I Forget I Remember

Funny how often I forget that I remember something. It happened again this morning in the final act of Homecoming 2014 at East Texas Baptist University. Homecoming concludes each year with an early Sunday morning worship service in beautiful Lampsato Chapel. This year’s service included a hymn that elicited emotions so powerful that I was physically affected (I discreetly wept).

I had forgotten that I remember the moving text of, “My lord is near me all the time.” From the first line, this hymn composed by Barbara Fowler Gaultney awakened deeply embedded childhood memories. One moment I was standing on aching knees and singing in a houndstooth sport coat at Homecoming; the next I was transported back to Trinity Baptist Church in Port Arthur, Texas, sitting as a boy on curved plywood theater seats that were fastened to an asbestos tile floor. Men wore polyester suits with wide ties, women were in knit dresses and panty hose, and choir members wrapped in blue satin robes with gold satin stoles sang out: “When the thunder shakes the mighty hills
And trembles ev’ry tree, Then I know a God so great and strong Can surely harbor me.” More than anything else I remember God’s closeness. Years later, I read the works of Francis Schaefer, who liked to speak of the “God who is there.” I do not disagree with his theology, but more than ever I cling to the memory that God is near and am increasingly relying on the present reality of a God who is here. I had forgotten that I remember just how much I need a loving Father to embrace and harbor me.

In the lightning flash across the sky
His mighty pow’r I see,
And I know if He can reign on high,
His light can shine on me.

I’ve seen it in the lightning, heard it in the thunder,
And felt it in the rain;
My Lord is near me all the time,
My Lord is near me all the time.

When the thunder shakes the mighty hills
And trembles ev’ry tree,
Then I know a God so great and strong
Can surely harbor me.

I’ve seen it in the lightning, heard it in the thunder,
And felt it in the rain;
My Lord is near me all the time,
My Lord is near me all the time.

When refreshing showers cool the earth
And sweep across the sea,
Then His rainbow shines within my heart,
His nearness comforts me.

I’ve seen it in the lightning, heard it in the thunder,
And felt it in the rain;
My Lord is near me all the time,
My Lord is near me all the time.

(“My Lord Is Near Me All the Time”, words and music by Barbara Fowler Gaultney)

New Website

Please check out my new website: www.danefowlkes.com. The new site will allow greater creativity in the way I am able to share my thoughts and interact with readers. Thank you for reading.

Dane

Compassion

When brown-bagging solo, I prefer to picnic under the shade of a significant oak that towers above the east side of St. Francis Church on the west edge of downtown Waco. Days like this one are ideal for lowering car windows and allowing autumn zephyrs to blow in and out, finding refreshment in the process. I routinely enjoy these tranquil moments without distraction, which explains my frustration with the young woman who interrupted my Taco Bell Deal #4 by approaching and sitting on the steps nearby, disturbing my solitary peace in this cherished space. Her arrival annoyed me and I was about to depart in frustration when I looked closer and noticed that she was both pregnant and crying. The teenager was speaking with someone on a cell phone and from her gestures and expression I could see the conversation wasn't going well, her end of it anyway. Annoyance yielded to compassion and I paused to pray for resolution of all that was distressing and leaving her in tears. For all I know, her life and that of her unborn child hung in the balance of that conversation.

Life is fragile and deserves awareness. How often do life and death struggles wage war under my nose with no acknowledgement whatsoever on my part? How frequently am I stone cold oblivious to the damage done to human dignity by preoccupation with myself? I cannot say that my prayer helped the young lady observed from behind my windshield, but I can say that it softened me towards the angst of a fellow human being. In the end, prayer is more for my sake than for God's, and compassion changes me far more than it changes anyone else. "Compassion asks us to go where it hurts, to enter into the places of pain, to share in brokenness, fear, confusion, and anguish. Compassion challenges us to cry out with those in misery, to mourn with those who are lonely, to weep with those in tears. Compassion requires us to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable, and powerless with the powerless. Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human" (Henri Nouwen).

Anniversary

A war is raging in this country over the meaning of “marriage.” While our nation struggles to define it, I rejoice over the honor of being husband to the most wonderful woman in the world. To be honest, I've not always been so positive about marriage in general, and confess that my wife has everything to do with my revised view of wedded bliss. Today is our wedding anniversary and we will enjoy an evening out together as most husbands and wives do annually, but my heart-celebration is not confined to one day a year. Daily I'm humbled by our common life, and the uncommon love I receive from the tender woman who chooses to share her life with me. The fact that Jo Beth said "I do" all those years ago can only be chalked up to temporary insanity, but may the madness continue a lifetime and beyond. 

My own good fortune reminds of something G.K. Chesterton wrote some time ago:

"Very few people ever state properly the strong argument in favor of marrying for love or against marrying for money. The argument is not that all lovers are heroes and heroines, nor is it that all dukes are profligates or all millionaires cads. The argument is this, that the differences between a man and a woman are at the best so obstinate and exasperating that they practically cannot be got over unless there is an atmosphere of exaggerated tenderness and mutual interest. To put the matter in one metaphor, the sexes are two stubborn pieces of iron; if they are to be welded together, it must be while they are red-hot. Every woman has to find out that her husband is a selfish beast, because every man is a selfish beast by the standard of a woman. But let her find out the beast while they are both still in the story of 'Beauty and the Beast'" ("The Common Man"). 

My wife and I are still in the story, and never want it to end. No doubt I caught her in a weak moment, but I'll never let her go.

And the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept: and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof; And the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto the man. And Adam said, This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man. Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh. (Genesis 2:21-24, KJV)

Dotage

My good friend and neighbor from across the lane enhanced my vocabulary this morning. Our paths typically intersect en route to set out trash for Monday pickup. I look forward to these casual opportunities to swap snippets of theology and offer morsels for meditation throughout the week ahead. A handful of us gather for worship on Sunday nights in Dick's recording studio near his house, so Monday mornings are a good occasion for reflection. Dick is essentially a philosopher who happens to also be an accomplished musician, and I enjoy when he shares with me what he's reading at the moment, or an experience that sets him to thinking. Today, my musically inclined philosopher friend shared over trash cans a new word added to his vocabulary from his current reading. The word is "dotage." He explained that at first he thought it had something to do with doting over someone, like a proud mother does to a cherished son, but that isn't it at all. It holds a far more sobering meaning. Dotage is the stage of life when health, vigor, and mental faculties deteriorate ("you could live here and look after me in my dotage"). These are declining years, the autumn or even winter of one's life. 

Dick dropped this linguistic bomb then bade me farewell, leaving me to contemplate my own dotage while wearily toting garbage the remaining distance to its appointed place. For some odd reason I suddenly felt years older. Perhaps the soreness in my lower back is not merely muscle strain, it's muscular degeneration, and the fatigue I feel isn't caused by overwork, it's due to deteriorating physique. Almost as suddenly a Scripture sprang to mind that arrested my mental downward spiral: "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness" (Lamentations 3:22-23, ESV). Oh, the wonder of the thought-- fresh mercy every morning! I may be sauntering into the autumn of life or slogging unaware through aging's winter snow, but God's grace never tires and Christ's mercy is always young. 

Heaven on Earth

I can't write as an authority on the future state of believers, but I am learning to recognize heaven here and now. Heaven, like grace, is present tense, and I write from personal experience that heaven on earth is living in close proximity to who and what one loves most. In that regards, I have found paradise; more accurately, paradise has found me. The most discerning, scintillating, jocular, and alluring woman I've ever known calls me "Darling"; precious grandchildren, daughters and sons-in-law call me "Papa," intriguing neighbors and special others call me "friend." I'm blessed with residential space to breathe without urban interference; plank fencing marks our boundaries rather than cement sidewalks, and caliche replaces asphalt. Prominent sounds in the distance are not those of urban sprawl; instead, Barred Owls beckon to one another, a Kingfisher rattles out near the pond, and the ever-present Phoebe wheezes on a nearby limb. And if that's not enough to qualify as an earthly Elysium, I'm surrounded by books galore (Cicero said "A room without books is like a body without a soul"), enjoy fulfilling employment, retain the semblance of a brain, and, to top it all off, admit to darn good health for a man in his mid-50s.

I would never denigrate the thought and reality of our future state; I do, however, emphasize unapologetically the potential for embracing the Father on this side. I abide best in him, when I work at extolling his grace that benefits this breath and blesses this day. I accept the challenge of not living in the wake of what I once was. In place of always approaching sunset, I choose to rejoice over perpetual sunrise in this life and the next.

Then Peter began to say unto him, Lo, we have left all, and have followed thee. And Jesus answered and said, Verily I say unto you, There is no man that hath left house, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my sake, and the gospel's, But he shall receive an hundredfold now in this time, houses, and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands, with persecutions; and in the world to come eternal life. (Mark 10:28-30, KJV)

Thingamabob

Thingamabob, doomahickey, whatchamacallit, just some of the words I use when I'm at a loss for other more concrete ones. Advanced academic degrees notwithstanding, I'm often at a loss to describe the simplest of objects. That same dumbfoundedness is the common experience of all authentic worship. Much of what passes for religion these days is too easily explained; holy stuttering is in short supply in post modernity. Very little mystery remains after singing choruses in rounds and learning five points for upgrading one's life, making church more akin to Wall Street than the Via Dolorosa. "Worship" services (I confess I've never understood why they are termed "services"--who  exactly is serving and being served anyway?) follow a well rehearsed schedule, such that if the Holy Spirit is to show up at all, she or he had better take care of business in an hour. Performance claims the prize and somehow we've convinced ourselves that grand productions draw 'seekers' to the Gospel, like so many moths to the flame. Conventional wisdom would tell that if I'm looking for slick entertainment I'll always find it somewhere other than church, irregardless of how much you spend to convince me otherwise. 

Whatever happened to sacred mystery? When did we decide that we could package the Holy Other into bite size portions, easily digested, and as readily forgotten? When was the last time that a glimpse of the Suffering Savior or the Conquering Christ seized your heart and wouldn't let go? How long has it been since the Ground of all Being grabbed you and you couldn't speak or cry or move in response? If I am able to fully plan and explain worship, the object must be something other than The One Who Was and Is and Is To Come. True worship elicits wonder, and wonder eventually gives way to transformation.

In the year that king Uzziah died I saw also the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple. Above it stood the seraphims: each one had six wings; with twain he covered his face, and with twain he covered his feet, and with twain he did fly. And one cried unto another, and said, Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory. And the posts of the door moved at the voice of him that cried, and the house was filled with smoke. Then said I, Woe is me! for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts. (Isaiah 6:1-5, KJV)

Signals of Transcendence

About the time I start losing my internal debate as to whether or not there's rhyme or reason to my current demands and immediate struggles, I'm rescued by a visit from grandchildren. Such was the case last night; two-year-old Hannah B spent the evening with us while big sister went to the county fair. My immediate assignment upon arriving home from a road trip was to distract Hannah, thereby allowing my wife to complete an embroidery project with a friend. Hannah and I took to the great outdoors hand-in-hand, and I watched with fascination as she reached down to examine every fallen leaf, place it in my hands, wait for me to 'ooh and aah,' then retrieve and gently return it to its spot on the grass. Hannah knows how to enjoy the moment, undisturbed by the past and unencumbered by anything future. In short order, my precious companion reminded me of the most weighty theology I've ever learned: "All moments are key moments, and life itself is grace" (Buechner).

Boston University sociologist Peter Berger, author of "A Rumor of Angels: Modern Society and the Rediscovery of the Supernatural," lists and describes what he terms "signals of transcendence": our passion for order (pointing to a Designer); our desire for play (showing our passion for eternal joy); our commitment to hope (refusing to believe that death has the final word); our conviction that true evil must be condemned; and our laughter at our limitations (showing that we believe they will be overcome). I appreciate Berger's contribution, but I believe Hannah B knows and demonstrates it best: The clearest signal of transcendence is that this moment, in and of itself, matters enormously. Grace is always present tense, and eternity begins right now. 

"So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. Return, O Lord, how long? and let it repent thee concerning thy servants. O satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice and be glad all our days." (Psalms 90:12-14, KJV)

The Living of This Day

Knowing how to end is one of my biggest challenges in writing. The 'when' of finishing usually works itself out; it's the quality of closing that's in question. The same may be said of human existence. These days I find myself face to face, face to back, and face to knee with my own physical decline and inevitable mortality. Just last week I was down on my knees laying some tile, complaining to my grandson Josh how I had shortened the lifespan of my knees by wasting my childhood pretending to be a horse. He promptly asked if I would be walking with a cane by the time he was his brother's age (that will be in only five years), then added, "if you're still alive." There's nothing like the brutal honesty of a child to set one to thinking. Frankly, I understand better now than ever why my mother said so often that she wanted Jesus to come again, so that she wouldn't have to die. She was secure in her relationship with Christ, she simply preferred to bypass the finality of ending. I wish that she could have done so, and to be honest--so do I.

I can truthfully say it's not the dying that bothers, it's the fear of not fully living while I'm still alive. "We must be careful with our lives, for Christ's sake, because it would seem that they are the only lives we are going to have in this puzzling and perilous world, and so they are very precious and what we do with them matters enormously"(Buechner). There's not much I can do about the weakening of my knees or the chronic catch in my lower back, but I do have within reach the ability to write my own epitaph. What happened or didn't happen yesterday pales in significance with what I do right now.  My life does count, and this very moment matters. The living of this day consumes, not remorse for the past or fear of failing to have tomorrow; the only way to know I'll end well is by fully living for Christ right now.

"I must work the works of him that sent me, while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world." (John 9:4-5, KJV)

The Reason for Remembering

I remember where I was the first time I heard Billy Graham preach. It was the 1968 Houston crusade held in the brand new Houston Astrodome, and I was proudly carrying the Bible my grandmother had given me for Christmas. I can't remember what was said or who was with Dr. Graham, but I do recall that the air smelled like plastic and cotton candy, an odd but unforgettable olfactory combination. I remember where I was the moment we learned that John F. Kennedy had been shot. I was about to enter the J. C. Penny store in old downtown Port Arthur with my mother and Grandma Richey, when a woman burst through the doors, arms waving frantically in the air, screaming "The President's been shot! The President's been shot!" I was three years old, but I can still see the scene and feel the emotion attached to it. 

A memory is deepened when formed from exposure to multiple senses. If you think about it, it's what makes possible, in fact, impossible not to remember experiences in your grandmother's kitchen, a childhood classroom, or Christmases past. You need only be exposed to a similar scent or situation and the result is instant recall. Others are remembered only briefly: an outline for an exam, a verse that you need to recall for a specific occasion, someone's name that's important at that moment. Hearing or seeing does not necessarily forge a memory. Remembering comes from hearing and seeing and tasting and touching and smelling. "Touch has a memory" (John Keats).

There's a reason for remembering; memory is as much about today as it is yesterday. "'It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards,' says the White Queen to Alice" (Lewis Carroll, "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass"). God created memory so that I may learn from my past, for the purpose of either repeating or avoiding it. "Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real" (Cormac McCarthy,  "All the Pretty Horses (The Border Trilogy, #1"). 

Jesus answered and said unto him, If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him. He that loveth me not keepeth not my sayings: and the word which ye hear is not mine, but the Father's which sent me. These things have I spoken unto you, being yet present with you. But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you. (John 14:23-26, KJV)

Heart of God

A legend from India tells of a mouse who was terrified of cats until a magician agreed to cast a spell and transform him into a cat. That resolved his fear until he met a dog, so the magician turned him into a dog. The mouse-turned cat-turned dog was content until he met a tiger, so once again the magician turned him into what he feared. But when the mouse-turned cat-turned dog-turned tiger came to the magician complaining that he had met a hunter, the magician refused to help. "I will make you into a mouse again, for though you have the body of a tiger, you still have the heart of a mouse." Attitude is everything. 

Once Winston Churchill was sitting on a platform waiting to speak to a large crowd that had gathered to hear him. The chairman of the event leaned over and said, "Isn't it exciting, Mr. Churchill, that all these people came to hear you speak?" Churchill responded, "It is quite flattering, but whenever I feel this way I always remember that if, instead of making a political speech I was being hanged, the crowd would be twice as big." While poverty of character is never encouraged, Jesus himself raises the right estimation of one's self to the highest possible priority. "Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven" (Matthew 5:3, KJV). Only when I see myself in light of Christ and evaluate myself according to service to humanity, am I able to embrace the heart of God rather than that of a mouse.

Dallas Willard: "A vision of God secures humility. Seeing God for who He is enables us to see ourselves for what we are. This makes us bold, for we see clearly what great good and evil are at issue, and we see that it is not up to us to accomplish it, but up to God--who is more than able. We are delivered from pretending, from being presumptuous about ourselves, and from pushing as if the outcome depended on us. We persist without frustration, and we practice calm and joyful noncompliance with evil of every kind."

Re-Creating God

I'm in constant danger of re-creating God according to my own image. A milquetoast deity fits the bill. When it comes to how God looks at me, I want Mister Rogers, not William Wallace (Braveheart); soft when it comes to my shortcomings, understanding when it comes to my errors, and tender when it comes to my failure. The last thing I want is a standard bearer, a strong and demanding Warrior Captain, a relentless Coach that will not settle for anything less than that for which I was created. I may be hard on myself, but God should take it easy on me.

There's only one problem with this whole business--the Omnipotent One refuses to fit into molds of my own making. Our God is a God of grace, but his mercy is always in juxtaposition to relentless expectation. Remove the word "settle" from your Christian vocabulary--God grants unending grace, but he never settles for anything less than his plan for our lives. 

"For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them." (Ephesians 2:8-10, KJV)

Think It Not Strange

It isn't easy living the Christ life, but according to all available evidence it was never intended to be. "Think it not strange ..." Quite honestly, I prefer things that come easily, and if I'm not careful I make that my criteria for judging something to be God's will, as if friction and strain somehow invalidate God's purposes. That would be American hermeneutics, not biblical interpretation. Rigorous discipline, challenge, struggle, hardship--I may not gravitate naturally toward these, but such harsh descriptors are not incompatible with divine guidance. 

Although I've invoked it from time to time, I remain leery of the familiar Christian vocabulary of the "open door." I find many more examples in Scripture of hardship to be overcome than I do of walking through open doors like the opening segment to the old Get Smart TV show with Don Adams walking down a corridor as various secure doors open before him in rapid succession. The story of Joseph in Genesis disquiets me more than all the others put together. His tale is replete with mistakes, misunderstanding, false accusation, imprisonment, abandonment, servitude -- and all for a preferred son. The kicker is the commentary that comes at the end of the narrative: "But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to save much people alive" (Genesis 50:20 KJV). Seriously? Or take Paul's unwelcome thorn in the flesh. God was obviously not unaware, as he responds to Paul's petition that divine grace is sufficient to carry him through the pain. Sounds good if you're not the one with the thorn, likely malarial induced headaches that stabbed like a red hot poker running through his skull.

The point to all this rambling is simply a compassionate caution against adopting the fallacy of open door theology. Judge God's will against his kingdom purposes, his Word, and his call on your life, rather than in light of the path of least resistance.

"Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you: But rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ's sufferings; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy. If ye be reproached for the name of Christ, happy are ye; for the spirit of glory and of God resteth upon you: on their part he is evil spoken of, but on your part he is glorified. But let none of you suffer as a murderer, or as a thief, or as an evildoer, or as a busybody in other men's matters. Yet if any man suffer as a Christian, let him not be ashamed; but let him glorify God on this behalf. For the time is come that judgment must begin at the house of God: and if it first begin at us, what shall the end be of them that obey not the gospel of God? And if the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?Wherefore let them that suffer according to the will of God commit the keeping of their souls to him in well doing, as unto a faithful Creator." (1 Peter. 4:12-19, KJV )

Autumn Changes

It's officially fall and I'm celebrating by writing this while seated next to an amber fire in our fire pit just across the way from our pond. Autumn is my favorite time of year and has been for thirty six years. From the first fall season I spent away from the coast of my childhood I was hooked. I don't remember knowing before then that leaves change colors before turning loose from their branches, and that sitting out of doors at night could ever be enjoyed without swarms of stinging mosquitoes as unwelcome companions. Autumn is a period of transition from summer's blistering heat on the way to winter's barren hibernation; or to state it another way, it's a time of noticeable change. Most of these differences are positive ones for me -- cooler temperatures, fleece blankets, hot chocolate, holiday mode-- but there is another less than appealing emotional side to change. I can't help but consider the way life has altered itself forever over the past few years: A robust neighbor that only a few years ago would be riding his John Deere and tossing fallen limbs into a small trailer, who is now only a memory of his former self, resting quietly in an Alzheimer's unit; my dear mother who made her own transition three years ago from this earthbound existence to her heavenly home; my father-in-law who left us mentally a couple of years ago and physically back in February of this year; four new grandchildren born into the family within the past six years; a different job, a different church, a different body (with aches and limitations I never knew before); the list of vital differences marches on.

It is in these quiet moments of sober reflection that I find great solace in an unchanging God. My heart gravitates all the more toward a Father not in transition Himself, who is perfectly able to carry me through the transitions within myself. What would I do if forced to grapple on my own with the ebb and flow of personal experience? Praise God I'll never know. I am the variable; He is the constant. No doubt I will continue to change as will everything surrounding me, but my heart has found its resting place: "Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever" (Hebrews 13:8, KJV).

“Great is Thy faithfulness,” O God my Father,

There is no shadow of turning with Thee;

Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not

As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.

 

“Great is Thy faithfulness!” “Great is Thy faithfulness!”

  Morning by morning new mercies I see;

All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—

    “Great is Thy faithfulness,” Lord, unto me!

Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest,

Sun, moon and stars in their courses above,

Join with all nature in manifold witness

To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,

Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;

Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,

Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Mental Chatter

"I've been thinking...." How many times have I said that to myself or others, without pausing to consider the import of the thought? Much of what constitutes life is conducted in our minds and every meaningful thought is predicated on honesty. There can be no deep reflection, no positive change without intellectual honesty. All other mental activity is smoke and mirrors, void of lasting meaning. Dishonest thought is nothing more than senseless mental chatter. "What deadens us most to God’s presence within us, I think, is the inner dialogue that we are continuously engaged in with ourselves, the endless chatter of human thought. I suspect that there is nothing more crucial to true spiritual comfort . . . than being able from time to time to stop that chatter" (Buechner, "Whistling in the Dark"). Unseen, our thought life reflects who we are and determines the people we become. "As a man thinketh ..." (Proverbs 23:7); "When I was a child I thought like a child ..." (1 Corinthians 13:11).  What am I doing to promote the spiritual discipline of rigorous and honest contemplation? 

"Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee. Trust ye in the Lord for ever: for in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting strength.

The way of the just is uprightness: thou, most upright, dost weigh the path of the just. Yea, in the way of thy judgments, O Lord, have we waited for thee; the desire of our soul is to thy name, and to the remembrance of thee. With my soul have I desired thee in the night; yea, with my spirit within me will I seek thee early: for when thy judgments are in the earth, the inhabitants of the world will learn righteousness."(Isaiah 26:3-4, 7-9, KJV)

God is Speaking

Solitude is a state of mind, not merely the absence of noise, and it forms a fitting backdrop for recognizing and connecting with Almighty God. Just last week my wife summoned me to our back porch in order to witness the spectacle of a swarm of migrating hummingbirds, a myriad of Ruby Throated and Black Chins, diving and dueling, making quite a clatter in the process. Jo and I understood that we had just been granted ringside seats to a rare and powerful display, and in that moment solitude ran rampant over us as we witnessed the handiwork of God. Anyone who stands out-of-doors long enough after sunset encounters the night symphony of the Creator. Nature does not make noise; nature produces music. Insomniac insects fill the night with music and there is a primal rhythm to it. Each scratch or thrush or squeal or hum is not out of place. In fact, such nocturnal sounds define life as consistent, patterned, purposeful. God is speaking if we take the time to listen.

Solitude, then, is the attitude of heart that allows space to discern the Creator, and, in time, ourselves. A great example is as near as a discerning look at the Old Testament. I like the way Barbara Brown Taylor supposes Moses's two-fold discovery:

"Moses's life changed one day while he was tending his father- in-law's sheep. According to the storyteller, he had led the flock beyond the wilderness to Horeb, the mountain of God, when an angel of God appeared to him in a burning bush....  The bush required Moses to take a time-out, at least if he wanted to do more than glance at it. He could have done that. He could have seen the flash of red out of the corner of his eye, said, 'Oh, how pretty,' and kept right on driving the sheep. He did not know that it was an angel in the bush, after all. Only the storyteller knew that. Moses could have decided that he would come back tomorrow to see if the bush was still burning, when he had a little more time, only then he would not have been Moses. He would just have been a guy who got away with murder, without ever discovering what else his life might have been about" (Barbara Brown Taylor, "An Altar in the World").

"Now Moses kept the flock of Jethro his father in law, the priest of Midian: and he led the flock to the backside of the desert, and came to the mountain of God, even to Horeb. And the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush: and he looked, and, behold, the bush burned with fire, and the bush was not consumed. And Moses said, 'I will now turn aside, and see this great sight, why the bush is not burnt.' And when the Lord saw that he turned aside to see, God called unto him out of the midst of the bush, and said, 'Moses, Moses.' And he said, 'Here am I.'"(Exodus 3:1-4, KJV)

Topsy-Turvy

The kingdom of God may best be described by the theological term 'topsy-turvy,' a phrase that comes in handy when ordinary words fail to capture the essence of a moment or the import of a movement. First recorded in England in 1528 as a compound word formed from 'top' and the obsolete 'terve', meaning 'topple over,' topsy-turvy portrays the sense of confusion one feels when things are not in proper order or are metaphorically upside-down. That's more or less what Jesus meant when he said, "My kingdom is not of this world" (John 18:36). He was reminding us that the kingdoms of this world are not identical with the kingdom of God, a fact that is frequently lost on Church leadership. Rather than standing in relief or opposition to these kingdoms, Christianity has often imitated them, and is still hard at it. A modern trend is afoot to redefine the pastor as CEO, the church as a business corporation, parishioners as customers, and to judge the whole ecclesiastical kit and caboodle according to a numerical bottom line. This obsession to imitate Maddison Avenue explains the popularity of prosperity theology and edges the Church precipitously toward the abyss of conformity. Under this scenario the Gospel is more akin to a good stock tip, or picking the right horse at Louisiana Downs, or lucking out with the right number in the Lottery, than to changing the world. "The righteous get rich and the poor get what they deserve" (James Mulholland).

The consistency with which the kingdom of God is not the opposite of the kingdoms of the world should serve as a warning to us. In his book, "The Upside-Down Kingdom," Donald Kraybill suggests that "the kingdom of God points to an inverted, or upside-down way of life that contrasts with the prevailing social order." Jesus of Nazareth was well versed in topsy-turvy theology.  Speaking to some rudely religious people, he warned: "I tell you the truth, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you" (Matthew 21:31). He shocked his disciples by saying, "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God" (Matthew 19:24). Before we shout 'Amen' too loudly and continue on about our business, it would behoove us to repent from acting like Christianity is a status rather than a calling, for downplaying the responsibilities of a relationship with God and only emphasizing its benefits. No wonder so many are rejecting the Church. If the Church is not committed to changing the world, it has become irrelevant. "Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven" must move from being a prayer to becoming our vow (Mulholland).

"But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do: for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking. Be not ye therefore like unto them: for your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask him. After this manner therefore pray ye: 'Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.'" (Matthew 6:7-10, KJV)

Take It to the Bank

Walking two days ago through the blacktop parking lot on my way to the West Waco Public Library I spotted a penny on the ground and hovered over it, uncharacteristically debating my response. I imagined faint whispers of my wife's voice reciting her common response to such an innocuous find, "Positive cash flow." Ordinarily I retrieve coins of any denomination, harkening back to childhood discoveries. Fifty years ago It would have thrilled me to find a penny on the ground, and I would have rejoiced all the way to my piggy bank, although it wasn't a piggy bank at all, but a small black box with a slot on top to hold a coin. As soon as you inserted the coin, a glow-in-the-dark hand magically emerged to grab the coin and jerk it inside (my father's preferred alternative to traditional children's banks). Finding unexpected cash is always pleasant, although in my case, monetary discoveries normally consist of currency found hiding in pockets that I absent-mindedly abandoned some time before, hence negating the idea of positive cash flow; chalk my "finds" up to recirculation. However, for reasons I can't explain or defend, I chose not to pick up this particular penny and take it to the bank.

Fast forward to yesterday afternoon, navigating Champion Forest Drive in the Champions region of Houston just after a toad-floater downpour.  As I slowed to a stop near the intersection of Champion Forest and Farm to Market 1960, I spotted a middle-aged man port side holding a small cardboard sign that read: "Pennys Help" (misspelling his, not mine). We rarely see such sign-bearers at intersections in Waco, but when I do, I typically lower my window and make a token offering if I have cash on hand, (which, quite honestly, I seldom do). More frequently, I offer to take the individual to buy something to eat, and the panhandlers take me up on the offer about thirty three and a third percent of the time. On this occasion in rush hour traffic, on an already jam packed artery, I did neither. I did not lower my window, nor did I offer assistance of any kind. I merely read the handwritten sign as I passed: "Pennys Help."

Arriving at my destination shortly thereafter, I had about twenty minutes until my next appointment, long enough to consider the juxtaposition of the two unrelated, yet oddly similar experiences. In both cases, something of value stood (I'm uncertain as to how to describe the penny's posture) within reach, but I chose to ponder and then pass by. The value of either was deemed too small to warrant my involvement. I can't help but wonder how many other people and experiences I dismiss and thus elude my touch. Lord, please remind me next time that 'Pennys Help.'

"Then shall he answer them, saying, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me." (Matthew 25:45, KJV)

More Than Rice Chex

Some things in life are immune to personal preference. You may opt for oatmeal over Rice Chex, prefer blueberries to apples, or select rhubarb pie instead of mincemeat, and no one, including you will suffer for your choices. Other matters matter a great deal more. You really don't have a say in whether or not your heart pumps blood on autopilot throughout your limbs, or if touching a hot stove top will burn and blister your skin. Local ordinance demands that there be negative consequences for ignoring a burn ban and setting fire to the expanding mountain of brush behind my house. I might prefer to speak on my cell phone in a school zone, but that was never a good idea and no longer an option in this country. 

The same is true with both the horizontal and vertical aspects of discipleship. Grace is never neutral. Nothing needs to change to experience God's grace, but once we do everything must radically change, more out of divine necessity than individual choice. Grace doesn't demand that we clean up our act, it mandates a funeral pyre--death to self and all that accompanies our egocentric lifestyle. Surrender isn't surrender if I ferret away something in reserve. “When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die. It may be a death like that of the first disciples who had to leave home and work to follow Him, or it may be a death like Luther’s, who had to leave the monastery and go out into the world. But it is the same death every time—death in Jesus Christ, the death of the old man at his call" (Bonhoeffer, "The Cost of Discipleship").

"Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies." (1 Corinthians 6:19-20, NIV)

Of Trains and Grace

Thirty six years ago, my best friend and I embarked on an epic journey. Fresh out of high school and sporting my own set of wheels, I somehow convinced my friend's naïve parents to trust him into my care for a road trip from Port Arthur to Mississippi and back. My ace in the hole was that our destination was a church camp and that the purpose of this extended soirée was spiritual growth. They consented and we departed. Oh, the feeling of youthful independence, conquering asphalt in a rust red tank officially identified as a '65 Ford Galaxy, heating pork and beans for dinner at roadside parks, and singing off key at the tops of our lungs to music blasting from state-of-the-art 8-track.

Dark thirty in some obscure-to-me portion of Mississippi, radio blaring to stay awake behind the wheel, we navigated a blind curve without noticing an unlighted Rail Road crossing warning. Neither of us saw the sign in the dark because we were too busy talking to pay attention, and we emerged from the bend just as a train approached the intersection from the west. The train's horn roared, I stomped the accelerator, and somehow we crossed the tracks just ahead of the train, feeling its draft as we plunged past. Stunned into silence, I pulled the car to a stop on the side of the road to allow time to collect what remained of our nerves, and to talk about what just almost happened. As we debriefed, we became convinced that God had rescued us from ourselves and decided that it was as good a time as any to prepare to die. We hastily scribbled a note to the effect that if anyone found us dead, they were to rest assured that we knew the Lord and that we wished the same for them. To cap it all off, we laid awake long enough that night to commit to memory what has become my life verse--Galatians 2:20. For the first time in my life, I had a glimpse of the truth that no one is ready to live unless they've tasted death in themselves. 

"I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me." (Galatians 2:20, KJV)