irked him during the entire opera, the entire walk home, and even as he slipped into bed, keeping him up all night.
The next morning he rose early, got a haircut, bathed and slicked back his hair, and dressed in a brand new suit before going down to the office of the General. Indeed, maybe a personal visit and an outright and full apology in its full legality and regality would suffice the General's forgiveness and graces. So, Cherviakov entered, waited for a good 45 minutes, and then entered the office of the General, bowing his head as the General re-arranged papers before speaking in a deep, loud voice.
"Sir, your honor, most trusted honor, I do not know if you recall but last night at the opera I was the man who sneezed and, to my deepest regret, sprayed you. Sir, I have made a horrid mistake, a deep and horrid mistake and do solemnly hope that this matter may be resolved in some way."
The General shook his head and smiled, annoyance filling his eyes "Such pointless apologies...no harm, go now, go!" and the General ushered the next official in with a wrist flick. But Cherviakov was even more nervous than when he arrived and he inched closer to the General.
"Your greatness, most humbly let me explain..."
"Sir." The General grumbled slightly "Please drop this, you are forgiven."
Cherviakov heard the tone of the General's voice though rather than the words. He pondered how upset the General was, so upset that his filthy forgiveness was mere pocket change to such a powerful official whom he had so ignorantly offended. Cherviakov turned red, his heart quickened and skipped as he loosened his collar and wiped sweat from his brow. The General must be angry, no, furious at me! Oh God!!! What a fool I must be! His pace quickened as he followed the General out of the office.
"But Sir!...if I may trouble you...I repent fully of this error I have made...please, accept this token..."
"Seriously, are you joking son? Please leave." He pointed to the door.
Cherviakov grew dizzy, this wasn't a joke, this was serious, too serious to just leave alone. The General must be completely dishonored and it was his fault, HIS!!! Cherviakov went home, wringing his hands as he felt the lining of his stomach melt from the stress. Should he write a letter to the General? Send a basket or flowers? Maybe he needed to sleep on it, but he didn't sleep, not a wink...
He returned to the office the next morning, dressed to impress. But his face was pale, his eye black with heavy rings under his lids. His lips were cracked and his nails had been bitten down as far as one could bite them. He rushed into the General's office without invite, falling to his knees in a quasi-grovel.
"Sir, your utter greatness and honor, I did not mean for yesterday to be a joke...yes, um...I pondered it last night and saw my foolishness in such act and found it laughable to apologize so fervently for a sneeze...a sneeze of all things!...But may I...may i, your excellence, apology quite sincerely for my grievous actions yesterday..."
"Get OUT!!!" The General yelled, his face as red as Cherviakov's was white. He pumped his fist towards the door, flinging his papers across the floor.
"Please sir, my greatest and most utter apologies..." He cowered along the rug, reaching upon the General's desk.
"GET OUT NOW!!!" The General stomped his feet, shaking with rage.
Something snapped in Cherviakov, he waddled home, opened the door and leaving it so he fell onto his sofa and...he died.
Dark, huh?
'My Utmost For His Highest' today, the 17th of July (the 126th anniversary of this classic tale) speaks of how real, affective fasting by the pastor is not from food or beverage, it is fasting from speaking with such eloquence as the distract the hearers from the good news. The pastor is, as Chambers says, a representative of God, a teacher who is meant to teach rather than impress others with his infinite terminology, intelligent jargon, and his many leather-bound books upon shelves of rich mahogany. Any such over-working or wording is adding to the message that is meant to spoken.
Do I dance around in my words? Am I speaking too much when I really had it right the first time? Are we, as Christians, filling our language full of religious and philosophical idioms that those who don't know Jesus Christ won't even attempt to open up to Him since we, those who follow Him, have already alienated them with our language and exclusivism? I know we don't always try to be such, but I look at me and see that; a lot of knowledge is a pretty powerful tool, a bit too powerful I feel at times for this 21-year old Michigander who still has quite a bit to learn about application of such knowledge (that's wisdom, I surely hope it comes with age!)
The mark of a true Christian teacher? One who makes hard things easy, difficult terms relatable, and takes the darkness and lights it. If it is only because of my preaching and teaching that people desire to be better, then they will never find Jesus Christ. As Socrates and Gorgias; an two-bit junk bond trader can be an orator, but a teacher, a true teacher...now that's a challenge!
If we, as Christians, wish to share the good news, maybe we need to stop being concerned with the elegance and well-worded presentations and start with Christ (it's a good place to start) and stop trying to put a medium rare filet Mignon where a juicy quarter pounder will fit quite nicely.
So yes...sneezes can kill.
Pray often, love you all!
Blake
There was a man named Ivan Cherviakov (the Russian word for 'worm' is cherviak, an intended pun no doubt), a fine office manager, was sitting in the opera, attentively cocking an ear towards the melodious lyrics as he gazed warmly through his opera glasses. When suddenly his throat tickled, his eyes watered, and his nose twitched ever so slightly. With instantaneous reflex he lay aside his brass glasses and wrenching back his neck let go a monstrous sneeze.
Ac-CHOO!!!!
He pulled out a white handkerchief, glancing to his left and right, taking inventory of any disturbance his little uproar may have caused. But it was only a sneeze, a mere sneeze at that. Everyone sneezes at times, policemen, politicians, even interns in South Carolina (like this one); it wasn't a big deal, no one ever died from a sneeze. Seeing no returning glances of disapproval, he returned to the music only to behold a horrible sight for right in front of him sat a bald older gentleman who currently was wiping his dome clean of the sudden shower of sticky moisture.
It was gross.
But this wasn't any man. No, this was General Brizzhalov (a play on the Russian verb meaning 'to spray'...go figure), a distinguished government official and an important politician in the district, not to mention a decorated war veteran. Embarrassed to say the least, Cherviakov leaned forward ever so slightly, tapping gently upon the General's shoulder;
"Pardon me, sir...your excellency...I ask your forgiveness, for I just sprayed you, my deepest regrets sir."
"Never mind son, never mind"
"No sir, what I am saying is that I sneezed....I mean, my deepest apologies to you and any inconvenience I may have caused your greatness."
"Son, it's alright. No harm done, now please let me listen if you'd be so kind."
The General turned around, facing the stage as Cherviakov once again sat in his chair, reclining slightly as he placed his hand to his face, feeling slightly upset. Upset enough where he couldn't enjoy the opera. The General did not deserve such disrespect. Of course not, the man was a military genius! He deserved an eloquent and sincere apology. Again, Cherviakov leaned forward.
"Sir, your utter greatness...I have deeply erred here and I ask humbly for your forgiveness attaining to these matters" Cherviakov bowed his head, a bead of sweat rolled past his ear.
"It's quite alright..."
"No sir, i insist I have made a huge mistake and...well, I should be able to control such things..."
"Please, Please just let it go...I wish to pay attention. No more of it!"
Cherviakov returned a third time to his seat, distraught, after all, the General did not even care to hear his entire apology, well-worded and eloquent. This irked him during the entire opera, the entire walk home, and even as he slipped into bed, keeping him up all night.
The next morning he rose early, got a haircut, bathed and slicked back his hair, and dressed in a brand new suit before going down to the office of the General. Indeed, maybe a personal visit and an outright and full apology in its full legality and regality would suffice the General's forgiveness and graces. So, Cherviakov entered, waited for a good 45 minutes, and then entered the office of the General, bowing his head as the General re-arranged papers before speaking in a deep, loud voice.
"Sir, your honor, most trusted honor, I do not know if you recall but last night at the opera I was the man who sneezed and, to my deepest regret, sprayed you. Sir, I have made a horrid mistake, a deep and horrid mistake and do solemnly hope that this matter may be resolved in some way."
The General shook his head and smiled, annoyance filling his eyes "Such pointless apologies...no harm, go now, go!" and the General ushered the next official in with a wrist flick. But Cherviakov was even more nervous than when he arrived and he inched closer to the General.
"Your greatness, most humbly let me explain..."
"Sir." The General grumbled slightly "Please drop this, you are forgiven."
Cherviakov heard the tone of the General's voice though rather than the words. He pondered how upset the General was, so upset that his filthy forgiveness was mere pocket change to such a powerful official whom he had so ignorantly offended. Cherviakov turned red, his heart quickened and skipped as he loosened his collar and wiped sweat from his brow. The General must be angry, no, furious at me! Oh God!!! What a fool I must be! His pace quickened as he followed the General out of the office.
"But Sir!...if I may trouble you...I repent fully of this error I have made...please, accept this token..."
"Seriously, are you joking son? Please leave." He pointed to the door.
Cherviakov grew dizzy, this wasn't a joke, this was serious, too serious to just leave alone. The General must be completely dishonored and it was his fault, HIS!!! Cherviakov went home, wringing his hands as he felt the lining of his stomach melt from the stress. Should he write a letter to the General? Send a basket or flowers? Maybe he needed to sleep on it, but he didn't sleep, not a wink...
He returned to the office the next morning, dressed to impress. But his face was pale, his eye black with heavy rings under his lids. His lips were cracked and his nails had been bitten down as far as one could bite them. He rushed into the General's office without invite, falling to his knees in a quasi-grovel.
"Sir, your utter greatness and honor, I did not mean for yesterday to be a joke...yes, um...I pondered it last night and saw my foolishness in such act and found it laughable to apologize so fervently for a sneeze...a sneeze of all things!...But may I...may i, your excellence, apology quite sincerely for my grievous actions yesterday..."
"Get OUT!!!" The General yelled, his face as red as Cherviakov's was white. He pumped his fist towards the door, flinging his papers across the floor.
"Please sir, my greatest and most utter apologies..." He cowered along the rug, reaching upon the General's desk.
"GET OUT NOW!!!" The General stomped his feet, shaking with rage.
Something snapped in Cherviakov, he waddled home, opened the door and leaving it so he fell onto his sofa and...he died.
Dark, huh?
'My Utmost For His Highest' today, the 17th of July (the 126th anniversary of this classic tale) speaks of how real, affective fasting by the pastor is not from food or beverage, it is fasting from speaking with such eloquence as the distract the hearers from the good news. The pastor is, as Chambers says, a representative of God, a teacher who is meant to teach rather than impress others with his infinite terminology, intelligent jargon, and his many leather-bound books upon shelves of rich mahogany. Any such over-working or wording is adding to the message that is meant to spoken.
Do I dance around in my words? Am I speaking too much when I really had it right the first time? Are we, as Christians, filling our language full of religious and philosophical idioms that those who don't know Jesus Christ won't even attempt to open up to Him since we, those who follow Him, have already alienated them with our language and exclusivism? I know we don't always try to be such, but I look at me and see that; a lot of knowledge is a pretty powerful tool, a bit too powerful I feel at times for this 21-year old Michigander who still has quite a bit to learn about application of such knowledge (that's wisdom, I surely hope it comes with age!)
The mark of a true Christian teacher? One who makes hard things easy, difficult terms relatable, and takes the darkness and lights it. If it is only because of my preaching and teaching that people desire to be better, then they will never find Jesus Christ. As Socrates and Gorgias; an two-bit junk bond trader can be an orator, but a teacher, a true teacher...now that's a challenge!
If we, as Christians, wish to share the good news, maybe we need to stop being concerned with the elegance and well-worded presentations and start with Christ (it's a good place to start) and stop trying to put a medium rare filet Mignon where a juicy quarter pounder will fit quite nicely.
So yes...sneezes can kill.
Pray often, love you all!
Blake
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Keep a Song in your Heart
So, usually, when I'm in a good, chipper mood, I will usually say to those I am fond of (and those who I have just met) to "Keep a Story in your heart". I really have no idea where in the world I picked that phrase up, but it sounds like something some guy like me would say to someone like you who is currently reading this anecdote. There was never any reasoning behind it, at least until a couple of years ago when I became enthralled with Barth's narrative, post-liberal theology, which focuses deeply upon the narrative value of the Bible, so now I have at least some excuse to tell people to "Keep a Story in their heart."
As for me, I love stories. I love Greek mythology and epic prose, the Chinese saga "Journey to the West; the story of Monkey", and other great writers such as Russia's short story genius Anton Chekhov, the creative and thoughful musing of writers such as C.S. Lewis, William Barclay, and Jake Eppinga, and who can beat a good campfire story as told by a good friend? Stories make this world go around, they are passed on from generation to generation by word of mouth, by dog-earred pages and covers, and even in the horribly addicting habit called facebook-chat. It is through stories that we become attatched, mere figures and charecters suddenly become real. A person other than ourselves suddenly becomes merged with ourselves; so much so that we move from individuality to sympathy to complete empathy. What an amazing gift the story is! After all, isn't that what our lives are.
Well, how about songs? Yeah, music. I love music. A lot of it. Everything from the folksy sounds of Iron and Wine and Good Old War to the energy-filled banter of Bayside and The Films to the melodic guitars of The Fall of Troy and Between the Buried and Me to the classic (and irreplacable) sound of LA's own Jim Morrison and The Doors (gotta love The Doors!!!) So, you'd think that this week's assignment, leading worship at Grace Community, would be right up my alley. WRONG! Here's the thing about music, I like to sing, love the play guitar, and all that. But, I'm not the preforming type. I'll talk to hundreds buck-naked without a problem, but when it comes to pulling out the ol' gui-tar and harmonica five or six people scare the bejeebes out of me.
Not just preforming. Leading. Both morning services. No Cliff (our music director) as he is gone. Just me, a bunch of other people playing along, and a whole bunch of people on the other end of the sanctuary.
help
Here's the great thing about a heavenly Father. I stink. I really stink. I can screw up quite easily. Just ask Hana; after going out together for a delightful dinner with my host family we walked back to my car in the dark, full and happy. Sadly, what seemeda very simple drive off the island in the light was a much more difficult drive back onto the island. To make it short, I suck driving in the dark...like an old man wearing sunglasses. Needlesstosay, I am very blessed that she can stand a little adventure in her life, because an hour later we finally found 278 towards Hilton Head.
So, I stink. I am not always 100%...actually, closer to around 5%, maybe 5.8% on a good day. I am a few eggs short of a basket, a few sandwiches short of a picnic, and about 28 grand short of a college education.
But God isn't. Enough said. I come up short often. I've got a hot cup of coffee for 2.78$ and I'm 95 cents short, a 8.75$ movie ticket and I'm in need of an Honest Abe, a new home is a wad of cash but all I'm coming up with is whatever I find under the sofa and between my car seats. Yet, in spite of my inability to make it on my own, he provides. Maybe not that extra 95 cents when we want it, but more than just change for a caffine buzz. No matter the mess I get in, and no matter how deep the debt of my sin I occur, he never ceases to, like a parent with a checkbook, write away my multitude of mistakes and leaves me debt free.
Me. Blake Jurgens. Lost in South Carolina in the dark Blake Jurgens.
So, here I am. Huge task, huge responsibility, and no experiance. What kind of grace has come my way this week? The sweetest. Grace that kicks like an energy drink. Grace that goes from zilch to 60 in under 3 seconds, Grace that sets water on fire.
Two things; First...give worship leaders slack (Tracie and Pooh-Bear...if you read this, I respect you guys SO much...well, at least you Tracie...that was a joke, of course I respect you Nick) honestly guys and gals, it's a real whollup of work. I've learned how to use more software in the past 48 hours than I ever cared to learn about, and to think that God uses silly people like myself to master programs like those to put together our Sunday worship, it blows me away. It is more than plucking at ivorys Sunday morning and picking a couple songs; it involves planning and deep thinking and prayer and a couple dozen sofeware items.
Second; what a priviledge to be serving His kingdom in worship! For the first few hours of this entire process semi-bitter thoughts rambled through my head, after all, I didn't want to be this guy. But, the deeper I've gone, the more I grow to enjoy it, and the more I respect those who do this every week. Amen to that! (my first southern Amen...typed of cource)
Concluding, may the music of Christ run through your veins. May you sing out of utter joy overflowing from every chasim of your being. May He bless you, take you in His arms, and, by grace, teach us to walk.
Oh yeah, Keep a story in your heart!
Love always.
Blake
As for me, I love stories. I love Greek mythology and epic prose, the Chinese saga "Journey to the West; the story of Monkey", and other great writers such as Russia's short story genius Anton Chekhov, the creative and thoughful musing of writers such as C.S. Lewis, William Barclay, and Jake Eppinga, and who can beat a good campfire story as told by a good friend? Stories make this world go around, they are passed on from generation to generation by word of mouth, by dog-earred pages and covers, and even in the horribly addicting habit called facebook-chat. It is through stories that we become attatched, mere figures and charecters suddenly become real. A person other than ourselves suddenly becomes merged with ourselves; so much so that we move from individuality to sympathy to complete empathy. What an amazing gift the story is! After all, isn't that what our lives are.
Well, how about songs? Yeah, music. I love music. A lot of it. Everything from the folksy sounds of Iron and Wine and Good Old War to the energy-filled banter of Bayside and The Films to the melodic guitars of The Fall of Troy and Between the Buried and Me to the classic (and irreplacable) sound of LA's own Jim Morrison and The Doors (gotta love The Doors!!!) So, you'd think that this week's assignment, leading worship at Grace Community, would be right up my alley. WRONG! Here's the thing about music, I like to sing, love the play guitar, and all that. But, I'm not the preforming type. I'll talk to hundreds buck-naked without a problem, but when it comes to pulling out the ol' gui-tar and harmonica five or six people scare the bejeebes out of me.
Not just preforming. Leading. Both morning services. No Cliff (our music director) as he is gone. Just me, a bunch of other people playing along, and a whole bunch of people on the other end of the sanctuary.
help
Here's the great thing about a heavenly Father. I stink. I really stink. I can screw up quite easily. Just ask Hana; after going out together for a delightful dinner with my host family we walked back to my car in the dark, full and happy. Sadly, what seemeda very simple drive off the island in the light was a much more difficult drive back onto the island. To make it short, I suck driving in the dark...like an old man wearing sunglasses. Needlesstosay, I am very blessed that she can stand a little adventure in her life, because an hour later we finally found 278 towards Hilton Head.
So, I stink. I am not always 100%...actually, closer to around 5%, maybe 5.8% on a good day. I am a few eggs short of a basket, a few sandwiches short of a picnic, and about 28 grand short of a college education.
But God isn't. Enough said. I come up short often. I've got a hot cup of coffee for 2.78$ and I'm 95 cents short, a 8.75$ movie ticket and I'm in need of an Honest Abe, a new home is a wad of cash but all I'm coming up with is whatever I find under the sofa and between my car seats. Yet, in spite of my inability to make it on my own, he provides. Maybe not that extra 95 cents when we want it, but more than just change for a caffine buzz. No matter the mess I get in, and no matter how deep the debt of my sin I occur, he never ceases to, like a parent with a checkbook, write away my multitude of mistakes and leaves me debt free.
Me. Blake Jurgens. Lost in South Carolina in the dark Blake Jurgens.
So, here I am. Huge task, huge responsibility, and no experiance. What kind of grace has come my way this week? The sweetest. Grace that kicks like an energy drink. Grace that goes from zilch to 60 in under 3 seconds, Grace that sets water on fire.
Two things; First...give worship leaders slack (Tracie and Pooh-Bear...if you read this, I respect you guys SO much...well, at least you Tracie...that was a joke, of course I respect you Nick) honestly guys and gals, it's a real whollup of work. I've learned how to use more software in the past 48 hours than I ever cared to learn about, and to think that God uses silly people like myself to master programs like those to put together our Sunday worship, it blows me away. It is more than plucking at ivorys Sunday morning and picking a couple songs; it involves planning and deep thinking and prayer and a couple dozen sofeware items.
Second; what a priviledge to be serving His kingdom in worship! For the first few hours of this entire process semi-bitter thoughts rambled through my head, after all, I didn't want to be this guy. But, the deeper I've gone, the more I grow to enjoy it, and the more I respect those who do this every week. Amen to that! (my first southern Amen...typed of cource)
Concluding, may the music of Christ run through your veins. May you sing out of utter joy overflowing from every chasim of your being. May He bless you, take you in His arms, and, by grace, teach us to walk.
Oh yeah, Keep a story in your heart!
Love always.
Blake
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Uncertified Marriage Counselor
Yeah, believe me, don't let me be your marriage counselor...at least not yet.
Today I've been looking through the curriculum the pastors here at Grace Community use when going thru pre-marital counseling, which is about 30 years old (yikes!). I'll be honest, it is very Conservative, very evangelical, very Bible-belt type teaching (the tapes are from Pastor Roy's former professor from Columbia International here in South Carolina) and seemingly archaic. I mean, as a Christ-Follower (with a LOT of help) I can understand the systematic message that these tapes are presenting; a biblical perspective of marriage which I can, minus a few theological and oral dis-agreements, relate to. But, what of those who are immersed into this culture where such monikers are mere religious jargon with little or no weight? How do you explain 'grace' 'justification' 'trinitarian doctrine' and all those other fun terms to those who have lived their entire lives alienated from this language? Christian theology is written in the language and philosophical language of the Ancient Greeks. Why? Because this was the academic culture the early church fathers came from, most academic language was pulled from such brilliant Greeks as Plato, Aristotle, and many others. Christians may deny such influence, but it is blatantly obvious that though Christianity today may seem unique in language and mission, back in the early days it was heavily influenced by the culture of that day; to ignore that is to misunderstand the finer points of the Bible (especially in a day where Scripture has come under such academic analysis and questioning...something Christians need to learn to welcome...a story for another day)
Anyways, about marriage...for how much I can disagree with the piece I am currently reading while jamming to Wilco and 1997, I can't help but see a couple things that are crucial, especially for those of you looking for that "special someone" out there, or even those guys and gals out there who have already found that blessed treasure you feel called to spend the rest of this life with (oh Pooh Bear!)
First, what is marriage? It is a reflection of who God is, the relationship of God to himself. It is a life of self-reciprocating love; not mere romance or passion (this is the reason why 50% of marriage fail, they are founded on passion and romance) but that one you feel called to be with it one who can share your relationship with Christ. That together you are one, without change, confusion, division, or separation (talk about Chalcedon-esque language!).
Second, a marriage should be designed by God, and built by husband, wife, and God. This is a joint effort. What does this mean? First, both husband and wife, if they are truly be one, MUST be unified in Christ first and foremost. I Corinthians 6:14 states that "Be not unequally yoked with an unbeliever, for what accord (fellowship / unity) can you have with one who is not a believer?" Isn't that true, painfully and obviously true?!? If the most important thing in one's life is their relationship with Christ, if the person you love is any form of antithesis to that, then how can such a couple stand? Their purposes for marriage are distorted, for one put Jesus first, the other their lover first. The end result is that the inordinate loves become unbalanced, neither can bear nor understand the other.
Finally, what kind of marriage can work merely on passion? I look at me here, I am 21, decently good looking (no Orlando Bloom or underwear model) fun-loving, happy...all those good things. But, those things change, the abs disappear under a layer of flab, the face becomes less defined and the hairs either gray or just fall out. The eyes grow dim, the ears grow weak, the legs cease working and before you know it, you're old. I may be a sight for sore eyes now (if that even, this point will be quite disputed) but what about in 10 years? 20 years? 40 years? What of when I am cenial, grumpy, and fidgety? What about if I start wetting the bed, smelling like a old man, or when I get age spots all across my arms? Passion lasts for moments, it is fickle and empty, though fun, it is fun. Passion actually has a place; we enjoy it, it is God's gift to us. But, you can over-use a gift / use it poorly. What love is a marriage found on? It is found on joy, it is found on pleasure of company, it is found on sacrifice and prayer, found on a purpose higher than any bank account, career promotion, or house in the Hamptons.
Who am I looking for? Who do I want to love? This;
I want a Christ-Follower, I want a Christ-Follower who puts Jesus first, herself last, and others in between. I want a Christ-Follower who will take the shaft for me sometimes, as I will for her. I want a Christ-Follower who can sit and smile with me, can marvel in awe each day anew at how good God is, who can pray in the morning and at night with me, even when the eyes are heavy and so is the heart. I want someone who is happy often, and joyful always.
I want someone like Jesus. Give me Jesus. That's who I want, heck, it's who I need.
I'll take mistakes too, I'm good at those if you haven't noticed yet.
Alright, back to work. Love you all!
Blake
Today I've been looking through the curriculum the pastors here at Grace Community use when going thru pre-marital counseling, which is about 30 years old (yikes!). I'll be honest, it is very Conservative, very evangelical, very Bible-belt type teaching (the tapes are from Pastor Roy's former professor from Columbia International here in South Carolina) and seemingly archaic. I mean, as a Christ-Follower (with a LOT of help) I can understand the systematic message that these tapes are presenting; a biblical perspective of marriage which I can, minus a few theological and oral dis-agreements, relate to. But, what of those who are immersed into this culture where such monikers are mere religious jargon with little or no weight? How do you explain 'grace' 'justification' 'trinitarian doctrine' and all those other fun terms to those who have lived their entire lives alienated from this language? Christian theology is written in the language and philosophical language of the Ancient Greeks. Why? Because this was the academic culture the early church fathers came from, most academic language was pulled from such brilliant Greeks as Plato, Aristotle, and many others. Christians may deny such influence, but it is blatantly obvious that though Christianity today may seem unique in language and mission, back in the early days it was heavily influenced by the culture of that day; to ignore that is to misunderstand the finer points of the Bible (especially in a day where Scripture has come under such academic analysis and questioning...something Christians need to learn to welcome...a story for another day)
Anyways, about marriage...for how much I can disagree with the piece I am currently reading while jamming to Wilco and 1997, I can't help but see a couple things that are crucial, especially for those of you looking for that "special someone" out there, or even those guys and gals out there who have already found that blessed treasure you feel called to spend the rest of this life with (oh Pooh Bear!)
First, what is marriage? It is a reflection of who God is, the relationship of God to himself. It is a life of self-reciprocating love; not mere romance or passion (this is the reason why 50% of marriage fail, they are founded on passion and romance) but that one you feel called to be with it one who can share your relationship with Christ. That together you are one, without change, confusion, division, or separation (talk about Chalcedon-esque language!).
Second, a marriage should be designed by God, and built by husband, wife, and God. This is a joint effort. What does this mean? First, both husband and wife, if they are truly be one, MUST be unified in Christ first and foremost. I Corinthians 6:14 states that "Be not unequally yoked with an unbeliever, for what accord (fellowship / unity) can you have with one who is not a believer?" Isn't that true, painfully and obviously true?!? If the most important thing in one's life is their relationship with Christ, if the person you love is any form of antithesis to that, then how can such a couple stand? Their purposes for marriage are distorted, for one put Jesus first, the other their lover first. The end result is that the inordinate loves become unbalanced, neither can bear nor understand the other.
Finally, what kind of marriage can work merely on passion? I look at me here, I am 21, decently good looking (no Orlando Bloom or underwear model) fun-loving, happy...all those good things. But, those things change, the abs disappear under a layer of flab, the face becomes less defined and the hairs either gray or just fall out. The eyes grow dim, the ears grow weak, the legs cease working and before you know it, you're old. I may be a sight for sore eyes now (if that even, this point will be quite disputed) but what about in 10 years? 20 years? 40 years? What of when I am cenial, grumpy, and fidgety? What about if I start wetting the bed, smelling like a old man, or when I get age spots all across my arms? Passion lasts for moments, it is fickle and empty, though fun, it is fun. Passion actually has a place; we enjoy it, it is God's gift to us. But, you can over-use a gift / use it poorly. What love is a marriage found on? It is found on joy, it is found on pleasure of company, it is found on sacrifice and prayer, found on a purpose higher than any bank account, career promotion, or house in the Hamptons.
Who am I looking for? Who do I want to love? This;
I want a Christ-Follower, I want a Christ-Follower who puts Jesus first, herself last, and others in between. I want a Christ-Follower who will take the shaft for me sometimes, as I will for her. I want a Christ-Follower who can sit and smile with me, can marvel in awe each day anew at how good God is, who can pray in the morning and at night with me, even when the eyes are heavy and so is the heart. I want someone who is happy often, and joyful always.
I want someone like Jesus. Give me Jesus. That's who I want, heck, it's who I need.
I'll take mistakes too, I'm good at those if you haven't noticed yet.
Alright, back to work. Love you all!
Blake
Monday, July 6, 2009
Sharks, Squids, and Faith
I have a secret passion for crypto-zoology, more like a minor obsession actually. Ever since I was an elementary school tyke there was this insurmountable curiosity embedded deep within that drove me to check out every book available about Sasquatch and UFOs, the Chubakabra and Nessie, giant squids and other demons of the dark and deep corners of the ocean. Even today, I can't help but turn on Monster Quest on History Channel during my lunch on my off days, crossing my fingers that somewhere, just maybe, some hidden species might reappear out of nowhere, baffling scientist and average joe alike, a creature taken straight out of the prehistoric.
For example, in Japan a new species of shark has been discovered, monikered the 'frill shark'. This is what scientists consider one of the most ancient of all shark species, existing as far back as 100 million years ago. Her back was huntched, her gills were frilly and bright red, her eyes glazed over with narrow fins and rows of teeth which had multiple sharp points diverging from each tooth. She was amazing. Scientsits figure such creatures live 3000+ feet below the surface of the ocean in places where man has never stepped. This is no surprise considering that mankind has explored more of the surface of the moon than the surface of the ocean floor.
Or take my favorite, the giant squid, a creature whose only contact with humanity has been washed up carcasses along the beach of the occational sucker indentation on an unlucky sperm whale. For years, scientists have tried numerous techniques to capture on camera these beautiful monsters. Finally, one group had the idea to attatch a camera to a 5 foot humboldt squid, sending it deep into the ocean. Imagine their surprise when a large, dinner plate sized eye and a devious tentacle skimmed across the view of the lens, a massive squid estimated to be at least 40-50 feet long.
Wow.
How awesome is our earth, a massive sphere where each and every day new species suddenly pop out of nowhere, some of them straight out of Jurassic Park by the looks of them! With out internet and cable TV, our cell phones and airplanes, our rockets and ipods, we have forgotten how vast this world is. Thousands of miles of jungles lay uncharted and unexplored, acres of ocean floor are untouched by man, and on the highest of mountain peaks live animals we have never even heard of. From the island of Tazmania to the jungles of Paupa New Guinia, to the Marianja Trench, to the Canadian Wilderness, all of this full of mystery and awe. And we have not scratched the surface even with out numerous gadgets and trinkets and our supposed 'infinite knowledge'.
We don't know it all. Einstein said the greatest treasure in life is an enigma, for it is for the undiscovered, the unknown, the seemingly impossible, that man strives, dreams, and lives for. To get one glance of a Tazmanina Tiger, a picture of Megamouth shark, to touch a creature so little known to man, what a dream!
We don't know it all. It's easy to say we do, that we have our ducks in a row, our eggs have been counted and our numbers are checked and double-checked. How horrible to realize that this is not the case. Socrates acknowledged himself in the fact that what he knew best was how little he actually knew. Are we able in this day and age to humble ourselves so greatly as to admit that there are many mysteries that we may never solve, answers we may never get, and chances that we will never have again? Scary, isn't it. No one likes not to know, no one wants a less then 100% chance if we can get it. We want proof, we want pictures, we want odds and statistics and charts and graphs and video footage with a CNBC report.
Crypto-zoology is one thing, I don't mind that mystery in my life. When it comes to other things, that is a much different story. Faith is a funny thing, because it isn't something we want necessarily. So often we want faith to be knowledge or understanding. But it can't be, and it kills us. No matter what one may say or do, two things are unprovable. That God does not exist and that God does exist. We can present stats and creation and all that good stuff found in apologetics, and in the end, we come to the problem we started with; faith. Faith; you can't live with it and you can't live without it. Sometimes it's easy. Nate Door i trust, he has proven that to me many times, and I have faith that Nate Door, in a clutch situation, will be there for me. Other people, not so much.
How about God? Yeah. Doesn't it seem hard, no, near impossible at times? Kierkegaard made it clear that even if something is impossible for man to know, it does not logically entail that such thing is impossible in and of itself, but that sucks. That really sucks. We want to know, we want to think we can know it, we want to build a wall of confidence and say that we have facts and no one can take that away, but to contain God to facts is like trying to keep a puppy from jumping into a pit of balls; it can't be done. How can we place our infinite, omnipotent, omniscient God and place him into nice, neat rows in order to fit into our agenda, our formulas, our treasties. There is a point where logic and reason break down, where our epistomelogical confidence breaks down, where even the most brilliant and well-spoken must say they do not understand how so many innocent people can die, how such a darling daughter is now paralyzed from the waist down, how cancer can ravage a gentleman's body.
Faith goes hand-in-hand with humility. If you think you can walk on up, pulling your pants up high, throwing facts and intelligent terms around and can prove your faith through numbers and stats, you're dead wrong. What is faith?
Faith is a doctor. A good doctor who practiced out of his house for nearly 30 years. For almost as long he had a large, friendly German Shepherd named Rex. Now Rex was a big dog, a nice dog, but a big dog, and everyday he would follow the doctor down the stairs and up to the mat of the door that led into the large room where the doctor would practice his medicine and take in patients. And every day the doctor would pat Rex on the head, tell him to stay put, and would walk into the room, leaving Rex laying by the door, piering patiently into the office. One day, the doctor took in a pateint who had cancer, a bad cancer that was ravinging hate upon his body. The man was troubled, he was grief-stricken, and as the doctor checked his blood pressure the man voiced his doubts. After all, what kind of God would ever allow someone to get cancer, how could you have faith in a God like that? The doctor paused, setting his stethiscope aside before looking the man in his eyes, turning his head towards Rex across the room before turning back. "You see Rex there. He's going on 17 years right now. And never once has he stepped foot in this room. Not once, ever. But watch this." The doctor slowly paced towards the door, standing a couple meters away from the frame and whistled, waving his hand toward the now attentive mutt. Rex paused, his ears flitched, his tongue licked his wet nose as he whimpered, shuffling his feet for a few moments. The doctor finally got down on his knees and called out his name "Rex." At that instant Rex bounced from the frame of the door in a giant leap, landing in the doctor's arms as he showered his bearded face with kisses.
"See that" the doctor said "all he needed was to hear his master's voice"
Our master's voice. Can we measure faith objectively? No. But to hear our master's voice...maybe we needed to listen more intently, maybe we need to turn down our ipods and background noise, maybe we need to rid ourselves of the things polluiting our lives. But to hear our master's voice, to hear him calling to us, telling us it's ok to jump for he will catch us.
That is faith.
Will we ever know God? Not perfectly, not exhaustively, not completely. But how little we know, we surely can know this;
Jesus loves me
this I know
for the Bible tells me so
little ones
to Him belong
they are weak, but He is strong
And you don't have to be a crypto-zoologist to know that!
Pray often
Love more often
Thanks for reading. Love you all
Blake
For example, in Japan a new species of shark has been discovered, monikered the 'frill shark'. This is what scientists consider one of the most ancient of all shark species, existing as far back as 100 million years ago. Her back was huntched, her gills were frilly and bright red, her eyes glazed over with narrow fins and rows of teeth which had multiple sharp points diverging from each tooth. She was amazing. Scientsits figure such creatures live 3000+ feet below the surface of the ocean in places where man has never stepped. This is no surprise considering that mankind has explored more of the surface of the moon than the surface of the ocean floor.
Or take my favorite, the giant squid, a creature whose only contact with humanity has been washed up carcasses along the beach of the occational sucker indentation on an unlucky sperm whale. For years, scientists have tried numerous techniques to capture on camera these beautiful monsters. Finally, one group had the idea to attatch a camera to a 5 foot humboldt squid, sending it deep into the ocean. Imagine their surprise when a large, dinner plate sized eye and a devious tentacle skimmed across the view of the lens, a massive squid estimated to be at least 40-50 feet long.
Wow.
How awesome is our earth, a massive sphere where each and every day new species suddenly pop out of nowhere, some of them straight out of Jurassic Park by the looks of them! With out internet and cable TV, our cell phones and airplanes, our rockets and ipods, we have forgotten how vast this world is. Thousands of miles of jungles lay uncharted and unexplored, acres of ocean floor are untouched by man, and on the highest of mountain peaks live animals we have never even heard of. From the island of Tazmania to the jungles of Paupa New Guinia, to the Marianja Trench, to the Canadian Wilderness, all of this full of mystery and awe. And we have not scratched the surface even with out numerous gadgets and trinkets and our supposed 'infinite knowledge'.
We don't know it all. Einstein said the greatest treasure in life is an enigma, for it is for the undiscovered, the unknown, the seemingly impossible, that man strives, dreams, and lives for. To get one glance of a Tazmanina Tiger, a picture of Megamouth shark, to touch a creature so little known to man, what a dream!
We don't know it all. It's easy to say we do, that we have our ducks in a row, our eggs have been counted and our numbers are checked and double-checked. How horrible to realize that this is not the case. Socrates acknowledged himself in the fact that what he knew best was how little he actually knew. Are we able in this day and age to humble ourselves so greatly as to admit that there are many mysteries that we may never solve, answers we may never get, and chances that we will never have again? Scary, isn't it. No one likes not to know, no one wants a less then 100% chance if we can get it. We want proof, we want pictures, we want odds and statistics and charts and graphs and video footage with a CNBC report.
Crypto-zoology is one thing, I don't mind that mystery in my life. When it comes to other things, that is a much different story. Faith is a funny thing, because it isn't something we want necessarily. So often we want faith to be knowledge or understanding. But it can't be, and it kills us. No matter what one may say or do, two things are unprovable. That God does not exist and that God does exist. We can present stats and creation and all that good stuff found in apologetics, and in the end, we come to the problem we started with; faith. Faith; you can't live with it and you can't live without it. Sometimes it's easy. Nate Door i trust, he has proven that to me many times, and I have faith that Nate Door, in a clutch situation, will be there for me. Other people, not so much.
How about God? Yeah. Doesn't it seem hard, no, near impossible at times? Kierkegaard made it clear that even if something is impossible for man to know, it does not logically entail that such thing is impossible in and of itself, but that sucks. That really sucks. We want to know, we want to think we can know it, we want to build a wall of confidence and say that we have facts and no one can take that away, but to contain God to facts is like trying to keep a puppy from jumping into a pit of balls; it can't be done. How can we place our infinite, omnipotent, omniscient God and place him into nice, neat rows in order to fit into our agenda, our formulas, our treasties. There is a point where logic and reason break down, where our epistomelogical confidence breaks down, where even the most brilliant and well-spoken must say they do not understand how so many innocent people can die, how such a darling daughter is now paralyzed from the waist down, how cancer can ravage a gentleman's body.
Faith goes hand-in-hand with humility. If you think you can walk on up, pulling your pants up high, throwing facts and intelligent terms around and can prove your faith through numbers and stats, you're dead wrong. What is faith?
Faith is a doctor. A good doctor who practiced out of his house for nearly 30 years. For almost as long he had a large, friendly German Shepherd named Rex. Now Rex was a big dog, a nice dog, but a big dog, and everyday he would follow the doctor down the stairs and up to the mat of the door that led into the large room where the doctor would practice his medicine and take in patients. And every day the doctor would pat Rex on the head, tell him to stay put, and would walk into the room, leaving Rex laying by the door, piering patiently into the office. One day, the doctor took in a pateint who had cancer, a bad cancer that was ravinging hate upon his body. The man was troubled, he was grief-stricken, and as the doctor checked his blood pressure the man voiced his doubts. After all, what kind of God would ever allow someone to get cancer, how could you have faith in a God like that? The doctor paused, setting his stethiscope aside before looking the man in his eyes, turning his head towards Rex across the room before turning back. "You see Rex there. He's going on 17 years right now. And never once has he stepped foot in this room. Not once, ever. But watch this." The doctor slowly paced towards the door, standing a couple meters away from the frame and whistled, waving his hand toward the now attentive mutt. Rex paused, his ears flitched, his tongue licked his wet nose as he whimpered, shuffling his feet for a few moments. The doctor finally got down on his knees and called out his name "Rex." At that instant Rex bounced from the frame of the door in a giant leap, landing in the doctor's arms as he showered his bearded face with kisses.
"See that" the doctor said "all he needed was to hear his master's voice"
Our master's voice. Can we measure faith objectively? No. But to hear our master's voice...maybe we needed to listen more intently, maybe we need to turn down our ipods and background noise, maybe we need to rid ourselves of the things polluiting our lives. But to hear our master's voice, to hear him calling to us, telling us it's ok to jump for he will catch us.
That is faith.
Will we ever know God? Not perfectly, not exhaustively, not completely. But how little we know, we surely can know this;
Jesus loves me
this I know
for the Bible tells me so
little ones
to Him belong
they are weak, but He is strong
And you don't have to be a crypto-zoologist to know that!
Pray often
Love more often
Thanks for reading. Love you all
Blake
Sunday, July 5, 2009
An Assignment
I have an assignment.
Jack Booy is an older man at our church; distinguished, carefully dressed, a man with compassion in his eyes and a soft voice that bears the weights of wisdom. Thursday night there was a party for two of our church's missionaries, a young couple named Josh and Mandy, who were heading to Michigan (hey, I know that place!) to work at a missionary college up in Jackson. It was while enjoying a delectable Subway sub and a plate of cole-slaw and fresh fruit that Jack reached across the table in a handshake. Jack and I have talked numerous times in passing, but actually sitting we were able to better indulge in more than just disjointed phrases of courtesy and small talk. It was then he gave me an assignment; a project so to say.
You see, Grace Community is an odd church, not odd as in the people here are odd...far from it, for they are no odder than I am. The church here in Hilton Head Island is small, shrinking, dwindling. I am used now to half full sanctuaries and worship services where the voices are loud and gracious, yet unable to fill the white corners of the ceiling. To be honest, it's depressing. Some services I dearly miss my community at Ivanrest CRC in Grandville. I miss the full sanctuary full of common faces, a variety of songs of praise, and a Mayberry-feel where "everyone knows your name". Here, much different. Sparse scatterings of familes across a room, 100-odd people in a room meant for many more, and at one point held itself to near-capacity. Many single moms with their children sit in the front, older couples in the middles, and drifters in the back. Very few youth exist, it is a community whose roots are fairly intact, but what of the leaves, what of the youth who will come to be the hands and feet of Christ when the old guard recieves their 'good and faithful servent' from their Heavenly Father?
Yet, there is more to it. Grace Communtiy carries 250 members (give or take a handful) and these 250 people support financially and spiritually almost 40 missionaries / mission groups. That means for every 6-7 people in the congregation here, 1 missionary is working somewhere in the holes and chasims of this world. Missionaries in China, in Kenya, in India, in Jordan and Syria, in Peru, and even in our country.
Jack's assignment; why. Why is this small, dwindling community such a breeding ground for passionate, Christ-led missionaries?
Breeding ground. My nomenclature there. After all, this church is just that. Josh and Mandy, his mom and dad did the same, his sister Joanna is here for the summer after teaching in a school for Missionary Kids in Jordan. Family after family here is so deeply embedded in the task of travelling to the neglected places in order to bring good news, after all, isn't that the etimology of the term "evangelical"? From the Greek word euangellein which combines angellein meaning 'to proclaim, announce, report' and eu which means 'good'. Thus, an evangelical is not one who specifically converts one, nor are they to merely be a tool of language and pronunciation. They are to bring good news, to, as St. Francis says "preach the good news and, if necessary, use words."
Breeding ground. Today, Grace Community had their 4th of July picnic. Combined service at 10 AM. Beautiful? Truly. To see a family interact is a joy, always, for you can always appreciate people whose affections go to depth that sins are forgiven, faults are ignored and even mocked, and most of all, that there is such love that goes beyond mere appreciation of charecter. That was the picnic; people who loved each other regardless of their inability to act in the manner of their Lord and Savior. Christ truly was dining with sinners again today, and our tables were full of us! Yet, there was love, a love that could only be provided by the grace given to us each day. We talked, we laughed, we ate, we prayed. Community at the finest. Life. This community had life.
What is Grace Community Church? It is crushed, it is pained, it is half-empty and hurting. Yet, it is alive and thriving, it is full of blood and hope. It has rosy cheeks and fresh breath. She may be limping when she walks, yet she runs with such ease despite the persistant wounds. Do we as Christians label spiritual life too conservatively? Have we, and especially myself, mislabeled full pews and chairs, overflowing offerings, and outspoken brothers and sisters of the Lord as necessary products of spiritual life? After all, though Grace may seem empty, she is quite full. Though her chairs are empty, outside the building work a vast array of deacons across this world. People who here pray fervently for those who work elsewhere and those elsewhere praying to someday unite all of us through the sacrifice of Chrsit and His gift of sufficient and amazing grace (Romans 6).
Missionaries. Today we heard about John, who works on the campus of Yale bringing the good news to people who need something more in their lives than the gaping, unquenching hole they current have. Or David who leaves for Africa with a group to work at orphanges, or Hannah, who leaves Saturday to spend a couple weeks in Asia to spread the gospel with a missionary couple. What a blessing! That such people are called to such a mission!
To answer Jack's question will take more time, but he took the words out of my mouth during our meal today when he laughed as he shook my hand.
"Well, I think you got a great place to start."
Pray always and often.
Serve zealous and joyous
Love
Blake
Jack Booy is an older man at our church; distinguished, carefully dressed, a man with compassion in his eyes and a soft voice that bears the weights of wisdom. Thursday night there was a party for two of our church's missionaries, a young couple named Josh and Mandy, who were heading to Michigan (hey, I know that place!) to work at a missionary college up in Jackson. It was while enjoying a delectable Subway sub and a plate of cole-slaw and fresh fruit that Jack reached across the table in a handshake. Jack and I have talked numerous times in passing, but actually sitting we were able to better indulge in more than just disjointed phrases of courtesy and small talk. It was then he gave me an assignment; a project so to say.
You see, Grace Community is an odd church, not odd as in the people here are odd...far from it, for they are no odder than I am. The church here in Hilton Head Island is small, shrinking, dwindling. I am used now to half full sanctuaries and worship services where the voices are loud and gracious, yet unable to fill the white corners of the ceiling. To be honest, it's depressing. Some services I dearly miss my community at Ivanrest CRC in Grandville. I miss the full sanctuary full of common faces, a variety of songs of praise, and a Mayberry-feel where "everyone knows your name". Here, much different. Sparse scatterings of familes across a room, 100-odd people in a room meant for many more, and at one point held itself to near-capacity. Many single moms with their children sit in the front, older couples in the middles, and drifters in the back. Very few youth exist, it is a community whose roots are fairly intact, but what of the leaves, what of the youth who will come to be the hands and feet of Christ when the old guard recieves their 'good and faithful servent' from their Heavenly Father?
Yet, there is more to it. Grace Communtiy carries 250 members (give or take a handful) and these 250 people support financially and spiritually almost 40 missionaries / mission groups. That means for every 6-7 people in the congregation here, 1 missionary is working somewhere in the holes and chasims of this world. Missionaries in China, in Kenya, in India, in Jordan and Syria, in Peru, and even in our country.
Jack's assignment; why. Why is this small, dwindling community such a breeding ground for passionate, Christ-led missionaries?
Breeding ground. My nomenclature there. After all, this church is just that. Josh and Mandy, his mom and dad did the same, his sister Joanna is here for the summer after teaching in a school for Missionary Kids in Jordan. Family after family here is so deeply embedded in the task of travelling to the neglected places in order to bring good news, after all, isn't that the etimology of the term "evangelical"? From the Greek word euangellein which combines angellein meaning 'to proclaim, announce, report' and eu which means 'good'. Thus, an evangelical is not one who specifically converts one, nor are they to merely be a tool of language and pronunciation. They are to bring good news, to, as St. Francis says "preach the good news and, if necessary, use words."
Breeding ground. Today, Grace Community had their 4th of July picnic. Combined service at 10 AM. Beautiful? Truly. To see a family interact is a joy, always, for you can always appreciate people whose affections go to depth that sins are forgiven, faults are ignored and even mocked, and most of all, that there is such love that goes beyond mere appreciation of charecter. That was the picnic; people who loved each other regardless of their inability to act in the manner of their Lord and Savior. Christ truly was dining with sinners again today, and our tables were full of us! Yet, there was love, a love that could only be provided by the grace given to us each day. We talked, we laughed, we ate, we prayed. Community at the finest. Life. This community had life.
What is Grace Community Church? It is crushed, it is pained, it is half-empty and hurting. Yet, it is alive and thriving, it is full of blood and hope. It has rosy cheeks and fresh breath. She may be limping when she walks, yet she runs with such ease despite the persistant wounds. Do we as Christians label spiritual life too conservatively? Have we, and especially myself, mislabeled full pews and chairs, overflowing offerings, and outspoken brothers and sisters of the Lord as necessary products of spiritual life? After all, though Grace may seem empty, she is quite full. Though her chairs are empty, outside the building work a vast array of deacons across this world. People who here pray fervently for those who work elsewhere and those elsewhere praying to someday unite all of us through the sacrifice of Chrsit and His gift of sufficient and amazing grace (Romans 6).
Missionaries. Today we heard about John, who works on the campus of Yale bringing the good news to people who need something more in their lives than the gaping, unquenching hole they current have. Or David who leaves for Africa with a group to work at orphanges, or Hannah, who leaves Saturday to spend a couple weeks in Asia to spread the gospel with a missionary couple. What a blessing! That such people are called to such a mission!
To answer Jack's question will take more time, but he took the words out of my mouth during our meal today when he laughed as he shook my hand.
"Well, I think you got a great place to start."
Pray always and often.
Serve zealous and joyous
Love
Blake
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
