January Notes

I have been internally debating returning to this blog for about a month now. It isn't that I don't like posting my thoughts. It isn't because my readership is minimal (I write for myself before I write for anyone else). It isn't even because I don't normally have the time handy that it takes to sit down, brood, and write. That is a continual problem, but one that can be overcome with a little bit of planning and awareness. The reasons for avoiding this blog are actually beyond me. Sometimes it feels like a child's toy that's been played with until the thought of picking it up again and entering that wonderful, imaginary world, for some reason, doesn't possess the same compelling feeling. Or like a movie you know you love no matter how many times you have viewed it, and yet, even on your greatest day of boredom, you can't bring yourself to pop it in the player again.

I suppose healing to such avoidance-behavior can only be found by picking that ol' action figure up again, popping that dusty videotape back into the VCR, and forgetting about yourself long enough to allow something to bless you, even if you believe it is a foregone possibility. Hence this, my first post in several months, which finds the structure in the telling of a couple of good experiences had over the past month.

Rejuvenation
I began my year by attending a week-long retreat in Kerrville, sponsored by the Truett Seminary Center for Effective Preaching. Technically an "I-term" seminary class, I was glad to find that I was not the only graduate in the group. I reunited with several friends from my days at DaySpring in Waco, and we joined with several current students for what was entitled "Imaginative Reading for Creative Preaching."

The week was a true blessing. As 2007 drew to an end, I felt like I was running on fumes, as rickety and unsure upon the journey as my old, rapidly-deteriorating Jeep (which, thankfully, carried me to Kerrville and back safely nonetheless). But this retreat/class was like pulling up to the pumps and topping off the tank. I was rejuvenated in both my reading and my writing, so much so that even during the free afternoons, while the current students were cramming and reviewing their notes (ah, the joy of not having to worry about grades anymore), I sat out on the spacious backside of our cabin, softly rocking back and forth in an old, wooden porch chair, and tapped away on my novel, feeling as if something had been restarted within me. I was the Energizer Bunny who had finally - finally - run out of juice, only to be saddled with a brand new charge. I left the retreat with a sad heart, having been reminded how wonderful seeking deep, challenging truth in community could be. It was a long, quiet, reflective drive back to Houston.

Healing
The other piece of devotion that was kick-started, both by the retreat as well as simply by the obligatory resolutions that come with the start of a new year, was a return to a time of contemplation, quietness, and prayer. Not only have Leigh and I begun to meet together one morning a week to pray both for our future - on the mission field - and the current issues filling our lives, but I have taken back up with renewed fervor the keeping of the daily office. The Book of Common Prayer has become even more invaluable to me than it was when I first purchased it our of sheer curiosity a few years ago. I am currently attempting to keep the 9:00, noon, and 5:00 hours of prayer, and I have found that the more I fashion this time as a mini-retreat, the greater sense of importance it inhabits within me. At the office or at home, I shut all the window blinds, clear my desk, light candles, and read the selected psalms, readings, and collects out loud. I've even been incorporating some different styles of chant. So, I guess I'm still perpetuating my wannabe Catholic-ness. Then again, it would be more accurate to call it a wannabe Episcopalian-ness.

The best apart about all of this, is that I have not returned to these things (writing, meditation, prayer) out of guilt, but out of a real desire to revisit the intimate, mysterious connection these things afforded me with God. Growing up, I was always guilted into "quiet times" and Scripture memorization ... and then guilted all the more when I "backslid" from such things. It has surprised me how a prolonged separation of genuine seeking and centering can cause a person to make the effort all by him - or her - self. I guess we're never completely lost, no matter who may tell us so. After all, the writer of Hebrews reminds us that, "when we are faithless, he will remain faithful, for he cannot deny himself." It is this saving reality that produces hope when it seems all hope is lost. No matter how far I fall, no matter how rebellious my actions, no matter how impure my thoughts, no matter how destructive my words - there is one I cannot shake from my shoulders no matter how violently I may writhe for freedom.

Jacob wrestled with the angel, but even in his strength and persistence, he did not walk away a winner. He did, however, walk away a new man with a new name.

I suppose there are more bold, italicized topics I could include in here. I could write more about the progression of the novel, about the wonderful books I have been reading, the contemplative prayer service I am going to be leading every week of Lent, or my plans for Ash Wednesday (which includes catching an evening concert by the rarely-outside-of-Ohio duo, Over the Rhine). I could talk about my scary addiction to FIFA Soccer on Xbox, or the new car my wife bought me for Christmas that finally arrived a week ago.

I could talk about a lot of things, but none would be more wonderful and wonder-filled to me than the two mentioned. I am rejuvenated, even in the face of a new calendar year and a lot of new responsibilities. And I am healed, even while the lingering smell of running on fumes still returns to my nose from time to time. But it's a continuous thing, these blessings, and win or lose, no one ever said wrestling was easy.

At Vacation's End

One hundred posts deserved a vacation - an escape from the blog. And that's exactly what I took - a blog vacation. Since the inception of this thing, hardly a day would go by when I wouldn't feel an idea seize me. I would be in my car, sitting in traffic and listening to some song ... or leaning back in my chair at my desk trying to decide what item on my to-do list to tackle next ... or simply lying in bed, unable yet to sleep, staring up into the darkness, ideas spinning in my mind like the blades of the ceiling fan.

I'm happy for the ideas - the way they blindside me. Growing up, it was made clear to me by my parents and my own experience that "nothing is free in this world." But the ideas are ... and maybe that's a picture of grace.

More than a picture. Maybe that grace.

Nevertheless, August and September, when you work for a traditional church, are oftentimes hectic months. The last eight weeks have been spent writing Sunday School curriculum for the whole church, creating, planning, and establishing three new Sunday morning Bible study classes for the Student Ministry, putting together a fall calendar, and coping with the return of 800 grade school kids to the church school, which includes a lot more activity in the new building where my office is located thanks to a brand new dining service. Seriously, these kids are eating grilled salmon, wild mushroom soup, organic fruit, and a whole load of other healthy, expensive foods that make the corndogs and nasty, slimy burritos from my high school cafeteria seem like the nutritional equivalent of child abuse.

Around Wednesday, the new amount of work can begin to weigh me down, but, strangely enough, by Sunday I'm ready for a new week, if only in anticipation of scratching more things off my to-do list. The problem has not been the busyness, but my response to the busyness. A few days ago, in one of those recurring reflective moments, I began to ponder how my life has (it seems almost involuntarily) reordered itself. I thought back to my days in New England, and even before that during college, when I would seek out quiet places and carve out hours of time to sit and read the Bible and Brennan Manning or Phillip Yancey books. I realize now much of my motivation to do so came from the false understanding that in some way I was earning my sanctification like a student earns a degree. But it occured to me that despite the motivation, these times were sacred for me, and no matter my level of understanding, I was communing with the Holy - I was participating in a beloved relationship.

And then came seminary ... and a shift in understanding ... and the struggle to authenticate my relationship, my times of communion. I would not trade anything for this time, even though I've discovered a bit of a nuerosis in how I approach - or fail to approach God - these days. But, hence, a reordering of my life. A new city, a new job, and a new marraige doesn't always help such a situation either. However, I sit here tonight on my couch in my living room, in one of these reflective moments, and I see that it doesn't hinder the situation either. It only changes it.

The correct response would be to change with it.

And so, a vacation from pouring out the reflections in my head has, if anything, freed me up to better embrace the busyness, and, ironically, it has brought me back into touch with the spirit of this thing, this blog. That is, to quiet myself. To get in touch with the wonder of life and report on it, not really for others so much as for me.

The relationship continues unabated ... and for now, so will the writing.

Compelled to Dance

It seems that for a person seeking after God, the worship of God has something to do with love and service. I've read enough about both to see a kind of chicken-or-egg relationship between the two, but the sum of - or, maybe more illustratively, the relationship between - the two is where worship happens. My love for God compels me into service unto him. My desire to serve teaches me more about love, namely its tendency to consume a life from every angle.

I believe this works the same with things other than God. We worship that which we love and serve, but, of course, these two terms are corrupted to a certain extent depending on what is the object of our worship. If I am consumed by a desire for a certain person (as I recall myself being in college for a certain girl), my thoughts are blessed/plagued by said person, my actions adjust to that which will please/impress that person, and my speech is measured, to the best of my ability, to interest/attract that person. The same behavior, only slightly altered to specifics, goes for anything really. A certain job, a particular status, a large savings account, a new car, an iPhone.

That which affects are level of love (the devotion we feel) and service (the things we do) for something is what we worship. And if this is so, then not only can loving and serving become corrupted, but our target of worship can be become skewed by confusion. Thus, we can think we're worshipping God, when in reality, we're worshipping our limited, selfish construct of him. The same goes for a person. Pornography owes a lot of its popularity to this concept.

So how does one avoid corruption of love and service, and keep from confusing that which is worshipped?

I really don't have an answer for that, at least not at this point in my life. However, I have begun to understand that what we choose to worship - and how we love and serve - seems to be directly related to our environment, the trappings and cosmetics that fashion our physical, social world. For example, I worship a certain status/lifestyle because pretty much everything around me validates that lifestyle. In essence, I'm tempted to love and serve something that really doesn't deserve to be loved and served at all. I've been duped. I suppose this is partly what idolatry is all about.

What is interesting is how easily our love and service can become confused, and our worship corrupted. My assumption is that there are churches all across this country that unknowingly specialize in corrupting our worship, feeding us an edited image of God for us to worship. And, at the same time, there are people coming to participate in "worship services" with the baggage of a selfish, manipulated image of God.

I'm not advocating the deconstruction of religion or doctrine or anything of the sort. What I'm searching for is worship that has been simplified. Love and service that flows directly out of relationship, rather than the rules or common practices of a particular environment. We should be compelled to worship, not tempted. Within such a distinction is a life change that I believe God desires for us all. That which draws us into a dance with him. Religion is the dance hall, and doctrine is the music, but the dance is all our own. Anyone who has ever shared a dance with someone they truly love can tell you that other than maybe remembering the name or chorus of the tune, nothing else really mattered at the time than the person whom they were holding and sweeping and twirling across the floor.

True worship, therefore, is authentic. We must be transparent - honest in full. No one wants to dance with someone who pretends to know the moves when they really don't have a clue. I think God would much rather dance with someone who isn't afraid to admit they need him to lead.

The Steaming Cup

It seems the attitude of the day is denial...

This morning, during a much needed time of quiet, I read over these words Thomas Merton wrote 67 years ago. "What (besides making lists of the vices of our age) are some of the greatest vices of our age? To begin with, people began to get self-conscious about the fact that their misconducted lives were going to pieces, so instead of ceasing to do the things that made them ashamed and unhappy, they made it a new rule that they must never be ashamed of the things they did. There was to be only one capital sin: to be ashamed. That was how they thought they could solve the problem of sin, by abolishing the term."

And then, in the Liturgy of the Hours for today, I read the story of Peter, following the arresting party of Jesus at a somewhat safe distance, and warming himself by a fire just a stone's throw from Jesus' travesty of a trial. He's fingered three times, and each time, to preserve himself, he denies his relationship to Jesus. And so it is with us, one way or another.

Denial is the easy way out, and I think it drives more of our thoughts and actions than we realize. Denial can separate us from guilt, and it can draw us closer to another person by casting a shadow over truth. Merton's words hit home this morning, not because I knowingly avoid shame by denying the wages of my mistakes, but because, at times, I find myself denying the stark reality of the gospel - of a God who is both love and wrath, mercy and justice. Forgetting this makes it a bit easier to forget the troubling consequences of my mistakes and misdeeds.

Denial works for most of us, until the shame we successfully elude finally does catch up to us. Denial worked for Peter, until that rooster crowed and the Gospel of Luke reads, "Jesus turned and looked directly at him." In those eyes was the simple, unflinching truth that denying who you are only works in one certain way, and it isn't for hope of self-preservation and avoidance of guilt.

This same Jesus who finds us and looks directly at us when we seek to conceal ourselves by denying the kind of people we are - the kind of person our thoughts and actions naturally reveal us to be - is the one who says quite plainly, "If someone wants to walk in my way, they must deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow me." Yes, those who deny themselves in this way are, as Jesus promised, saved. But this denial is an embracing of shame and guilt rather than an avoidance of it, hence the "take up their cross" clause. C.S. Lewis explained such a concept as if it were a steaming beverage that we have to gulp down, finding out only afterward that we are able to handle it.

So, may the wonder of denying who I am and all I seek to protect myself from work to cleanse me of the dirty shadows of this world. Perhaps, on the other side of this denial, I'll find the strength to see completely past my shame, and that of others.

A Standard Easy to Break

Last Wednesday evening, during the discussion time with the youth at my church, I wrote the simple sentences on the dry-erase board. "I am individual. I am community. I am a Christian."
Then I spoke about the difference between community and conformity, and explained that much of the "community" expressed in Christian circles and churches is not true community at all, but conformity.

I have read a lot of blogs lately that have been calling out the American Church on everything from its exclusivity to its politics to its legalism. There are people, Christian and non-Christian, who are fed up with the cliques, the seemingly close-minded acceptance of policy, and the hypocritical standards, to name a few things. Regarding all these issues, I wonder if our view of sin and mercy is deeply skewed, so that the above things are natural outputs from our churches today.

In my youth group (and more broadly, in my church as a whole) growing up, there were several things that could open a chasm between you and other people. The first, and most obvious, was sin, especially committing a sin that was popularly spoken against and avoided. To associate with someone who tripped and fell below the standard became much more difficult - it was almost impossible to view them in the same holy light as you had before. Another way to drive a wedge between yourself and others was to question things - anything from the existence and/or actions of God, to the historicity of Jesus and the science behind his resurrection, to the certain code of morality supposedly upheld in Scripture. To question such things meant you were doubting something, and doubting something meant lack of faith, and wavering faith, in any arena, was yet another way to plummet beneath the standard. Therefore, association with those struggling to accept carte blanche was just as difficult. A third way to divide yourself was to simply be a part of a family that held an overall different political, social, or denominational outlook. The size of this division varied depending on how radically different you family was from the standard, but woe to you if you were on the extreme - you might as well have been living in a leper colony.

The fourth fool-proof way to drive a wedge was to suggest the offering be taken up at a different time or that the pulpit might not be necessary.

I explained to my youth that part of being a Christian - of following Jesus - means that you have come to a place where your individuality should perfectly meet with a community. Hence, becoming part of a church should never challenge who you are as an individual, but you should be able to bring all of who you are - talents, ignorance, resources, questions, skills, fears - to the group without worry that you will be forced to change the way you are and how you think about one thing or another. After all, Jesus never seemed to demand a change of individuality in a person, but simply how they act and associate with others. A friend of mine said it best once: "God glories in diversity." And, I believe, the church is at its healthiest and most loving when it has learned to accept everyone as different - people who are at different places in their journey, struggling with different issues and situations, seeking the best way to personally connect with the God in whom they have placed their trust.

Conformity, on the other hand, is losing your individuality for the sake of the group. Shaving off the parts of you that don't gel with the group so that there are no hiccups, no speed bumps as you cruise to where you're going (even if you're actually going nowhere in particular). Unfortunately, there was a lot of conformity in some of the churches I grew up attending, and it is a deep-rooted problem that pervades many churches today. That is why it is so easy for me to think up the things that would be certain to drive a wedge between a person and the rest of the group.

That is not to say that, growing up, there were not people who lived above such things, who cherished community and did everything they could to preserve it. And I'm sure there are people that are the same way in your church communities as well. But, I wonder, how often do you find yourself working and living toward conformity rather than true community, whether because it is easier, less stressful, or is less likely to cause problems of a foreign nature.

Don't read me wrong - I am not arguing against behavioral, moral change. Salvation does spark change within every part of us, but my understanding of individuality goes much deeper than this. We are the persons God made us, with personalities all our own. The last thing we want to do is bring all of who we are to a group only to have them squint at us as if they are gazing at us from an insurmountable distance, confused or shocked and peering back at us from the other side of their road to eternity.

In third grade we made fun of a kid because he spoke different, had a bit of a mean streak, smelled funny, and didn't socialize in the normal way. He grew up right alongside me and some of my friends, and to this day I struggle to see him for who he is rather than who I once determined him to be.

Faith in the Mystery: Part Three of a Response

Only a week since I ranted on trilogies, and I now post the third installment of my own monster blog epic. *Sigh* We are our own dissenter...

What makes a person a Christian, and by this I mean a true Christian? In my previous entry, I attempted to describe the stunted, culture-driven Christianity in which so many Christians become entangled and the majority of Christianity's critics point at as obvious reason that the Christian faith causes more problems than it solves. So, now, removing all the excess baggage - all the bias judgment and fundamental misguidance and loss of original purpose - from Christianity as we so often encounter it today, what, truly, makes a person a Christian?

Perhaps the following will serve as the remainder of my response to both the anonymous poster (mentioned in part one) and Kuvachim (the Xanga blogger I addressed in part two).

There are two "first-of-all" points that must be taken into account. Number one, anyone whose Christian faith crumbles into nothing if you were to remove their cultural identity from it has not discovered what it means to be a true Christian. Secondly, because of the personal nature of faith, one cannot claim said person is not still a Christian, because the Christian faith is something much greater - and much simpler - than cultural identity, and, for example, while it is not at odds with me being an American, it is not defined anymore by this reality than by the fact that I am right-handed or have freckled skin.

With that in place, it is obvious that determining whether a person is a Christian shapes up to be a difficult task (as far as certainty is concerned) for anyone other than God Himself. There is, however, a couple of things that allow for discernment.

According to Scripture, Christians did not come up with their name. It was rather a label; early followers of Christ as the Messiah were name-called "Christians." Why? Because the term basically meant something to the effect of "little Christs." It was a slightly derogatory, toss-off term that, strangely enough, summed up what Christ-followers appeared to be in the eyes of non-followers as well as what they considered themselves to be in their own eyes. Little Christs. A version of Christ drawn with slightly less drama. A "Christian" was easy to define..

Belief: A person whose priorities have shifted (mentally, spiritually, religiously, theologically, etc.) so that they now consider the followship of God to be most deeply marked by devotion unto Jesus of Nazareth, a crucified enemy of the Jewish Temple as well as Rome, who they claim resurrected from the dead and ascended to heaven, and has bestowed - upon those who follow him as the true Messiah - his Spirit, that which serves as a deposit of his continual presence, as a promise of his guidance, and as that which empowers and leads his followers in their faith.
Lifestyle: A person who, affected by their shifted priorities, now understand the call to humble themselves in the same way the Messiah humbled himself (to the point of death and beyond), and to worship the God of the Jews (Yahweh) as one in the same with Jesus (His Son), and to consider nothing in the present life, including political or religious allegiance, as important as this truth in which they have place their faith.

Beyond this, the term "Christian" did not really apply , thus making it a successful label, as any good name-caller knows not to make a slur too complicated (and, to be honest, the above definition contains a creed-like clarity and attention to detail that rings of someone who views the early Christian across a centuries-old distance). Ultimately, the followers of Christ adopted the label as their own. Indeed, it is a strange faith that finds its followers adopting a slur as its name and a ghastly Roman device of execution as one of its main symbols.

In seeking to answer the question, "What makes a person a true Christian?," one cannot go about adding anything more than what is collected above. A true Christian, in essence, means somebody that is marked by Christ both in belief and lifestyle. Not someone who is marked by Christ and cultural definitions of "Christian" morality (distributed by evangelists, books, politicians, or even the Church). Whether or not such definitions would hold up with how Jesus lived and what he taught, they still have nothing to do with being a Christian.

Then why do so many Christians insist on specific moral obedience? Because, at its core, this is part of the lifestyle of a Christian - refraining from sin and humbly seeking purity is at the core of being marked by Christ. But being marked by Christ is not driven by morality or even purity. It is driven by Christ and Christ alone.

Kuvachim wrote of leaving behind Christianity because it has become watered-down and because Jesus' divinity is questionable. I smile at his decision, not because I agree with it, but because he has at least sought to determine the right way to God, instead of swallowing what cultural Christianity feeds him. Me? Well, I seek to leave cultural Christianity behind every day, but I also strive daily to retain my faith in Christ, which is inseparable from my faith in God. And it is indeed faith, because I have been marked by Christ, and therefore my beliefs are constructed by my faith in the resurrected Jesus, even though there is no perfect proof for such an event. After all, that is why they call it faith.

The tag-line of my blog is, "Holding on to God for dear life," which comes from a song by Bill Mallonee called "Songwriter (Numb)." I think it is a beautiful picture of active faith - of belief and lifestyle marked by Christ. The final verse...

"In spite of all my ties I was drifting
Now the kids, they are full grown
And just because you've got an address doesn't mean you've got a home
And they say that it's a cruel world
Some cite it as a sad fact
They say God, He must not give a damn, and God says, 'Well I don't know about that'
'Cause I keep hearing whispers
Telling me everything is gonna be all right
You put some goodness back in and you take your stand and you hold on to Him for dear life..."

This all sprang from faith vs. proof. I don't believe God is provable. I do believe in God, and I have faith in Him. Faith is our way of holding on to Him, and I believe that Christ is the handle by which we cling.

Faith in the Mystery: Part Two of a Response

During the first week of March, around the time that pop-and-fizzle bottle rocket of a documentary, The Lost Tomb of Jesus, was making waves in the media and creating an annoying (although short-lived) buzz in the ears of archaeologists, biblical scholars, Catholics, and evangelicals alike, I sat down and wrote a blog article entitled, "Leaving the Runway." Click here to read it. In it, I struggled to separate what it looks like to live the Christian life by proof, and what it looks like to live the Christian life by faith. I received some varied comments, and in a subsequent post, I responded to one side of the argument, addressing the concerns of an anonymous commenter who challenged that there cannot be a separation between faith and proof. Click here to read that response.

But there was another side to the argument, one put forth by a Xanga blogger named Kuvachim. His point of view was - and I will do my best to summarize in a sentence or two (forgive me, Kuvachim) - that "Christianity" has become much too worldly and saturated by cultural and societal desires and impulses. Furthermore, Jesus, being a physical man, will not ultimately provide a strong enough leap for faith, because it takes very little faith these days to believe Jesus walked this earth. "However," as Kuvachim writes, "it takes total faith to acknowledge that there is a God, therefore I left Christianity, because God is where the faith is at."

There are several things to consider regarding this young man's view (click here to read his comments in their entirety). Let's start with the intimation that Christianity has become "watered-down." This is what Kuvachim writes, referring to the documentary: "I can see how this can be upsetting to the older Christian community, but to be honest, I doubt the younger generation will do much about this. Most likely, they will let it be, as Christianity gets further watered down by rationalism, proof and science. Is this good or bad, I do not know. In my personal opinion, Christianity is watered down to the point where it is unsalvagable without reversing time, or entering into some 'dark age' once more."

Kuvachim - and I hope he will forgive any assumptions that betray his true thoughts - is writing out of a specific understanding of Christianity - the mainstream, popular one. The Christianity he is referring to is the Christianity that most Christians - at least in the Western Church - live in on a weekly basis, and what most non-Christians consider to be what that particular faith system is all about, what it upholds and purports. This Christianity is a faith system that, despite recognizing and existing by its lawful separation from government, still adopts governmentally-charged societal issues (race, abortion, homosexuality, definition of a family, etc.) as plumb lines for its followers. It is a faith system that concerns itself with specific definitions of morality, and fuses to this question the anxious thought of whether this or that definition is consistent with the will of God (and, sometimes, vice versa). And, by these things, it is a faith system that is ultimately concerned with self, both individual and, where two or more are gathered, the worth of the group. As a result, that which goes against the accepted practices and beliefs (which are chained, of course, to that hammered-down stake of moralism) of this brand of Christianity immediately finds itself the enemy of the system, the outsider denied access to the "joy" within.

The Christianity Kuvachim writes about is worldly Christianity, and, ironically, it is most zealously defended by people desperate to escape the world. It is not faith in God, but faith in obedience to morality so that God will not hate us. And, alluding to Kuvachim's other point, the person of Jesus (not to mention the divinity of Jesus) gets all wrapped up in this system. The scariest thing about worldly Christianity is how viral it is, and how effectively it has engulfed true Christianity, true faith. Even now, in attempting to write an unbiased and balanced response, I am battling opinions and biases within myself indoctrinated in me by the worldly Christianity influence in my religious upbringing. Indeed, such a system settles around us daily, and can be quite hard to shake away from our thoughts and actions. The Apostle Paul called it our "nature," and I do believe the equation to worldly Christianity is simply "human nature + Christian belief." It's the inverse of what C.S. Lewis calls "Christianity-and-water."

So, if true Christianity were "worldly Christianity," Kuvachim's view would certainly be a valid one, and few would argue his reasoning for leaving such a faith and disregarding Jesus. After all, the tricky thing about that faith system is that it holds out Jesus Christ as the perfect example - the very heartbeat - of its principles and direction, just like true Christianity.

Unfortunately, what I have described above (however poorly or confusingly) is not true Christianity. I am quite unworthy and unlearned to try to unpack what is "true Christianity," but, then again, I don't think there's much unpacking needed here. Simply put, true Christianity involves a growing understanding that, as humans, we are to empty ourselves. Of what? Of everything that comes between us and God: our love of material things, our worship of other people, even our hard-and-fast doctrines and rules on how to follow Him.

That last part is the rub. Most Christians rarely achieve that. I know I haven't.

Kuvachim writes that he has left Christianity, but still seems to maintain faith in God. If it is worldly Christianity he has left, wonderful. I'd love some tips. The problem is, from his comments, I have gathered that he has left more than the worldly corruption of Christianity, but also part of what makes marks a life as truly Christian. He mentions leaving behind the person of Jesus, because, by becoming a man, there has come a whole mess of problems associated with following Jesus. As the documentary reveals, there is a lot of science (whether or not it is "good" science) and history that can challenge our accepted evidence that Jesus was resurrected, the core, foundational belief of a Christian.

And this is where faith vs. proof comes back into play...

...To be continued ... for the sake of length...

The Hitching Post

The first few days of life after getting married (not counting the honeymoon, because life certainly isn't running in the normality gear during those whirlwind days) are strange ones. The equilibrium, while intact and maintainable, is certainly confused. In other words, you feel as if you should feel strange, but, strangely, you don't feel strange.

Right now, I'm sitting in my office at the church, and the iTunes playlist from my wedding reception is playing (and Yellowcard's "Only One" has just come on, and while the sentiment seems to fit, I'm wondering why Leigh thought it was a tune appropriate to our laid-back, soft time of dancing), and I'm looking at this blog screen for the first time in almost a month, and I don't feel all that different, but I know that I am different. For one thing, I'm still aware of this ring around my finger. I've never really been a ring-wearing kind of guys, unless you count that ugly, gold pinkie ring sporting my initials that I bought when I was a desperate-to-seem-cool teenager at Six Flags Fiesta Texas (which I thankfully lost soon after), or that silver James Avery promise ring I wore up until college when I gave it to a girlfriend (who, whether I should have taken it as a convenient omen or not, subsequently lost it).

But this ring around my finger is a peculiar thing. It's plain white gold, already becoming scratched, and certainly isn't an attention-drawing accessory, but I do remember that it stands for something sacred, something sacramental (yes, yes, I would be a Catholic if I were only a bit braver and more tolerant). I'm wondering how hard it is going to get to remember what this ring stands for ... or to even maintain the ability to notice this little silver thing at all. I suspect that is one of the things that happens in so many marriages - he or she loses sight of the sacramental - or, for a more ecumenical word, holy - factor of it all. The memory of the vows, the ceremony, the promise, the worship of that day kind of fades away.

Leigh was telling me the other day, while on our way to the airport for our honeymoon, that it is important to recollect out loud to each other all our memories from our wedding: the rehearsal, rehearsal dinner, ceremony, and reception - all of it. She explained to me that two of our friends, who I like to call Jenny Squared (I have to write out "squared" because Blogger doesn't offer superscript), had told her that if you don't continually share your memories of the wedding with each other, soon it will fade from memory, and the loss will hurt. They assured her that it goes by so fast for the bride and the groom that calling moments back to mind, again and again, is imperative. I'm less than two weeks removed from that day, and I could not agree more. It did go by awfully fast.

There's a small, deep anxiety within me that I will not be able to maintain my recognition of both the vows and the beauty of my union with Leigh as time goes on. I look around me at different couples that are struggling, that have called it quits... I watch movie after movie and show after show about fizzled marriages... I read about them, I hear about them, I sometimes can even watch them crumble right in front of me... and I wonder how in the world I will ever be able to succeed where so many others have failed.

But then I remember two things. Number one, it is not about "I," but "we." I cannot succeed, but we just might have a chance. After all, isn't that what bearing with one another and submitting to one another is all about? Number two, we serve a good, loving God, who, as I was reading just yesterday, invites us not only into a relationship with Him, but one marked by providence and provision. Not the popular name-it-and-claim-it, God-wants-me-to-be-successful-and-realize-my-potential crap religion, but a faith that calls me into humility, to realize it is not by any special deed or flowery incantation that God will notice and condescend to me, but simply because I come before Him, admitting that I don't really get it, and can't really do it, but - and, of course, this is the key that even fewer of us turn - I will blindly trust in both His power and desire to do it in my stead.

Yesterday morning, the Liturgy of the Hours (there's me being Catholic-ish again) brought me to Psalm 37. "Commit your way to the Lord, trust also in Him, and He will do it. He will bring forth your righteousness as the light and your judgment as the noonday. Rest in the Lord and wait patiently for Him..." (v. 5-7a). A selfish person would fixate on being made righteous in the eyes of everyone else, especially his or her selected enemies. On the contrary, I suppose a humble person would simply take comfort in being made righteous before God. And, in the end, that is what I want for Leigh and I, and what I believe this centuries-old, prayerful song is promising.

So, let it be. Let it be.

___________________

Here are some of my favorite pictures from the wedding. You can view a lot more by going to www.chasingfeathers.smugmug.com. I've got to quickly plug Rachel, our photographer. She did an amazing job, and if you're in the central Texas area, you should definitely hire her for whatever, weddings, parties, grocery store trips, lynch mobs, whatever... Oh, and Sabrina, my buddy, you did a great job, too.



It was a good day...

The Engagement Story

On December 23, 2006, Leigh Ann Wright agreed to be wife. The following is the story of the proposal and the most nerve-racking twenty minutes of my life...

I picked the evening before Christmas Eve as the time to propose to Leigh, seeing as how the following evening was traditionally a time for her family to enjoy each other's company, sitting by the fire and opening a Christmas present or two, and Leigh was excited that I would be able to join them this year. So, I shared my proposal date and idea with her sisters, and later with her mother and father over lunch out the Fountain View Cafe in which I also asked for permission (yes, Truett girls, I still asked for permission even though you all taught me that you are your own woman and a request for your hand should be addressed only to you and no one else).



On the 22nd, unbeknownst to Leigh, I drove to Waco to pick up the ring from a fine craftswoman who had taken my mother's stone and placed it on a vintage-style, white gold band. The following day, after a few hours at the office, I set to work preparing the night. While getting clothes and necessary materials together and putting the finishing touches on a special slideshow DVD, everything was going fine. It wasn't until I left my apartment that things seemed to go to hell. First of all, Houston's Restaurant, the place I had planned to take Leigh to dinner after the engagement (one of her favorites), informed me that they could not accommodate eight people anywhere in their establishment. This seemed ridiculous to me, but they showed me the puny table sizes and were very apologetic. So, with only about three hours before Leigh was to get off work (and there was a chance she may have been allowed to leave early), I frantically battled the heady west Houston traffic, searching for a nice enough restaurant that would not be crowded out that evening and unable to seat eight (the high number is explained farther down).

While Leigh's parents and my own parents (yes, they were secretly in town) made calls to several restaurants, I finally fought my way to Pappadeaux Seafood Restaurant off of I-10. The manager was very gracious, to my weary relief, and not only promised to seat an incomplete party of six when they showed up, but even made a reservation for the eight of us even though the time was only a few hours away.

Able to breathe again, I took my filthy Jeep through a car wash despite the rainy weather, and then vacuumed it out. Though I was almost an hour behind schedule (and had not eaten anything all day), I had given myself a buffer in case Leigh should get off early. I arrived at Leigh's parent's house, unloaded my materials, and then parked my car around the block where she would not pass it. My parents and Leigh's parents were waiting for me, and I was able to talk with them and calm my racing pulse and breath. Shirley, Leigh's mother, informed me that she had convinced Leigh to swing by the house on her way home from work, even though Leigh believed I was coming to her apartment to pick her up for a Christmas date. Shirley had made up some suspiciously elaborate ruse regarding the need for Leigh's opinion on a Christmas present for her twin sister that her parent's had purchased but about which they now had doubts. Leigh had called me earlier, frustrated at her mother's insistence, but I assured her we were in no rush, so she should go by their house after work. Unfortunately, in an attempt to fortify the ruse, I unwisely told her to call me when she was leaving her parent's house, not when she got off work as was her usual routine.



While preparing little clue cards that I planned to place at either entry door of the house, with a trail of Dublin Dr Pepper bottles I acquired from Waco (the significance of these comes from the first gift I gave her the day I first drove down to meet her in person), I made sure everyone was on the same page regarding the restaurant. Her parents, two sisters, and my parents would arrive first, be seated, order appetizers, and await our arrival, ready to surprise Leigh as celebratory guests to our engagement dinner. As I finished the cards that would lead her from either the front or back door - whichever one she chose - to the living room coffee table note, I glanced at the clock. It was only 6:50, which meant Leigh should only now be giving her reports in the Labor & Delivery ward at St. Joseph's Hospital downtown, and was still a good half hour away at the earliest. I decided to use the guest bathroom and clean-up a bit, washing my face, styling my hair, brushing my teeth, etc.

And the the phone call came...

Shirley answered the phone, and we assumed it was Leigh calling to tell her mother that she was getting off work and would be there in about thirty minutes. Shirley spoke quickly and then told her to come on, that she was waiting for her. Then she frantically hung up the phone and called out, "She's at Dairy Ashford and I-10 people! We gotta go!"

My parents leaped from their comfortable seats, and I yelled from upstairs, "Go, go, go!" Thinking quickly, they reversed the plan and my parents, instead of hiding their car, volunteered to drive to Leigh's older sister, Stephanie's, house, since she would never be able to make it over to us in time to drive everyone to the restaurant, as was the original plan. My mother quickly placed the Dr Pepper bottles outside for me, then they wished me luck and sped away.



Realizing Leigh was only about seven minutes away and getting closer by the second, in a blur I dried my face, crammed on my shoes, and flew around the house, checking to make sure the DVD was cued-up, that the outside notes were in place and the electric candles (it was drizzling outside) were on, the bottles were correctly in place, the coffee table arranged, and the lights turned strangely low. Knowing Leigh might pull up any minute, I peered out through the blinds of the front window, watching the street, my heart jumping at any headlights that appeared and then passed on.

I had not been stressed or rushed all day, save the frantic hour spent changing restaurants, but now sweat was pouring off me, and I was trembling. I had put so much work into this, for her to show up even a little too soon might blow everything. My thoughts swirled within me. What if she recognized my parent's car turning across Dairy Ashford into Stephanie's neighborhood? What if she grew too suspicious when Shirley began to sound surprised she was calling so close to home? What if she doesn't do what the notes say and searches the house?

Straining to breathe, I turned from the window and surveyed the living room, if only to gather some reassurance that everything was set up. It wasn't.

The central candle, by which sat a note instructing Leigh to play the DVD, was unlit. And I had no idea where Shirley kept the matches! Knowing Leigh would pull up any second, I ninja-leaped into the kitchen and tore through the drawers, digging for matches. Thankfully, I spied an old book of restaurant matches, half-used, and scurried into the living room. The match took five scrapes to light, but I managed to light the candle, extinguish the match, throw it away, hide the matchbook, and dive back to the window just in time to see Leigh's Honda CRV park out front. Diving to the floor, I Vietnam-crawled my way back to her parents' bathroom, and hid behind the counter where, hopefully, Leigh would not hear my labored breathing.

"Hello?" I eventually heard her call out from the back door (leave it to her not to see the candles and bottles right in front of her on the front walk, but go all the way around to the back door). "Mom? Dad?"

Play the DVD, Leigh. Just sit down and play the DVD. Don't search the house. Don't be stubborn - just do what the note says.

Finally, I heard the music begin on the DVD, which was a slideshow of pictures of the two of us in chronological order, telling our story, sandwiched between the quote about love that first moved her to comment on my blog back in April of 2005. Once again, I could breathe easier, and slowly I stood up, ready to walk out into the living room once the song ended and the words, "I love you, Leigh," came up on the screen backed by soft acoustic music.

But, as I stood up, suddenly, and to my horror, the song ended abruptly. I heard Leigh call out in a wavering voice, "Bo, are you in here?"

Cursing under my breath, I retreated back to my hiding place behind the counter as she called my name again. Just watch the darn slideshow, Leigh!

To my relief, the song continued then, and came to its end. I slowly stepped out from the bedroom and found my Leigh sitting on the couch quietly, staring at the words on the screen. I gently touched her shoulder and rounded the couch, kneeling before her. The ring box was literally up my sleeve.



To my best recollection, this is what I said, but I cannot be sure, because during it she began to cry and I was a mess of stress and emotion: "Merry Christmas, Leigh. I love you. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I want to love you for the rest of my life." I then pulled out the box, choosing, for once in my life, not to keep talking, and opened it in front of her. "Leigh Ann Wright, will you marry me?"

"Sweetie," she exclaimed, "yes!" Giving a big hug, she then allowed me to place the ring on her finger. Of course, being the dunce that I am and the wreck of serenity I was right then, I misjudged which was her left hand, and the ring ended up on her right hand. We realized this and changed it a few minutes later.

We remained there for a little while, me explaining to her all my secretive procedures of the past few weeks, my trips to Waco, who made the ring, where the stone had come from, how many lies I had told as well as her sisters and parents, then me asking why she didn't come in the front and her admitting she had not even seen the bottles and candles that had been right in front of her. I was glad, then, that I had set a few up in the back as well. We toasted the moment with a couple of Dublin's, then I told her that her sister had brought over a choice of clothes for her to change into for our dinner date, which we were still going to keep.

She happily went and dressed while I walked around the block, to retrieve my car. Making my way through the chilled, wet evening air, I breathed calmly again, and would be able to do so the rest of the night. As I strolled contentedly to my car, I sighed a deep, brief prayer of thanks to God that somehow, even in his greatness and glory, somehow condescended to be in those frantic and beautiful moments that had just taken place. I hoped he would remain in all our moments from that time on.

Later, at the restaurant, we approached our reserved table and Leigh was taken aback by the excited, silly faces of her family half-hiding behind their menus. It was a wonderful evening, with good food, a wonderful family soon to be joined, and a radiantly beautiful girl sitting next to me, a diamond ring on her finger, a joyous grin on her face.

Merry Christmas, Leigh. I love you.

Blessing

May peace rain down from heaven
like little pieces of the sky
little keepers of the Promise
on these souls the drought has dried
In his blood and in his body
in this bread and in this wine
Peace to you
Peace of Christ to you.
- Rich Mullins

A few years ago, my friend Amy took several of us out for dinner. To celebrate her birthday, we drove all the way from Worcester to Providence to dine at The Cheesecake Factory. Once we sat down and ordered, she announced to us that she would be the one to foot the bill. We objected - it was her birthday after all - but she insisted. She explained that, while working in Thailand, she was introduced to the tradition of hosting and serving friends on one's birthday rather than being served. Despite the fact that, as college minister/missionaries, we all brought in meager earnings, we finally ceased our objections and later watched as Amy happily relinquished a chunk of her income for the large meal. Maybe I shouldn't have ordered that Dulche de Leche slice on top of my Crusted Chicken Romano...

Today on my birthday, I think of this and I realize that my friends make up a diaspora, scattered from Austin, San Marcos, Waco, Dallas, Boston, and beyond, and as much as it will save me some money, I am saddened I cannot offer such a gesture of blessing and thankfulness to those I love, those I have missed and am missing as I live here in Houston. Perhaps I am the one scattered.

So, above is a blessing written by Rich Mullins. I trust in ex opera operandi as I, a sinful not-so-young-anymore man, bestow this blessing upon all of you, my friends. May the words of this blessing find their way into the core of all your lives, changing you from the inside out, granting you peace, patience, and infusing your minds and hearts with unending grace and love. It's the best thing I can give. It's no free Crusted Chicken Romano, but may this blessing find all of you -

Stevie, Shane, Jenny, Kyle, Jason Z., Carl, Jill, Nathan, Austin, Sara, Lois, Kevin, Lauren, Sabrina, Lisa S., Josh, Chad, Chris M., Natalie, Kristen R., Ryan R., Meagan, Lisa W., Grayson, Drew, Matt, Maggie, John Y., Dave, Emily, Katie, Baxter, Janalee, Myles, Amy B., Jason H., Martha Kate, Cliff, Ken, Dr. Gloer, Burt, Bro. Terry, Paul, Taylor, Abe, Stephen, Jeff, Kelly, Amy G., Aaron, John R., Anna, Mark, Geoff, Stacey, Ryan S., Stephanie, Bonnie, Shirley, Jimmy, Kristen K., Seth, Charles, Katherine, Phil, Hazel, Martus, Jeanie, Amy S., Christopher, Gloria, Janice, my wonderful Leigh, and my mom and dad (and everyone else I forgot)-

and may it be my way of honoring you.

Wow, there's no way I could have footed that bill.

If You Want to Catch the Squirrel...

This morning, I preached/spoke/taught (what's the difference anymore?) in the church school's lower chapel, which consists of Kindergarten through fourth grade. It was strange to stand up and see my church's sanctuary filled to the back with little munchkins, stranger still to find myself speaking to them, and even stranger to see most of them engaged in the message. However, what was most surreal about the entire experience is that the message which, I admit, I threw together in a couple of days, somehow morphed into the story of my life, unbeknown to the crowd of rug-rats and their teachers.

The theme of the chapels for this year is "the fruits of the Spirit," and I spoke about patience and self-control using my parents' two dogs, Gracie and Molly, and their continual epic struggle against a devious wild squirrel as a means to communicate the importance of stepping back and learning to wait on things rather than rushing right in.

I explained that the consequences to rushing in and not thinking things through can oftentimes be painful, much like Gracie, when she somehow manages to scrape her way up onto the lowest nook of the tree, sprains her paw almost every time when she has to hop back down. And I am not much different...

It is extremely difficult to be patient, to wait on things. When I get a bright idea, I normally take off after it and decide that, if I'm going to think it through I'm going to do so only in the time allotted on the way and if not then screw thinking anything through at all. I feel like this sometimes happens to Leigh and I, as well as with my work in the youth group, but lately I realize that my entire psyche is geared this way, to chase before I know the prey, to shoot before I even see the target.

It occurs to me (as I'm sure it occurs to other people a lot earlier in life) that impatience is at the root of much of our division and animosity. It could be argued that the mishandling of the War in Iraq (no matter how much you may think it was or was not mishandled) came from mere impatience on the part of those who knew we needed to do something about Hussein's regime (and I have just realized, as a complete side note, that Hussein sorta rhymes with "insane"). The same could be considered for many of the problems in the denominational splits, specifically Baptists, over the past several years. Impatience leads us away from an amicable solution - it does not lead us there faster.

And, in my mind, this all spirals back to me, and my inability to wait on the good things and to control myself from chasing after the bad things. And even if I do decide to seek after the good things with more vigor, I transition from battling impatience to battling procrastination, which I suppose, is just impatience in another form.

Life is not easy. Simple, yes. But never easy, at least not for someone who truly wants to embrace it. In doing so, there comes the subtlest of struggles, from the need to tweak relationships, overcome disagreements and misunderstandings, reassess ideas and accept failure, and learning each day how to walk a straighter, narrower line in regard to all the hundred million buzzing flies of distraction that play incessantly before our eyes. To be impatient in any or all of these circumstances is to turn our backs on the goodness and worth of the world. To embrace the world and seek its goodness - to embrace life - is to overcome our desire to have everything immediately.

It is a truth I hope at least the children caught, if not me as well. There's no need to leap into the tree. Just let the squirrel be, because, if we remain patient, eventually it'll have to come down, right?

I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord! - Psalm 27:13-14

But the Meek Don't Want It

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "It's nothing."

"You cannot expect me to believe that it is nothing," said his friend.

He sighed heavily, a weariness under his breath. "It's just that, I was hoping to escape this place, not receive it back. I never actually thought it would be my inheritance."

"What did you think?"

"It's a nice gesture. Don't get me wrong. It's just..."

"Tell me."

"I never wanted it," he said quickly, shyly, throwing him a nervous look out of the corner of his eye. He spoke again, slower and more mindfully, as if in confession. "I could never bring myself to want it. I mean, I did my best to enjoy it - the place itself - while I was there, but even that was difficult. Every day it was something else, but never anything new, never anything genuine. They were all taking up side after side, raising issue after issue. They were practically salivating over the fights that came!"

"I know it was hard for you. It was the same for me."

He looked at his friend and saw the deep truth of that statement etched in the lines of his face. Hesitating, he softly spoke again. "It simply got to a point where I just assumed the place belonged to the others, the ones who battled over it so viciously. They're the ones who seemed to have all the zeal, all the passion for the place."

"It was contrived zeal. It was misdirected passion. Such confusion can eventually consume a person, until that which is fake seems real and justified and necessary. But..."

He watched his friend trail off and look away. "But what?"

"But love ... genuine love ... is pushed away."

He shrugged again. "I just assumed it would not ever become mine. I thought, because I didn't join the fight - or, what they called 'protection' - I had no right to inherit the place. I mean, shouldn't they be the ones to finally sort out all the mess?"

"It doesn't belong to them. It is your inheritance, not theirs."

"No offense, really, but it's not much of an inheritance," he said.

"Tell me about it," said his friend. "I had a front row seat all this time, watching so many lose their hearts and minds, and everything that I did became nothing more than some vague recognition brought up only to fuel arguments and talking points."

Another heavy sigh escape his lips. "So, what do you expect me to do?"

"What you did for your own life, you must do for this place. Give me back to them - to all of them."

He shook his head and said, "They're not going to like that very much - the ones that fight so hard for you." He watched as his friend's face fell sorrowfully, and both of them stepped forward and looked out upon the place, upon the inheritance.

"They're not fighting for me," said his friend. "They're fighting for themselves."

Frozen

"We touched down on the sound at the top of the world in the land of the midnight sun, where the frozen river melts away and breaks into a run into the sea, into the mighty waves that waited just to see it. From a long way off that river thawed and the tide ran out to meet it. "Welcome home, unfrozen river, welcome home!" - from the song "All Shall Be Well" by Andrew Peterson

My deep desire is to move, to actively seek the Kingdom until one grand morning when I find myself stumbling down that last stretch of road, the weariness melting off me in the final, staggering steps that, as they wobble and fall, one after another, they become the last testament of the paradox of this life, that it is quite simple but also quite difficult.

I often feel frozen in this life, locked into a way of thinking, a selfishness, an apathy that, even in my most inspired moments, I perpetuate instead of humbling myself. To retain this self-centeredness is to be frozen, unmoving. To humble oneself (or to be humbled) is to be thawed, to begin to flow. A river moves where it desires, but only because the destination it desires is what the landscape around it bends toward as well. In other words, as much as a river destines its own flow, it is as much predestined at the same time. I desire to move, and my life is contoured to flow toward the Kingdom, but I often find myself remaining frozen, unable to break free even though the desire exists.

The wayward son "came to his senses" one afternoon while he stood ankle-deep in mud, excrement, and pig slop. Finding himself stalled, frozen if you will, in the consequence of his selfishness, he somehow found a way to break free, even if it was with a rehearsed excuse on his lips. He thawed. He flowed. And he found the sea waiting for him, even surging forward to meet him. The excuse ended up not being necessary.

Oh, that I also would thaw and break free into a rapid run for my true home, the destination I am bent toward, the only place I really belong.

An Equilibrium of Dunces

With a move to a new city, assuming a new job, making new acquaintances/friends, and unloading oneself into a new living space, there is always the desire to mark this relocation with some level of lifechange. A change of behavior, a change of conduct, a change of mindset ... this, at least, is what I often seek to accomplish. In my never-ending quest to be genuine yet new in every season of life, I often find myself disappointed with how much my new position begins to immediately look very much like my old ones.

Why can't I change? A friend of mine, Myles, recently wrestled with the concept of transformation on his blog, and indeed, this is what I truly desire, I believe, at the heart of relocation. To transform and in so doing transcend my current surroundings - to stand above them, unfazed, yet pour this new, noble, genuine self into all that is around me.

A forced transformation is no transformation at all, but an indignantly-worn disguise of who I really am. Such a disguise is stressful, on one extreme, and on the other, the lows of realizing how little I have changed brings with it a much more melancholy stress.

It's dumb - plain ol' dumb - to try to force anything, mainly because we have been created a certain way, to be a certain kind of person, and the task is not to overcome who we are, but learn how to compromise who we are (even the rough, unpopular, unpristine edges of ourselves) with the world around us, no matter where we end up for however long. To attempt anything else is to be off-balance, off-kilter.

So let me be dumb if I am dumb, but not in the way that tries to pretend I'm not. Even as I grow and mature, let me be a bit of a dunce always nonetheless. Let me accept who I am and be taught that if who I am is good enough for God, it should certainly be good enough for me.

Great Souls

In Lord Richard Attenborough's film, Gandhi, there is a remarkable scene that takes place toward the end of the Great Soul's days, as terrorists responsible for the violence in Calcutta and other regions of India come to him to lay down their weapons at his bed, determined not to continue their violent ways and so cause Gandhi to perish by fasting unto death. An angry Hindu man rushes to the bedside and shoves bread into the Mahatma's face, demanding he eat. The man refuses to have Gandhi's death on his conscience. He confesses he is damned and tells of recently killing a Muslim child. Still very weak from his fast, Gandhi says to the distraught man, "I know a way out of hell." He tells the man to go, find an orphaned Muslim child, and adopt him as his own son. "But," Gandhi tells the man, "you must be careful to raise him as a Muslim." The man is shocked - so would any of us be who translated this scene into our own lives. All my Western Christian brain could think at that moment was, "But the child would be Muslim. And the man is still Hindu. They're both going to hell."

Why do great souls like Gandhi, Buddha, and Rabbi Abraham Heschel go to hell, after all they have done to direct humanity away from selfishness and into the recognition of the transcendent, transforming love of God? The obvious answer - the answer I grew up with - is that this has nothing to do with what they did in life. What they did was highly commendable, but Ephesians 2:8-9 blares out the truth all the same, "For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast." As Christians, especially as Protestants, we hold to this truth with an iron fist. We clarify it as meaning one thing: there is nothing we can do to earn salvation. However, what is remarkably absent from this true and wonderful statement is the "way" that we can find salvation. Christians today inject a doctrine after this verse, and it normally takes the form of praying for the forgiveness of all your sins and accepting Jesus' death on the cross as the atoning sacrifice that covers us from the consequence of sin, which is death. I am not denying this doctrine. I am questioning its placement and its form.

Ephesians 2:8-9 rejects the idea of earning salvation by living in such a way as to impress God. In reality, salvation comes only as a free gift, bestowed upon all whom he chooses to save, no strings attached, no prerequisites required. However, the Church has established a prerequisite of its own - the salvation prayer. Though the original form of this prayer was of complete supplication, complete rejection of all worth and merit, it has become a "work" of its own. If you don't "do" it, you don't get in to Heaven. It has become the initial hurdle to leap over as you "run the race" (1st Cor. 9:24).

What is the salvation prayer supposed to be? Is it only poignant words prayed that hold sway over your life throughout all your days? Or is it the expression of a change of heart that takes place allowing us to expel the things of this world in eager expectation of the things to come? Is it vainly seeking rescue from Hell (as it was with me at the fearful age of 8)? Or is it praying the theme of a life given over in humility to a great and gracious God?



I look at the life of Gandhi and Rabbi Heschel and other great figures whom we assume never "acquired the faith" and therefore shall spend eternity in torment. Maybe so. But if the way a life is lived is to be any proof of the desires of one's heart and the passion of one's soul, Gandhi is truly redeemed, whether he mumbled a sinner's prayer or not. And we ... we are damned. I worry about whether or not I will find a job in Houston once I graduate? Gandhi worried about the masses of Untouchable's littering the streets of the cities of India. Much of the quiet moments of thinking during my day is focused on my future with Leigh, where we might live, what the future holds for us. Gandhi's quiet moments were spent considering new ways to unite all the people of his country in love and mutual respect, across even violent religious lines. I sweat over how I might prove myself a talented writer and an innovative minister. Gandhi calmly spent his time praying and weaving his own clothes. I occasionally erupt into anger when I want to be recognized as right. Gandhi softly said, "An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind."

Who is truly humbled before God? Who is truly saved?

Thank you, God, that there is never-ending grace. I cannot earn it, and nothing I offer can ever affect it, even the most soul-stirring of prayers.

Peace, Be Still

"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; all who follow his precepts have good understanding. To him belongs eternal praise." - Psalm 111:10

I am amazed that I did not develop a massive ulcer while I was in college, and not because of my academic schedule. That I did without much effort. Papers were written the morning before and still garnered superior grades. Classes and tests about which I cared little I studied only enough to grab a passing grade and nary another thought was paid it. All in all, I did not struggle to obtain my degree. No, the stress and frustration came from my striving to attain the felt presence of God. At this, I considered myself a colossal failure.

What perpetuates both our frustration with, and our coming back to, personal worship times with God is the spiritual payoff we fill must be attained before we close our bibles and unfold our hands. So often it does not come, there is no feeling like we have been filled with some great new movement of the Spirit, and therefore we suspect perhaps we are seeking God incorrectly or half-heartedly. And so we nervously reach for new devotionals, new Bible studies, Christian living books, many of which are marketed as assurances that they contain the secret of truly bringing the reader to an encounter with the presence of God. And as far as the prayer aspect (for strangely, the contemporary view of what a personal time with God constitutes is normally a short devotional study coupled with a segment of prayer wherein is begged both inspiration and intercession for others), it is often the desire to hear God "speak" to us concerning his will. Absurdly, most of this desire is communicated not by our falling silent to heed God by slowing ourselves down, but instead by making our prayers grandiose and lengthy - after all, the longer the prayer, obviously the more faith is being displayed.

Today in a staff meeting, someone commented that the praise chorus, "The Heart of Worship" should perhaps be sung differently by many people - if they are being real with themselves and what they are wanting to gain from worship - as "I'm coming back to the heart of worship, and it's all about me, it's all about me, Jesus." In other words, we judge the genuity of our times with God on how much we get out of it, how inspired we feel after we have finished. We are self-centered and sorely mistaken people.

My pastor included a quote in our afternoon prayer guide yesterday. "You are a child of God ... in union. There is nothing to prove. Nothing to attain. Everything is already there. It is simply a matter of recognizing and honoring and trusting" (Richard Rohr). Likewise, during our time of prayer, instead of expounding relentlessly on the physical and spiritual condition of each and every person we interceded for, we simply spoke their name quietly and the group prayed in unison, "Peace. Be still." Could we want any more for a person, spiritually speaking, than that?

Perhaps it is this simple truth that all of us who strive and scrape for an epiphanal experience with God need to remember. Instead of gaining some grand, inspirational word from our Savior and Redeemer, we should instead hear him inaudibly whisper to our souls, "Peace, be still. Where is your faith? Peace, be still. Do not be afraid."

The Calling

This past Sunday, the call to worship in the church that I attended was a responsive reading.

God of all creation, forgive us for our lack of wonder.

We take so much for granted.

God of mercy, forgive us our plotting and punishing.

We are adept at manipulation.

God who knows each of us intimately, forgive us for showing you our masks.

We have been dishonest before you.

God of everlasting love, hear our longing for your grace.

We lift up our hearts to you.

In looking at these words again, I have begun to realize that they paint a very truthful portrait of my weeks, both in the past and as of late. The three mistakes within this text are very much my own, and the final prayer, in the theme of the Sursum Chorda, is the desperate prayer I often find dwelling upon my lips at the close of day.

I take so much for granted ...

Throughout my days I forget the real purpose for being where I am, and this does not mean simply seminary. The call of God comes in many more places than this in my life, but in all, I seem to forget it, or let it fall by the wayside as if I were shedding a sweater for which the weather does not ask. Because of this, when struggles surface, I ransack God's grace for benefits rather than healing, for exhortation rather than comfort. And with each misguided thought and deed that is captive to my own worries instead of God, I become so much more robotic and less free, and my God-given sense of wonder deteriorates like an old abandoned house.

I am adept at manipulation ...

One of my most infuriating pet peeves about myself is when I find I am living by formulas, or making extensive plans to things which support no such structured treatment. I despise such living, because a life of faith, as I understand it and Frederick Buechner describes it, "is a journey without maps." You can no better figure out your exact destination as you can backtrack and change the past. It is constant motion - you cannot slow down, and you cannot skip ahead. Such a truth is a curse and a blessing. But for some strange reason, I default to an attitude of manipulation regarding my life. My mind spins, gently but uncontrollably most times, with how to perfectly set up my future. I assure myself I am simply being careful about things, but this carefulness ultimately begins to eradicate the simple beauty of life; before I know it I find I have laid a gaudy concrete path straight through a landscape that was never intended to be crossed so directly and with so much certainty. If only I would trust ... let go ... forget the need for a clear path ...

I have been dishonest before Him ...

If the sin of omission is to neglect to perform those things that a follower of Christ does to glorify God, then every absence of a God-glorifying act is, in essence, dishonesty. It is a sobering reality, but to be swept up in despair over it is to commit yet another sin of omission, that of forgetting the all-sufficient love and forgiveness of God. It may not be a straight road we walk, but it is a fine line.

I lift up my heart to You ...

What more can I do, even when weighed down by the guilt of these failures? I suppose confession is the best course of action. In guilt there is a sinking feeling, as our hearts seem to hang with the weight of a hundred different shortcomings. In confession, there is a lifting up, an expanding, like a sagging sail that suddenly is filled with a guiding gust. And on the wind can be heard, to those who really listen, these words:

Lift up your hearts ... We lift them to the Lord ... It is right to give Him thanks and praise.

We do not know our destination. But on this journey, fueled by a longing for grace, every so often we can hear, not too far off beyond the horizon, a Savior calling us to worship, and we begin to understand that in every step there is something sacramental.

Glue (The Greatest of These)

The stuff of wonder came recently in this way: I was introduced to another intriguing songwriter and his music, Conor Oberst, of Bright Eyes. My friend, Jeff, popped in the album, I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning, the other night just to play for the few of us hanging out together the opening of the album. As the album begins, Oberst opens with a brief story that lays the foundation for the first song. He tells of a young woman flying high across the ocean in an airline, on her way to meet her fiancee, when all of a sudden, the plane's engines completely fail and they begin to plummet from their extreme altitude to certain death. The pilot is on the intercom devastated and apologizing profusely in grief. Oberst says the woman turns to the stranger sitting next to her, a man she had not been able to maintain a conversation with earlier, and she asks him in fear, "Where are we going?" The man looks at her with a smile and replies, "We're going to a party ... It's a birthday party. It's your birthday party. Happy Birthday, darling. We love you very very very very very very very much!"

Will I love in my last days? Whether they are in years far removed from where I roam now, or as close around life's corner as I am now in this coffeehouse from where I parked my car just outside? Will there be joy in my voice when the final moments befall me? Will my expression be a testament to the wonder and glory that can be experienced in life ... or another forlorn face displaying the unmistakable message that life is just too hard?

To be honest, the first time I heard that story, my brow furrowed at the knee-jerk thought, "So, was this guy a Christian ... and was this girl? Because, if she is not, he's just lying to her." It only took me a few seconds, as that thought passed through my mind, for me to tragically (and oh so typically) miss the point of the story. The point of the story, as I see it now, having calmed my Christian pride to refrain from reactions into judgment, is joy in life, joy in death, and love for others. ... And this last one is the rub.

A Christian is one who loves any and every person to death; one who loves fully and without judgment through this entire sojourn of life, until he or she comes to the trail's end. There are a million different books (in the Christian and non-Christian markets) that expound on a million different little virtues that humans should practice as they go about this thing called Life - each one is good in the tiny world in which it exists. But I'm beginning to wake up to the reality that there is only one thing to which I am really called by my Creator - only one thing that covers all and sums up all and has any real, lasting merit in Life.

Colossians 3:14. "And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity." We are all scraping (especially those of us in the Church) to become efficient in some angle of good living - we want to know what is good and pleasing and then live in such a way. And though this ambition is noble and good-hearted, it produces headaches on a regular basis. Because, once we pick up one pure virtue, we drop or lose track of another, and we spend our life trying to keep all the do's and don't's together like a person struggling to carry too many groceries.

It seems Love is the glue of which we are in desperate need. It binds up all other virtues. Perhaps some of those financial companies advertising on television cannot totally consolidate your loans and expenses and such, but I wonder if, when we love, we are not perfectly consolidating every other little virtue into our lives, binding all things together. Is it safe to say that, at the end of the day, if we can look back on where we have roamed and view ourselves actively loving ourselves and other people, we can be sure we did indeed bless the world and honor our God with our lives that day?

Maybe if we begin to practice this greatest virtue, we will eventually find ourselves in that Day far beyond now, speaking in love to those around us, grinning from ear to ear, and eager for the party.



"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." - 1st Corinthians 13:13