On to Bethlehem

God wraps himself in human skin
for those who want a touch
And God let them drive the nails in
for those of us who know way too much
You come bearing all our burdens
to take your lovers for a ride
But we stay locked up in our cages
fashioned by our own design

It's cold this year and I'm late on my dues
It's cold in here, ah but that's nothing new
My heart's electric with your love again
So it's on to Bethlehem
On to Bethlehem

So tell me what is your secret?
What's on your blister soul?
What is that one little secret,
you know, the one that has taken its toll?
'Cause Daddy's banging on your gate again
No he won't leave you alone
He's got a whole lot of dry, warm rooms
and the finest of homes

It's cold this year and I'm late on my dues
It's cold in here, ah but that's nothing new
My heart's electric with your love again
So it's on to Bethlehem
On to Bethlehem
On to Bethlehem
On to Bethlehem

(final two verses of "On to Bethlehem" by Bill Mallonee and Vigilantes of Love)

*Thanks, Bill, for such a wonderful song.
______

The purpose of this blog was for it to serve as a personal reminder of the constant presence of the wonders of God, as well as an outlet for my thoughts and ideas on such a grand subject. Looking back over some of the posts, I realize most of the time my investigate of these wonders comes across rather happy-go-lucky - perhaps even a bit naive. It is not only in pleasure that one discovers (often stumbles unwittingly across) these little glories, these hidden but not hiding diamonds of life. To be honest with ourselves, we can find revelations of wonder in our pain - in our struggles, both large and small - as well.

In the last few years, an image has continually been recycled in my mind, elbowing its way to the forefront of my thoughts every so often. It is a picture of me ungracefully maneuvering a tightrope stretched high above a circus-like arena. I am somewhere in between the start of this precarious journey and its much awaited, much desired, much glory-filled end. I clutch one of those long rods and am trying my best to position it back and forth to maintain my balance, but it is obvious to myself and everyone in the audience that it is only a matter of time before I plummet off one side of the rope.

And what this image affords me as the two different sides below the tightrope are enough to rattle my nerves beyond my control. If I fall off one side, it will be right into the ring of the lions, all hungry and dissatisfied with life and pissed to be where they currently are. Assuming the simple impact doesn't kill me - and it probably won't - these merciless beasts will. On the other side of the rope, below me, stands proudly and pompously the ring leader and his little lackeys that race around following his commands like Oompa Loompas on speed. The ring leader and his assistants notice my uncertain position, my treacherously weakening footing, and looking up at me they frown. I know if I fall to them, I will absolutely ruin the whole show.

I will abandon drawing out this metaphor any further. This image serves as a constant reminder of the precarious position in which I often find myself in regards to the path I am walking between two worlds, both of which I love and I love to hate. The side of the rope with the lions is the world (or, as Christian sub-culture would label it, the "secular world"), and I know if I fall too far into it, it will eat me alive, causing me to compromise everything I hold as noble and absolutely true. And yet, it is an exciting world, full of danger and grandeur and power. The other side of the rope is the Church, and the manner in which it has become so absolutely terrified of failure, adverse to falling, and severely unappreciative of anything that would cause the show to look - if even for a moment - unprofessional. Where is one to fall, when both sides have become so threatening?

If the metaphor was nice and tidy, included in my image would be a strong safety net stretched under me like patient, loving hands. But, I must be honest, every time this image comes to mind, I see no such net.

I believe God is there ... but lately I have felt so far from him that the manner in which he would fit into the metaphor is only as the safety net I, the performer, in all my pride and carelessness, told the ringhands to keep stuffed in its box in the supply tent. This distance I feel from my Maker is of my own doing, my own wandering. I would rather wallow in my laziness, my carelessness, than spend time seeking him, inquiring as to his will, growing closer to him as my lover. This all has nothing to do with whether or not I am "doing my daily quiet time" or "pursuing my joy in him." It is a deeper struggle, stemming from a base condition of human desire in living. We do what is least risky, most of our lives, as far as internal, psychological and spiritual truth goes.

Before me lies my open notebook, where I scribble countless ideas for stories and my novel, to-do lists, and interesting quotes and thoughts that spring to mind. Scratched in my terrible, bump handwriting is a simple phrase that means more to me right now, in these days, than it probably did when I jotted it down many months ago. It reads, "The Church and Christians are at risk if they won't risk." Such is this truth, especially for me. I have to risk living like I am in love with my Lord, or everything around me will decay, whether it appears connected to my spiritual life or not.

But in the hustle and bustle of life, however, it is hard to find some time away, a period of separation, to clear our heads.

Tomorrow morning, I will rise once again at an ungodly hour (though the monastery experience did teach me that the earlier the hour, the more godly they sometimes seem) to begin the long, day's drive to youth camp with my kids. Though I am no stranger to these weeks, and all the fatigue and lack of sleep they bring to already harried youth ministers, I am actually looking forward to it. At least I will be able to get away, to take some time apart from the life I am experiencing at far too great a speed back home in Waco.

As the song I quoted (which brought tears to my ragged eyes as I heard it yesterday) says, "My hearts electric with your love again ..." This is my prayer - to regain a furiously loving heart for my God, to return to cherishing the simple love of my Savior. Tomorrow at 5:30 AM, the youth group might be saying, "On to Clinton, Mississippi."

My heart, however, will be saying, "On to Bethlehem."

Seeking to know him at the monastery ...