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Our blog for Advent is Rejoice to Behold His Appearing. Come on over and have a look! Daily updates starting November 30, 2008.

Christus Vincit! Christus Regnat! Christus Imperat!

(Christ conquers, Christ reigns, Christ commands!)

The Lord is Risen Indeed!

But the truth is that Christ has been raised up, the first in a long legacy of those who are going to leave the cemeteries.

There is a nice symmetry in this: Death initially came by a man, and resurrection from death came by a man. Everybody dies in Adam; everybody comes alive in Christ. But we have to wait our turn: Christ is first, then those with him at his Coming, the grand consummation when, after crushing the opposition, he hands over his kingdom to God the Father. He won't let up until the last enemy is down—and the very last enemy is death! As the psalmist said, "He laid them low, one and all; he walked all over them." When Scripture says that "he walked all over them," it's obvious that he couldn't at the same time be walked on. When everything and everyone is finally under God's rule, the Son will step down, taking his place with everyone else, showing that God's rule is absolutely comprehensive—a perfect ending! (1 Cor 15:20–28, The Message)

And:

Thus it is written, “The first man, Adam, became a living being”; the last Adam became a life-giving spirit. . . . The first man was from the earth, a man of dust; the second man is from heaven. As was the man of dust, so are those who are of the dust; and as is the man of heaven, so are those who are of heaven. Just as we have borne the image of the man of dust, we will also bear the image of the man of heaven. What I am saying, brothers and sisters, is this: flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable.

Listen, I will tell you a mystery! We will not all die, but we will all be changed . . . (1 Cor 15:45–51, NRSV)

A Hymn to God the Father

i.

Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin, through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.

ii.

Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallowed in a score?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.

iii.

I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore ;
But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy Son
Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore ;
And having done that, Thou hast done ;
I fear no more.

John Donne, 1623

The God of Hosts

They reviled us both together.
I was made wet all over with the blood
Which poured from his side, after he had
Sent forth his spirit. And I underwent
Full many a dire experience on that hill.
I saw the God of hosts stretched grimly out.
Darkness covered the Ruler's corpse with clouds,
His shining beauty; shadows passed across,
Black in the darkness. All creation wept,
Bewailed the King's death; Christ was on the cross.

from "The Dream of the Rood" (or Cross), Anglo-Saxon, ninth century, trans. Richard Hamer.

the Body and the Blood

posted for Brenda D.

The Thursday before Resurrection Sunday Christians all around the world gather around a table to have a meal with Jesus.

This special meal reminds me that God can take our broken lives and make something beautiful for himself. Jesus Christ came, remember, to heal the broken hearted, to set the captives free, to open the bars of those whose lives are in bondage and to restore that which is damaged through the hurt and trauma of life.

Our God is the God of new beginnings. When a human being commits their life to following Jesus Christ the Bible tells us that person is a new creation, the old has gone, the new has come, everything is made new and our God, the miracle maker, can do exactly that for every one who seeks him.

Gathering with his disciples around a table in a small upper room, Jesus took a loaf of bread and He gave thanks to God the Father and He said take it, eat it, in remembrance of me – this is my body. With those same disciples at that same meal Jesus also took a cup of wine and thinking about the blood that He was about to shed for the sins of the whole world on the cross so that we could be forgiven, Jesus said; this is my blood that is poured out for the sins of the whole world – do this in remembrance of me.

This is the God whom we worship this resurrection weekend; our God who is with us, ready to forgive our sins as we confess them, ready to touch our lives as we welcome him. The God of new beginnings!

Come, you weary and restless,
come, all who hunger and thirst.
Jesus calls us to dine as friends,
come, God’s feast of welcome awaits us.

Late Have I Loved You

Late have I loved you, O beauty so ancient and so new. Late have I loved you! You were within me while I have gone outside to seek you. Unlovely myself, I rushed towards all those lovely things you had made. And always you were with me, and I was not with you.

All those beauties kept me far from you—although they would not have existed at all unless they had their being in you.

You called,
   you cried,
      you shattered my deafness.

You sparkled,
   you blazed,
      you drove away my blindness.

You shed your fragrance, and I drew in my breath, and I pant for you. I tasted and now I hunger and thirst. You touched me, and now I burn with a longing for your peace.

—Augustine of Hippo

Let His Blood Be On Us

Posted for Gary Fitzgerald

Yesterday was by far the most dramatically wrenching observance of the Christian liturgical calendar. Christmas is more popular (also cuter, more nostalgic, or more personally painful, depending on your life experiences to date), Easter is more foundational (and so far not nearly as culturally debased as Christmas), but nothing exceeds the heart-rending emotional nosedive of Palm Sunday.

As a group, we are the healthiest, most long-lived, wealthiest, freest, and most secure people who ever walked the earth, so it’s very difficult to imagine the joyful hope that Jesus represented that day as He entered Jerusalem for the last time. It’s very hard to think of our God being silent for 400 years—it’s as if no one had a word or sign from God for all the time Europeans have lived in North America. And it’s even harder to imagine being part of a poor, oppressed society living under foreign occupation in a world crossroads that was universally regarded as a pit of pestilence.

And now, after all this time, all this struggle, Jesus shows up—not as one more charlatan magician with a bag of tricks, but as one who speaks with authority, announcing the Kingdom that is at hand, and confirming His word with healings and miracles so outside anyone’s experience that even the Pharisees are afraid.
 
How great would it be, after generations of frustration and struggle, to suddenly think, “This is the one—finally God has heard us!” What an enormous rush it would be to think, “It’s finally happening, and I was here to see it—now things are going to be great!” And how deeply would it cut, to be part of the crowd that’s screaming “Crucify him” with the same energy it gave to “Hosanna” just a little while ago. 

Although Scripture, and especially the Good News, was always meant to be heard more than read, it has become a long-standing tradition for congregations to take an active part in the reading of the Passion Gospel. We like to do things in threes, so we rotate yearly between Matthew, Mark, and Luke. This year, Year A in the lectionary, we used the Passion of Matthew, the only version which contains this powerful sentence, said by the whole congregation:
 
“Let his blood be on us and on our children.”
 
I believe this is the most explicitly vicious thing in the entire New Testament. I don’t denigrate or belittle the harsh cruelty of crucifixion, but in the cultural context there actually wasn’t anything unusual or unique about it—Jesus wasn’t singled out for special treatment, it was just what the Romans did. But this oath will be part of the Christian story until the end of time, and what a fearful thing to contemplate, being so consumed as to intentionally call down the wrath of God not only on yourself but on your children! And what a thing to have to say together in church—and we do have to say it—fifteen minutes after singing with gusto “All glory, laud, and honor to Thee, Redeemer King!”
 
And then, how incomprehensibly amazing to realize again what has been done for us by Jesus’ sacrifice. No longer a curse or an oath, but the centrality of our life in Jesus:

Please, Lord, let Your blood cover me, and my children! You had a choice, and You made it on my behalf and theirs. Help me to apprehend this more clearly, more deeply and more completely as I contemplate all that Holy Week means for those who know You, and for those who don’t know You yet. For what You did, what You’re doing, and what You’re going to do, deepest heartfelt thanks. Amen.

What do you think about everyday?

We're nearly at the end now. Today is Palm Sunday, the Sunday of the Passion. It's an awkward day, liturgically; I've sometimes thought Palm Sunday deserved its own day. But here it is together: you start with praise and move to Jesus’ death. I guess the church recognizes that it would be inappropriate to jump the Sunday Scripture readings directly from Palm Sunday’s brittle praise straight to Easter’s Resurrection celebration; parishioners who miss the Good Friday service and the readings of the crucifixion would miss just about the whole point.

But keeping Palm and Passion together is useful too. We still hold our palm branches and the echo of our Hosanna still lingers in the air when we come to our part in the Gospel reading, and together we cry “Crucify.”

I heard once that the ashes on Ash Wednesday—remember you are dust—are made from the branches from last year's Palm Sunday. If that is so, it is just. We are marked with our limitations, reminded of our need for grace even to make our praises more meaningful than lip service. We need grace to follow Jesus, for the road is harder than we expect, and suffering is part of it.

Praise offered from our own strength is as fragile today as was the praise of those in Jerusalem before Jesus’ arrest. I’ve seen enough devastating failures from seemingly devoted Christians over the course of my own life, too, to recognize that praise is only part of being a disciple. Pondering my own heart, I certainly am in no position to feel smug about either type of failure.

But God's grace is greater, and the resurrection of Jesus—and the resurrection promised for us too—is so far beyond our expectation of anything God would do. Yet the cost . . . We do well not to jump too fast to next week's joy. We do well to slow down this week, to pay attention, to watch and pray, to own up to the brittleness of our good deeds and the depth of our shortcomings, to our limitations and our need for God to intervene for us.

In the past two days, Mark and Tyler both mentioned the concept of attention—in part, paying attention to God as a way of becoming more fully human. Earlier this week, a blog I follow from the creators of a web software package I use touched on the same theme in a post somewhat outside the normal line of “business.” The author is not at this point, so far as I know, a follower of Jesus, but his post puts into words a concept I've been pondering this Lenten season, and his story will be helpful for us to ponder.

Telling a story about his seven-year-old son, who collects coins (read it all; it's short and memorable), he concludes:

You become what you think about all day long.

If we want to really achieve something, we can learn a lot from a seven year old who has never read books on setting goals, or attended success workshops, or watched motivational videos. He simply intuitively understands that the secret to success is to focus on your goal. Every moment.

What is your goal as a follower of Jesus? Are you getting to the point where you would back up your praise of him with a courageous stand for him? Are you coming to think and act like him? Is his life transforming yours?

What do you think about all day? Each season? The liturgy is a gift that can help us focus. This week in particular the church asks us to focus on the cost Jesus paid for the life you can now have. Let’s pay attention.

Lenten Attention

I grew up as the oldest child in an evangelical home where I absorbed the idea that being good and doing things right was what life was about, what faith is about. I got the idea that I could “get it right,” should “get it right,” and that others—if they had half a brain and willingness to try—could “get it right” too.

It’s a long walk out of darkness.

One of my favorite “tutors” is Eugene Peterson and his earthy grasp of life, God, and faith. A favorite quote of his is “The assumption of spirituality is that God is always doing something before I know it. So the task is not to get God to do something I think needs to be done, but to become aware of what God is already doing so that I can respond to it and participate in it and take delight in it.” (Interview with editor of Christianity Today)

Here’s the key: God is doing something—not me, not something I have to generate or work up. I can become aware and then respond, participate, and delight in it. That’s a reversal of my natural approach. Generally I’ve got to figure out what to do and then do it. Hopefully God will come along . . . and if I’m lucky he may even be pleased.

Listen to how Peterson renders the very familiar Romans 12 passage in The Message:

1 So here's what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. 2 Don't become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You'll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you. 3 I'm speaking to you out of deep gratitude for all that God has given me, and especially as I have responsibilities in relation to you. Living then, as every one of you does, in pure grace, it's important that you not misinterpret yourselves as people who are bringing this goodness to God. No, God brings it all to you. The only accurate way to understand ourselves is by what God is and by what he does for us, not by what we are and what we do for him.

It feels different than what I used to see there: you take your life, you give it to him, don’t you be conformed, don’t you think highly of yourself.

No, instead I begin to see: God helping, embracing what God is doing, God brings the best out of you, God does it all, what God is, what He does . . .

There is something of me needed, attention to all of Him . . . yielding, joining . . .

As I become thrilled with Him, and God brings this too in me . . . I discover a by-product . . . I am being released . . .

How we become human

Nothing has taught me so much about God as having my own children. Living, breathing analogies to our relationship with him are with us all day long.

So. I am sitting on the couch next to Daniel, now 4 months old. I am not usually home on a Friday morning and haven’t had much time to spend with him since last weekend, so I am enjoying just being with my son as I prop him up, “sitting” in the corner of the couch against a pillow, smiling at him, looking into his eyes, saying things in the voice reserved only for babies. And he smiles back! Why? Obviously he doesn’t “know” in any verbal sense who we are or that we love him. And it occurs to me for the thousandth time that someone once did the same for me, and this is how we become human.

Another human gives us their person, their attention, and by a process mysterious and almost completely opaque to scientific investigation we become persons. (Or to be more precise, we become much more psychically healthy persons than we would be otherwise.) And all this comes through love, which in turn comes through the five senses, and perhaps something beyond the senses—the soul. The baby grows happy and healthy and ready to deal with the world by the love it receives through being warm, fed, hearing mommy’s and daddy’s voice, and being seen by them—and in many other ways and with other people.

I can’t help but think that Jesus helped his own disciples become like him through the same way. Through his presence. In uncountable ways, many of them confounding, confusing, and apparently crazy, God’s love came through and changed them. Verbally and non-verbally, I bet. How can you become like someone if you’re not with them? If only I had enough of his presence to disciple a person like that—but I have enough trouble being a reasonable husband and dad 24x7!

I know I need to be in his presence more. For he is also drawing us out into personhood through love. But I can’t literally be held in my Father’s arms and get that kind of attention I give Daniel.

But perhaps God is giving me even more, something even better. Perhaps with faith and holy imagination I can experience it.

I can ask. And I am encouraged by remembering our Lord’s teaching that that through faith all things are possible, and that if a son asks his father for bread, he will not give him a stone.

Choices, control, chaos – Part 1 ½

Last week I posted on this same topic, and referenced an article which asked women about success and satisfaction and peace. Apparently women want: time, balance, control and purpose. I spent some time on the first three, but ran out of space and energy before really attacking the fourth: purpose.

So, how does that relate to the title of this post? I think that when we try to control our lives, by making “right” choices, but without having a firm foundation of purpose, the result will not be control, but chaos.

We can all think of examples of such a thing, both from a negative (college student deliberately getting drunk in order to fulfill a perceived need for “relationships”, resulting in a chaotic life) and from a theoretically positive (woman gets very involved in church because she wants to have more “meaning”, and just gets busier and more chaotic) viewpoint. In both situations, the person is trying to control some aspect of their life by making deliberate choices. And we can come up with many other examples, probably. And most of us have also probably been guilty of such actions, both positive and negative. Even if we make objectively good choices, often our lives still spin out of control.

The problem with control, as mentioned in the previous post, is that we actually don’t have any. Much, if not most, of the time, we cannot even control our own behavior, much less our thoughts, MUCH less the behavior and thoughts of others. And we certainly can’t control outside forces. And so, if we are desperately trying to make our lives better by just our actions and will, we will fail. And then we will be disappointed. And then we will be hurt. And maybe angry. And maybe bitter. And our lives will remain chaotic.

There is a reason that the first several steps of AA are 1) admitting powerlessness over problems in life; 2) believing that God has the answer; 3) making the decision to turn one’s life over to God.

That is the foundation that we need: God – and believing that He wants a personal relationship with us. If the purpose of our life is to be in close communion with God, and to seek His face with all our heart, it becomes easier and easier to practice that Third Step: daily turning one’s life over to God. Then the choices we make will become more in line with His will for our lives, not our will. The more that we are focused on the Relationship, the less we will feel the need to control our lives. And, although the outcome might not be what we thought that we wanted, it will be what we needed.

Gosh, rereading this, it sounds very pat, and almost trite. But it isn’t. What we need is Him, and more and more of Him every day. We need that more than we need a spouse, a promotion, extra money, a house, or any of the other things that we want, and therefore think we need.*

Father God, let us each seek Your face more every day, and help us learn what it means to truly turn our lives over to you. Amen.

* I am reminded of the words of that famous theologian, Mick Jagger. C’mon now, sing with me: “You can’t always get what you want (etc.). But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need.”

Check, please.

In the spirit of the injunction to “read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest” the Scriptures, and what the point of it all is:

Whoever, then, thinks that he understands the Holy Scriptures, or any part of them, but puts such an interpretation upon them as does not tend to build up this twofold love of God and our neighbor, does not yet understand them as he ought. . . .

But sight shall displace faith; and hope shall be swallowed up in that perfect bliss to which we shall come: love, on the other hand, shall wax greater when these others fail. For if we love by faith that which as yet we see not, how much more shall we love it when we begin to see! And if we love by hope that which as yet we have not reached, how much more shall we love it when we reach it! For there is this great difference between things temporal and things eternal, that a temporal object is valued more before we possess it, and begins to prove worthless the moment we attain it, because it does not satisfy the soul, which has its only true and sure resting-place in eternity: an eternal object, on the other hand, is loved with greater ardor when it is in possession than while it is still an object of desire, for no one in his longing for it can set a higher value on it than really belongs to it, so as to think it comparatively worthless when he finds it of less value than he thought; on the contrary, however high the value any man may set upon it when he is on his way to possess it, he will find it, when it comes into his possession, of higher value still. (Augustine, On Christian Doctrine, I.36, 38)

I Want It All, and I Want It Now

I am so often amazed at the way God uses the many and varied elements of the life I was going to have anyway to inform and change the life I’m going to have soon. At least, He is offering me these opportunities for improvement; it’s my responsibility to decide that they are for me, apprehend them as completely as I can, and make them part of my current fabric as best as I’m able. Why I’m amazed at this I don’t know, because He’s just being God—the God I find in Scripture, and the God Who has revealed Himself to me so far.

This past weekend COA hosted a conference which featured a guest worship team, some teaching via DVD’s, and extended times of prayer ministry in which everyone had the opportunity to ask God for anything they thought they needed. As often happens, God seemed to be weaving a consistent thread through all the ministry times, in the midst of such a great range and depth of needs. The constant message seemed to be: “Ask and you shall receive, but sometimes you have to ask with a depth of passion, a desperate hunger and thirst that might at first seem unnatural.”

The Collect for this past Sunday (Lent V), a prayer near the beginning of the service which everyone says together and I suspect most people do as a duty to be disposed of, invites God to bring our desires into His order so that our hearts may be fixed—stuck fast to, permanently attached—where true joys are to be found.

One of our young people gave a testimony of unusual power at both the weekend services. The core of it was that he had decided that the Saturday night ministry time was not going to pass by without God’s very definitive, sovereign, and supernatural touch. He was sure that this was in line with what God wanted, based on the teaching that day, so he asked with increasing urgency and desperation, but great amounts of time went by with no apparent answer. Finally, when everyone else was long done and he was the only one left in the room, God spoke the words he longed to hear through the voice of one of our most persevering and caring adult leaders. In paraphrase, His word was “Your longing and deep heart’s-cry are pleasing to Me; I have a plan, I’m filling you even now, and never will I leave you.”

There is a song being used as background music for a commercial about buying a new TV set. The entirety of the lyrics being used are “I want it all (repeat 3x), and I want it now.” We are—I am—SO this way, and this demanding, give-it-to-me-because-I want-it-and-I-deserve-it is SO not what God is about. Everything in our culture points to that song as a good thing; “customer service” is measured not in quality but in time—how fast did you respond? “How quickly” is WAY more important than “how fully?”. God is not like that—longing and desire PLEASE Him (although grabby self-absorption does not), and time is just not an issue for Him in the way it is for us. That’s hard to get, but that’s how He is, and I think it better that I change for Him than that He change for me.

Father God, You’re the only one that can change me enough to want what You want me to want. If You offer this grace and I receive it willingly, then obeying You will be an act of love, and receiving anything You give me will be my greatest desire. I know the time will come when my heart is turned permanently to You; make it soon, please. I know that’s what You want for me, so Father, that’s what I want, too. Change me, move in me, fill me with You, so that this is all I will ever want. Thank you in advance. Amen.

(a paraphrase of the Collect for the Fifth Sunday of Lent, from the Book of Common Prayer, 1979)

A Life of Worship

“Worship is actually a gift from God to us, more than one of ours to Him.” —Jack Hayford (Manifest Presence)

We heard a young man’s beautiful testimony Saturday evening about his hunger for an encounter with the Holy Spirit—a burning passion, a heart crying out for “more, Lord, more . . .” His words describe my same yearning. We have just finished an entire weekend full of praise, worship, and prayer, and yet I’m so desperately hungry for more . . .

Stormie Omartian says in The Prayer That Changes Everything that

“our greatest blessing comes when we take the focus off of ourselves and put it entirely on God in worship and praise. Isn’t it just like our wonderful Lord to make something that is all about Him be the thing that blesses us the most when we do it?”

I’m a high school math teacher (although some don’t think that statistics is really math). This year as winter approached I was assigned bus duty at school. I was supposed to go out in the freezing cold, in the dark, and be sure that every bus arrived before school started. So, I had to go count buses? And, if a bus didn’t get there, wouldn’t the bus driver call someone and tell them so? Why did I have to do this task?

My first assigned day came and I bundled all up, got a big ol’ blanket, and made myself comfy sitting on the concrete sidewalk as I started counting buses. Then the Lord said to me: “Pray for these buses—full of my little lambs.” He gave me an amazing opportunity for three mornings to pray for nearly every student who went into Lake Braddock—each bus, each student who walked up from the parking lot. I was blessed every day as I did that bus duty—as I waved and prayed and oh, yes, as I counted every bus. I started thinking that maybe I should volunteer to do it every day for the rest of the year . . .

That same yearning for His blessing . . .

Omartian continues in her book:

“God intends worship to restore us, fill us, motivate us, bless us, and fulfill us in ways we never dreamed possible. There are certain blessings that He wants to give us that will only come into our lives as we worship Him.”

I have always thought that worship only meant singing love songs to God. I see now, that it really means loving Him while doing everything.

Holding or Taking Hold

I’ve been reading my favorite C.S. Lewis book with my daughter. The Great Divorce. The title has nothing directly to do with marriage but rather the “distance” between Heaven and Hell. The story is a fanciful trip from the edge of Hell up to visit the edge of Heaven. The edge of Hell is a twilight place where it is growing darker. Since no one gets along well they move further and further apart to avoid the quarreling, cursing, and tussling. Materially they can have anything they want just by imagining it, but it has no real substance. Most have houses but the rain penetrates right through ceilings and walls, making them only useful for a false sense of safety. Safety from some unnamed, fearful thing that is coming.

Upon arrival at the edge of heaven they find themselves to be ghosts who are not yet solid enough to participate in heaven yet. They are embarrassed and frustrated by the inability to feel comfortable and move about easily. Solid folks from deeper heaven have come to meet with each of the ghosts to see if they will stay and become more solid as they enter into heaven.

All of the ghosts face obstacles that have to do with what they demand or cling to for meaning and purpose. A mother’s love, self-respect, ambition, rights, grumbling, materialism, cynicism—some are almost convincing and would even appear noble in the right context. But they must be willing to give up all in order to enter into the vast wild wonder of heaven. Sadly, many do not and opt to return to the twilight world that soon will be dark.

My daughter asks “how can do you give it all up, how do you do that?” How indeed. . . .

One of the last stories is of an oily looking ghost with a little red lizard on his shoulder that keeps whispering things in his ear. The ghost tries hard to make the lizard shut up, as its “stuff won’t do here,” but as he cannot he says he will just return to the twilight place. When a light-filled being asks if he may kill it, the ghost finds all manner of excuses to try to avoid that, saying how unnecessary it is. In the end the ghost is certain he will die, yet with a terrified scream lets the angel kill it. The man is completely transformed to a glorious new person, and the dead lizard is brought back as a powerful stallion to carry him swiftly far up into heaven.

One of the things Lewis grasps so vividly is how desperate and terrible the struggle is to yield what seems completely necessary. And how marvelous the freedom and glory when we do.

Last week Daryl Fenton challenged us:

“No one can decide for you; that regenerated spirit within you can chose to cooperate with the Holy Spirit or can chose to ignore Him. . . . And you’re either going to say, ‘I want to join the mission, I want to be in the front lines, I will, in fact, support the work going forward, in prayer. I’ll beg the Lord and the Holy Spirit to fall like fire on this place, and I’ll keep doing it until He listens and I’m willing to make any change in my life He requires of me so that it might be accomplished. I’m prepared to sacrifice things for the joy that lays before me just like Hebrews says Jesus did.’”

“Have you asked the Spirit to empower you, and is Jesus the master, Lord of the universe who redeemed you from both sin and death—are you awestruck in his presence? And as such are you prepared to persuade others about him, to spend your life seeking to please him because you’d rather live for him than live for you?”

Thursday night on a DVD Randy Clark asked “What do you want (really want) and what are you willing to risk to grasp it?” The Lord is holding out the fullness of the Kingdom to us.

Under the Mercy . . .

Choices, control, chaos

I read a recent article that mentioned a recent survey of “hundreds” of women in the U.S. which asked “How do you define success in your life? What would give you a sense of satisfaction and peace?”

I was intrigued. I am now part of the “mommysphere,” but not so long ago I was a single professional woman on a career track as a litigator following in the path, and on the coattails, of a very well respected attorney. So I follow the discussion of “what women want” with some interest.

The women who participated in the survey were all employed, both married and single, kids and no kids. So, I thought, this is a pretty good cross-section of the “working woman” though severely lacking in representation of women who are not employed outside the home. I began to be less intrigued.

The article went on the say that the survey results were not surprising: “The things we most desire in our lives are the things that always seem to lie outside our grasp.” DUH! They needed a survey to figure that out? Isn’t that the state of being of all humans, when we dwell in the “unredeemed” parts of ourselves? Don’t we have a sense of dissatisfaction if we are focused on “me”?

Ok, back to the survey. Apparently this survey suggested that women value four principles which are the “keys to satisfaction and contentment”: time, balance, control, and purpose. Again, no surprise there. (They could have paid me the money they paid to organize the survey and I think I would have told them the same thing.)

But it got me thinking. We always want more time; time for play, time for reflection, time for sleep, time for God. We rarely, except when a deadline is looming, long for more time at work. But God gave us all 24 hours in each day; therefore He must believe that we can/should accomplish all we need to in that period of time. However, we jam-pack so many things into our day that we feel like we are never done.

The result of all that “jam-packing” is that we all yearn for “balance,” the second of the principles mentioned above. For women it is often balancing career and children (having them, mostly); for men, career and family (spending time with them). But the thought of “balance” has permeated throughout our world. Parents speak of trying to find the balance for their children between extra-curricular activities and down-time. And certainly we are advised to eat a balanced diet.

Of course, finding this balance requires that next value, control. Things in our world don’t balance on their own, they need our help to become that way. Or so we think. Control is also a ubiquitous “value.” Most of the time we feel better if we feel like we control some aspect of our lives. As Christians, we realize that we shouldn’t control anything, although we have choices. If we leave the controlling to God, and put ourselves in His hands, then we can move onto the next “value.”

Purpose. That is a heavy sounding word, isn’t it? Purpose. And in the greater Christian community in this country, the word purpose is tied to Rick Warren’s book. There is still importance in looking at the concept, apart from just his book. Because he was onto something. Our lives mean nothing if we have no purpose other than ourselves. Some people might think of purpose as meaning “having a goal.” Because I am not a goal-directed person, I like to think of purpose as a “deeper meaning.”

What is the deeper meaning of my life? I like the Westminster Shorter Catechism: “Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.” I am trying to spend time this Lenten season finding time and space in my life to worship and glorify God as part of my every day life. I suspect that I will have more time, balance, control (ish), and purpose if I do that.

What is Pride?

St. Augustine on pride:

"Pride is the craving for undeserved glory. And this is undeserved glory: when the soul abandons the One it should cling to for sufficiency and becomes self-reliant.

"This happens when the soul is satisfied with itself. It falls away from the unchangeable good that would satisfy it more than itself. And this falling away is spontaneous.

"For the will should remain in love with the higher, changeless good that illumines it to intelligence and kindles it into love. Then it wouldn't become so dark and cold by turning to find satisfaction in itself.

"We didn't fall so far away that we became absolutely nothing. Instead, by turning toward ourselves, our souls became more secluded than when we clung to the Supreme One. Similarly, to exist in oneself, that is, to be one's own satisfaction after abandoning God, isn't to become a nobody. But, the holy Scriptures designate another name to proud people: 'self-pleasers.'

"Therefore, it is good to lift up the heart. But it isn't good to lift it up to oneself; that is pride. It is good only to lift our hearts up to the Lord, for that is obedience and humility."

—St. Augustine, from City of God, 14.3.

New Beginnings: Part II

So I'm writing this from my new dorm room in Toronto. So far, things are looking good and God is giving me the grace to make it through the day somewhat intact. I do feel a bit anxious about being in a new place, but all in all, God continues to sustain me.

Earlier this evening, we had a fantastic time of worship and introduction. We talked about how this time was a time of transplantation. This is, of course, very literal in my case, but what areas of our lives do we need to let God dig up and plant somewhere new? There are dying, shriveled little seeds that just need to be exposed to a little son-shine in order for them to blossom and grow into the fullness of God's appointed purpose. I think part of Lent is about recognizing those areas and giving God permission to transplant them. Sometimes our ideas and our desires that never seem to get anywhere are good, it's just that they just aren't firmly rooted in God's love. Will you allow Him to transplant your withered parts to the rich soil of His love?

Well, I'm very tired and need some rest. Love and blessings to all those back home.

Knock that door down

Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him, and will dine with him, and he with Me. (Rev 3:20 NAS77)

I've been taught that we should look at the context of a verse to better understand its meaning and how to apply it to our lives. Verse 3:20 of Revelation is near the end of Jesus words for the churches at Ephesis, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia, Laodicia. He is speaking to the believers of the age and offering them encouragement, counsel and correction. The final verses of chapter 3 seem to summarize Jesus words for all the churches:

Those whom I [dearly and tenderly] love, I tell their faults and convict and convince and reprove and chasten. So be enthusiastic and repent (changing your mind and attitude). (20) Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will eat with him, and he [will eat] with Me. (21) He who overcomes, I will grant him to sit beside Me on My throne, as I Myself overcame and sat down beside My Father on His throne. (22) He who is able to hear, let him listen to and heed what the [Holy] Spirit says to the churches. (Rev 3:19-22 AMP)

I understood why Jesus came to earth to die for my sins about fifteen years ago when I gave my life to Him. I received an amazing gift that, for most of my life, I didn't understand. I realized I needed a savior and accepted Him. But I was a saved Christian who felt like I was alone and still had to make my way through life the best I could. Now that I was saved, it felt like my life got a little harder because I was working my way through the world with more regulations and an even higher standard of living than I had before I was saved. Now I had to live according to the rules of the world (succeed in business, be a good husband, be a good friend) with an added burden of being a Christian (don't even think thoughts of lust, anger, revenge). I began to question what it was, exactly, that I was saved from.

Then I grew to understand that His work didn't stop at salvation, even though that was an amazing and unbelievable thing in and of itself. After a few more years, I realized that I needed continuous help as I walked through life. I remember my first powerful encounter with the Holy Spirit during a shuttle flight between Dulles and Newark Airport. My job had me on that flight at least three times a month at that time and I was feeling very spent and broken. I had determined that I was going to work at this job for ten more years and I would be able to retire with a full pension. Ten more years here and I would be on the gravy train, relaxing on the beaches of Barbados or wherever I felt like relaxing.

But this ten years was beginning to feel like a life sentence. Just a few weeks earlier, I had been offered a job at a small startup company. I wasn't sure what to do; whether to stay on my ten-year retirement track or to risk it all and go for this small company and a whole lot of uncertainty. The little plane was taxiing down the runway and just as the pilot applied throttle for takeoff, I started to pray. This was really the first time I had prayed in my life without having any idea what to do. I was completely at a loss and truly and completely wanted to know what path I should take. As the little turboprop shuddered and hopped off the runway into the air, I prayed to God, "Which job should I take?"

I gave God two options—my current job or this new one. In my mind's eye, I saw a picture of Jesus and me walking along a wooded path, hand in hand. I felt such peace; a peace I hadn't ever felt before. It was absolutely wonderful. We continued to walk, but I couldn't help but wonder what this had to do with my question.

Anyway, as we walked, we came to a fork in the path that, if we continued on as we were, would lead Jesus on the left and me on the right. I kept holding his hand but we quickly started to walk in different directions. Just before I lost my grip on his hands, I heard Him say—"I want you to spend more time with me." My honest and first reaction was—right, but what does that have to do with my question?

As I reclined in my terribly uncomfortable seat, I began to realize that the source of all my anxiety and pain wasn't about the job or which job to take, it was that I wasn't spending time with Him. I wasn't depending on Him as he wants me to. I wasn't seeking Him in my life.

After many examples like this in my life, I am starting to understand what Jesus meant when He said, I must go now, but I am not leaving you as orphans. Jesus didn't leave us alone and without a heavenly parent. His going was necessary for us all to receive the Holy Spirit, the Comforter, the Counselor.

This was a watershed event in my relationship with Jesus and the Holy Spirit. But I don't hold on to it. I tend to close that door after a while and fall back into my old patterns of dealing with life as if I were an orphan again. When my wife and I were afraid that she might have rabies, we immediately felt fear and anxiety. My wife, within minutes of hearing the news that the first rabies test was inconclusive and actually seemed positive, immediately started to call and email for prayer. She flung the door open and Jesus stepped in. Then Jesus, through his saints on earth, comforted, counseled, and encouraged us so much that we weren't concerned about the test results. We knew that He would be able to take us through anything.

During this Lenten season, may we refuse to live our lives as orphans again. If we feel ourselves slipping into old habits, remember that he is right outside the door. Patiently, lovingly, persistently knocking; gently tapping, hoping that we open the door and let him in. When I do, it is wonderful. I pray that we all learn to never close that door. We are the ones who close it, not Him. May we knock the door down, break off the hinges, and let Him be your Comforter, Counselor, Father, Brother, and Friend.

John and Charles Enter into Heaven

When I was asked to contribute to this daily series, I said it would be an honor—which it is—and that I would be glad to take whatever day of the week I was assigned. Obviously I preferred some days more than others, but I also decided that in the spirit of a season of increased discipline I would accept my assignment as from the Lord and do my timely best whatever the minor inconvenience. As it turned out, providing Monday’s contribution has been an unexpected blessing in a number of ways, not least of which has been the Kalendar—a couple of weeks ago Martin Luther fell on “my” day, and in the week of Lent IV it is the observance of the amazing lives of John and Charles Wesley.

They were the fifteenth and eighteenth children (probably nothing special here—their mother Susannah was the 24th of 24 children) of the Reverend Samuel Wesley, Rector of Epworth, accomplished poet and hymn writer, most of whose output was lost in a fire at Epworth. However great the fortunes of Reverend Sam (and I think these were not so much), the environment into which John and Charles were born meant that the interests of the oldest children took precedence. Even today we have a tendency to give more attention, if not more honor, to the eldest child, and “back in the day” this kind of discrimination was considered to be good, right, and in the normal order of things. So neither John nor Charles would have felt ill-used for being expected to do for themselves, and no one else would have given it a thought.

The value of both the spiritual life and the life of the mind were priorities through many generations of Wesleys, but we know little or nothing about any of the other children of Sam and Sue, including the many older siblings of John and Charles. This isn’t to belittle them—I’m sure they were all good people and contributors to their communities—but to lift up that much more the significant and lasting accomplishments of both John and Charles. I believe it would be fair to say that their enduring legacies continue to touch every branch of the Christian faith, and the real significance for me is that fame and legacy were never their slightest concern. Rather, for John and Charles, "doing for themselves" simply meant that their entire lives were spent in the service of their Lord. They were raised to know in the deepest way what God had already said and done, and their hearts and minds were prepared and ready when God chose to use them. John never set out to create a denomination; Charles never intended to be one of history’s most prolific and well-known hymn writers. They just put their minds, hearts, souls, and strengths into doing what God asked of them, and the results have been a lasting blessing for generations of Christians.

No one can imagine what the final transition actually looks and feels like, but it’s easy to create the scene called “John and Charles Enter into Heaven.” Their greatest concern would be that they hadn’t finished, hadn’t done enough, hadn’t been all they might have been. And the Lord would put His arms on their shoulders and say what we all long to hear: “Well done, good and faithful servants.”

Father God, I can’t be them, or anything like it, but I can be more like them. Their diligence, perseverance, and obedience to Your leading are my desire, but these aren’t my most noticeable character traits. That means that what could be, isn’t, and that’s a choice I’ve made. So I thank You, Father, for all the second chances You give me. Right now, this minute, let me feel You changing me so that diligence, perseverance, and obedience become more than desires. Let these things become realities in me, more and more, so that I can be who You want me to be, more and more. Thank you in advance. Amen.

Jesus suffered with us and for us

As we reflect on His suffering this Lent, consider those who suffer in His Name today.

The situation of Christians in Iran is getting extremely difficult and large numbers are leaving the country. It seems the authorities are happy for Christians to leave, glad for their country to move towards being purely Muslim. However, the apparent strategy for dealing with Christians from a Muslim background is not to let them emigrate but to put pressure on them to make them return to Islam. The Iranian authorities infiltrate churches and threaten and blackmail individual members as well as the leadership. Pray that each Christian in Iran will know the Lord’s presence and guidance every moment of the day.

A new way of harassing Christians has been seen recently in Jakarta, the capital of Indonesia, in a case where Muslim doctors refused to treat Christian patients. This was apparently because the doctors were intimidated by Islamic extremists. Only quarter of a century ago Indonesia was an inspirational example of harmony and equality between Christians and Muslims. Pray that the moderate Muslim majority will resist the pressure from extremists to be hostile to Christians, and will restore the good relations of a generation ago.

When an Italian newspaper listed Algeria among Muslim countries where Christians are oppressed, Algeria’s Religious Affairs Ministry responded, “Christians in Algeria enjoy greater rights and liberties than do Muslims in Christian countries.” The ministry also asserted that the new Algerian law which allows a prison sentence for anyone trying to convert a Muslim to another religion was in accordance with international conventions. From 2000 to 2006 the situation of Christians in Algeria was remarkably good, but things have now deteriorated. Pray for a quick return to freedom and equality.

Jesus suffered with us and for us. As we reflect on His suffering this Lent, consider those who suffer in His Name today.

No one is free when others are oppressed. Author unknown.

Seek to receive grace

A quote for today. Daryl Fenton, who will be preaching this weekend and leading the Lenten Quiet Day, has recommended Dallas Willard's book Renovation of the Heart, so here is a quote from Willard on spiritual formation and the requirement for us to engage our minds and wills to obey Christ:

We must stop using the fact that we cannot earn grace (whether for justification or for sanctification) as an excuse for not energetically seeking to receive grace. Having been found by God, we then become seekers of ever fuller life in him. Grace is opposed to earning, but not to effort. The realities of Christian spiritual formation are that we will not be transformed "into his likeness" by more information, or by infusions, inspirations, or ministrations alone. Though all of these have an important place, they never suffice, and reliance upon them alone explains the now common failure of committed Christians to rise much above a certain level of decency.

At the core of the human being is will, spirit, and heart. This core is reshaped, opening out to the reshaping of the whole life, only by engagement. First, engagement is to act with Christ in his example and his commands: "If you love me, keep my commands," he said, "and I will ask the Father to send you another strengthener, the Spirit of truth" (John 14:15-17). The engagement must come first, followed by the helper insofar as obedience is concerned; as we try, fail, and learn, we engage with the spiritual disciplines. We add whole-life training to trying. We recognize that religious business-as-usual, the recommended routine for a "good" church member, is not enough to meet the need of the human soul. The problem of life is too radical for that to be the solution. We enter into activities that are more suited to our actual life condition and that are adequate to transform the whole self under grace, allowing the intention to live the commands of Christ to pass from will to deed.

Righteousness Through Membership

They answered him, "We are Abraham's descendants and have never been slaves of anyone. How can you say that we shall be set free?"

Jesus replied, "I tell you the truth, everyone who sins is a slave to sin. . . . I know you are Abraham's descendants. Yet you are ready to kill me, because you have no room for my word. I am telling you what I have seen in the Father's presence, and you do what you have heard from your father."

"Abraham is our father," they answered.

"If you were Abraham's children," said Jesus, "then you would do the things Abraham did.” (John 8:33–34 and 37–39)

This passage illustrates the ancient Jews’ habit of claiming righteousness through mere membership. We can leave aside for the moment their apparent forgetfulness about slavery. They had been slaves in Egypt for 400 years, enslaved by other empires since, and were now dominated by the Roman Empire.

But Jesus makes clear in this passage (which includes verses 8:33–41) that being a member of a group, even if it’s “the people of God,” does not guarantee freedom from sin. Indeed, a people can be absolutely deceived: the Devil is actually your father, Jesus tells them. This, we can bet, enraged the Israelites. They had been building up national and ethnic pride for several centuries since their return to the land from Babylon. This pride included a rather new, rigid intolerance against foreigners, beginning to resemble Indian upper castes’ distaste for the lower caste “Untouchables.” The Jews knew they were “the people of God.” That is the opposite of being a slave to sin, isn’t it?

Application time: We can have the same problem, of course. Pride in our nation or our neighborhood. But when Judgment Day comes, I don’t think the Lord’s going to consider these things values of righteousness: the U.S.A., Great Britain, Iraq, or Belleview Estates, etc. Pride in our church can be a similar snare. Doesn’t it count for something that I belong to a church willing to take a difficult stand, a church both traditional and Charismatic? Good things, surely, but mere membership is not a guarantee of freedom from sin.

When I ponder where “righteousness through membership” has temptation for me, I think it has to do with my family. Finally, at the age of 42, I got married. Now I have kids. The temptation is to feel, Now I’m somebody; now I am worthy to “speak in the assembly of men.” Look at these beautiful kids; could God not favor someone he has blessed so richly? But I have to admit that such an attempt at righteousness probably amounts to “filthy rags” (Isaiah 64:6). Marriage and kids are far from filthy rags, but my attitude about them could be, if I’m not careful.

Instead, we know from Jesus’ other teachings that righteousness comes from God’s grace. But we have a part too. In John 8 he teaches that freedom from sin comes from doing this: Follow the light of the world (v. 12), believe who Jesus says he is (24). Do what he commands, and thereby be his student. Then we will know the truth, and the truth will set us free (31).

I find it enlightening that Jesus teaches that doing must precede knowing, which is the opposite of what our culture teaches. But that is another meditation for another time.

Amish Friendship Bread

Do you know about this phenomenon? This Amish Friendship Bread thing?

I first heard about it from an aunt who lives in Baton Rouge. She’s not a baker, so that was the first tip-off that this was something different. And then she kept telling me stories about baking this bread every weekend because people loved it and were asking her to make more, please.

Then it started showing up at COA, these yummy, dense, sweet-yet-tart loaves of bread that people loved to eat! Turns out that a cadre of what must be Amish friends were making this bread and bringing it to various events. So when one of them (OK, Sherri) sent out a broadcast that she had Amish Friendship Bread starter to share, I raised my hand.

Here’s how it works. You get a freezer bag containing this starter, made of yeast, flour, sugar, and milk. You hold on to it for a certain number of days, allowing it to ferment, mushing it daily. (Yes, mush. Technical term, I think.) Then you add more flour and sugar and milk, and allow it to ferment another number of days, still mushing daily. At the end of the allotted fermentation time, you go through steps that creates starter to share, and then you make your bread from your reserved starter. And then you try to find people to give the starters to.

Who knew?

OK. I’m the kind of person who makes plans to take a business trip and forgets that I have a dog that needs care while I’m gone. The kind of discipline it takes to mush daily and bake every ten days or so is almost beyond me. I am a responsible person—just barely.

But I confess that watching this stuff ferment is fascinating. It bubbles and grows, filling the bags with air, ultimately yielding enough batter to begin the process all over again. Watching it grow made me wonder, “How could you stop this?”

Not just how I could stop this endless procession of creating, growing, splitting, baking, and distributing. But the yeast! How can it keep growing and multiplying? The sweet, tangy smell of the fermentation fills the kitchen. It touches everything and is virtually indestructible. The key is that it needs to be fed and nurtured. (Remember the sugar, flour, and milk?) If it’s not nurtured or fed, it will stop growing.

Yeast is used in scripture as an object lesson. We all remember that at Passover, yeast (and all leavening) is cleansed from every household. It reminds celebrants that there was no time for bread to rise when the Israelites fled Egypt—a reminder of God’s deliverance. Leavenings are pervasive and powerful and hard to eliminate. Yet once a year, yeast was to be purged out of their lives.

The New Testament also used the imagery of yeast. We think of it mostly as an image of sin. It’s very effect. Sin touches everything. Once begun it’s virtually indestructible. Paul wrote: Your boasting is not good. Don't you know that a little yeast works through the whole batch of dough? Get rid of the old yeast that you may be a new batch without yeast—as you really are. For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed. Therefore let us keep the Festival, not with the old yeast, the yeast of malice and wickedness, but with bread without yeast, the bread of sincerity and truth. (1 Corinthians 5:6-8)

Jesus warns the disciples to beware of the yeast (bad teaching and hypocrisy) of the Pharisees and Sadducees (Matthew 16:6-12). It’s a sort of comical exchange where the disciples thought Jesus was hungry and Jesus was trying to make a point. Consider how yeasty bad teaching is. Or hypocrisy. It ferments and grows and touches everything.

But then in a remarkably hopeful parable, he offered this: "What shall I compare the kingdom of God to? It is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into a large amount of flour until it worked all through the dough." (Luke 13:20-21)

The kingdom of God is like a yeast. How does a yeast grow? It is fed and nourished, tended until it is worked all through the dough. The kingdom of God will grow and flourish and touch every part of our lives? Every part of our world? What will the kingdom of God touch? Who does the tending and nourishing? What makes it grow?

I’m not sure. I’m one of those who would have had a puzzled look when Jesus offered this parable. But you know, now every time I watch a bag of Amish Friendship Bread starter bubble and grow, I will remember that the kingdom of God is like yeast and that I am part of that kingdom.

Thank you, Lord Jesus, for giving us such homely images to understand your richest gifts. Illuminate my mind to understand your words and to grow in their truth. Thank you.

More

3 "You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.
4 "You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.
5 "You're blessed when you're content with just who you are—no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought.
6 "You're blessed when you've worked up a good appetite for God. He's food and drink in the best meal you'll ever eat.
7 "You're blessed when you care. At the moment of being 'carefull,' you find yourselves cared for.
8 "You're blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.
9 "You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family.
10 "You're blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God's kingdom.
11 "Not only that—count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. 12 You can be glad when that happens—give a cheer, even!—for though they don't like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble. (Matthew 5:3–12)

I love how The Message renders these familiar verses. End of my rope. At times I have found myself there. Desperate dependence. Most often I am not there, perhaps because I have several reliable methods of avoidance and distraction. I think it’s a good way to live if you don’t view desperation as an enemy. A well known song says “I’m desperate for You”—Really?

Do you ever sing songs in church, (or look at the words) and think “I’m not quite there, and, there are things in the way, but somewhere down deep I want to be there?” How about the one that says “You’re all I want . . .” Yes, I’m desperate . . .

When I feel I’ve lost what’s most dear to me. Been there a time or two. Not so much. I fear many play at this during Lent. Me too. What seems most dear, most of the time? A few of you have been there. A few of you are there or not far from there now . . .

Embraced . . . “he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him..”; “well done, good and faithful . . . ”; (what words do you long to hear, maybe that you aren’t sure He’ll say?)

And this takes me to verse 6, “worked up a good appetite,” hunger and thirst. This journey toward Jerusalem, toward the cross, if there is anything honest about it, however halting, it works up a good appetite—for more, for release, for celebration. An appetite for the surprise of resurrection, an appetite for stunning glimpses of the kingdom of God here now, an appetite for the feast of all feasts at the marriage of the Lamb . . .

Oh, I skipped verse 5, "content with just who you are"—wow, that seems just impossible. Or more accurately, how on earth can I be desperate and content?! That’s a strange miracle and paradox of the cross, isn’t it: Intense insatiable longing, inexcusable guilt and soul-stilling rest and release.

In all I’m grateful that I don’t need to manufacture this, muster it up. He arouses and uncovers this in me. Always more . . .

New Beginnings

Okay, I just want to tell you that I had a most incredible weekend.

As you may already know, our Student Ministry teamed up with two of our ADV sister churches (Church of the Word and St. Paul's) for a winter retreat at Massanetta Springs. Julian Dobbs spoke on "Getting connected with God" while I was given the privilege of leading worship for the weekend. The general consensus among the leaders was that it was the best retreat we've had in years. This post will be a testimony of what happened there and won't have much to do with Lent. I just think this is really important.

The reason it was great was that the Holy Spirit came and ministered in power throughout the weekend, especially on Saturday night. Julian gave a powerful teaching about being connected with the Holy Spirit and allowing Him to work in our lives. Then we moved into an extended time of worship and prayer ministry, something which has been conspicuously absent from our student ministry for many years. Needless to say, the outpouring was tremendous. As I played, I saw lives being changed right before my eyes. Many of our students received the baptism of the Holy Spirit and those who had already received it were given a greater portion. The floor was littered with students as they fell under the anointing. After a couple hours (I think. I actually have no idea how long it was), we wrapped up the music and I went forward to get my portion and promptly get knocked down under the weight of glory. ;-)

To illustrate the global change, on Friday night I noticed only one or two hands raised during worship, but by Sunday morning more than three quarters of the students felt free to do so. What an amazing victory! I am so proud of our students and I love each one of them to death. I have been praying for this for so long and am downright thrilled to actually see the results. I pray that our students will continue to grow in this anointing and never forgot what God did on this retreat. I praise God for giving them the boldness to step out and allow Him to work in them with such abandon. Thank You, thank You, thank You, Lord. You're awesome!

And, to top it all off, this all happened on my birthday. Plus, it was my final send-off before going away to Toronto for Ministry School. I honestly cannot think of a better birthday/going away present.

Next time, I'll posting from Toronto . So stay tuned, same bat-time, same bat-channel . . .

What's Your Dominant Reality?

If you didn’t get a chance to hear it live this past weekend, by all means slide your mouse over to the Sermons column and listen to The Rev. Jim Hobby speak on the Great Commission. When you do, see if you can pick up one sentence he used, primarily as connecting material, that has caught itself in my brain-folds for this week of Lent III—speaking of the early chapters of Genesis, he said “Sin was the dominant reality.” There’s so much in those five words: sin wasn’t always the dominant reality, but had become so; God acted because in spite of His desires His people had “become something else” (see last Monday’s entry) and required a corrective; sin was the dominant but not the only reality; God’s best isn’t always winning.

When sin is the dominant reality, then—what? A recent book now moving up the Amazon charts declares in the title that it’s God’s Problem. Specifically, according to the author, since “the Bible fails to answer our most important question,” that makes it God’s problem. It’s worth considering whether a.) this actually is “our most important question” (what about "what's going to happen when I die?"), and b.) whether the Bible fails to answer it, but for many people who are suffering, sin is very definitely their dominant reality. This of course is NOT to accuse the suffering of simply receiving their just reward because of their sin(s); the victims of others’ sinfulness suffer just as much. But either way, as it’s of our making, it’s our problem, not God’s.

For most of us, sin wasn’t always the dominant reality. Who among us can’t remember a time, however distant, however brief, when things seemed to be going pretty well, when we knew that God was smiling on us personally? But then, _______ [you can fill in the blank for yourself or others, but for whatever reason, the outcome was the same] and we began to experience the consequences of stepping off the path. Most of us have a very clear memory of how God stepped in—very personal for each of us, yet utterly consistent in His desire and determination that we return.

As we come to realize the difference and the distance between our desires and His, we enter into that oscillation between doing what He wants and doing what we want. On the way, we realize that what we really want is to want what He wants, but success only comes in fits and starts. And so it goes, sometimes for a long, long time—in this way, our dominant reality shifts, sometimes unnoticeably, sometimes jarringly. Lent provides a wonderful opportunity to recognize the moment when the pendulum of our shifting reality changes direction, to narrow its swing, and in the process to realize our desire—our need—to want what He wants. God’s best for us isn’t always winning, but ultimately will always win out. If we can’t do this on our own, yet we aren’t helpless—we can look honestly at our dominant reality, we can decide what we want it to be, we can do our best to be more like Him, and we can rely and depend on the One who wants that more than we do. We can do it; He will help!

Lord, You help us to see the distance between us and You in so many ways. We thank You for this knowledge, though we don’t often feel particular grateful to have it. We know for sure that whatever first distracted us, we left the path because we decided to, so in this season of preparation we ask You to help us want what You want more than we want what we want. We ask for this because we know how much it needs to happen and we know we can’t do it without You—in fact, we can’t even want it without You. We bless you because we also know for sure that You thought of us long before there was anyone here to think of You, and that nothing we can do will cause You to give up on us, now or ever. You are God, we are Your children, and we are truly and eternally grateful. Amen.

Lent - A Celebration of Jesus' Mission Life

Lent is a celebration of Jesus’ mission life as He walked to the cross—a reminder of what He did for us—He died for us, but He also prayed for us, loved us, and led many to His Father. He died to His human self and only did what He saw His Father do. I must die to myself in order to be able to hear Him and to follow in His footsteps.

So, what does that actually mean? Last year I gave up chocolate, but as soon as Lent was over I ate chocolate—not much different than holding my breath for 46 days. (Who said that Lent is only 40 days?) My “self” did not die.

I think I’m getting it. Lent is a time to help me remember . . . but if I really want to DO the work of the Father, a part of me will actually have to die—not pop back up after 46 days. For me, that probably means allowing God to show me the ways I do not submit to the authority that He has put me under: speed limits, no little refrigerator in my classroom, things like that. If I do not submit to an authority I can actually see, then how can He trust me to submit to His authority? He has gently whispered to me that I needed to bring that little refrigerator home and that I need to obey the speed limits—and not just for 46 days.

The refrigerator came back home and He has blessed me by opening up my classroom as an amazing mission field. Almost daily, I have an opportunity to share Him with one of my students—and yes, it’s a public school.

What about my driving? Well, He has blessed me with peace. I drive the speed limit. At first, I had to remind myself to slow down every 50 feet (literally). For you, Lord . . . But I felt so terrible for the poor people who got stuck behind me on the winding roads out in Clifton, where I live, and decided that I would just pull over and let them pass me. But then more would come. . . . The Lord told me: “Pray for my sheep on this road.” So, the streets on which I drive are now a mission field—endless opportunities to pray for all the people in their cars all around.

Thank you, Precious Jesus. You have shown me how to do the work of the Father—and you are allowing me to do just a tiny bit of it. It has been my heart’s desire.

Lent. A time to remember that if I want to follow Jesus to the cross, I must do as He did, in submission to His Father's authority: pray for those He sends to me, love the ones He loves, and then lead those He has placed in my life—my mission field—to His Father.

Forgiveness reflections # 2

How quick are you to forgive people who have hurt your feelings, offended you, lied about you, falsely accused you, said things about your husband or wife, your child or your closest friend that have really upset you? Are you as ready to say ‘O God, heal them, Father bless them, touch them’—or are you still holding on to your pain or resentment?

In 1945 the world was brought face to face with the horrific scenes of the Nazi concentration camps through newsreels and the printed media. Nail marks are still visible in the gas chamber walls of Auschwitz concentration camp where Jews had tried to claw their way out of the suffocating death chambers into which they were herded. After arriving on the trains from the ghettos or other places and being gassed, their hair was cut off and used to stuff cushions. If their teeth had any gold fillings they were wrenched out with pliers–if there were any tattoos on their skin, the skin was carefully peeled off to make lamp shades–if there was any fat on their body at all, which was most unlikely, the fat was taken to make soap and then their bodies were incinerated into ash and sold for fertilizer. From arriving off the train to the point where their ash was available as fertilizer took a mere one and a half hours.

The words that follow are from a prayer that was found in the clothing of a dead child at Ravensbruck concentration camp.

O Lord, remember not only the men and woman of good will, but also those of ill will. But do not remember all of the suffering they have inflicted upon us: Instead remember the fruits we have borne because of this suffering, our fellowship, our loyalty to one another, our humility, our courage, our generosity, the greatness of heart that has grown from this trouble. When our persecutors come to be judged by you, let all of these fruits that we have borne be their forgiveness.

Nailed to the cross, Jesus cried out–Father forgive them, for they know not what they are doing.

The cross of Jesus–amazing love, how can it be that you my God should die for me? . . . but because you have–bold I approach the eternal throne and claim the crown through Christ my own.

From the New Zealand Prayer Book, page 576b:

God of infinite mercy, grant that we who know your pity may rejoice in your forgiveness and gladly forgive others for the sake of Jesus Christ our Savior, who is alive with you and the Holy Spirit, one God now and forever. Amen.

Constraint and Freedom

At the risk of falling prey to a temptation Mark highlighted last week, of talking about something rather than doing it, I want to offer a quotation I ran across recently. It's from James Kiefer, who has written a series of biographical meditations on those commemorated in the liturgical calendar. This is from his piece on the martyr Thomas Becket.

The chief moral that I draw from Thomas's life and death is that when a man seeks to serve God, God graciously accepts that service, even if the man is quite wrong about what it is that God expects of him.

And then there's this one, attributed to Marissa Mayer, Google's Vice President for User Experience:

When people think about creativity, they think about artistic work—unbridled, unguided effort that leads to beautiful effect. But if you look deeper, you'll find that some of the most inspiring art forms, such as haikus, sonatas, and religious paintings, are fraught with constraints. They are beautiful because creativity triumphed over the 'rules.' Constraints shape and focus problems and provide clear challenges to overcome. Creativity thrives best when constrained.

So, what do they have to do with each other? Well, here's one more:

Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. (John 15:2)

The quote from Mayer hints at what may be a fundamental principle about the way God made the world and our brains. Too much freedom is counterproductive. Freedom can even be paralyzing. Writers often talk about the terror of the blank sheet of paper, the flashing cursor at the top of an empty screen. Constraint helps us focus, sparking movement, thought, reflection, action—breaking through our concern with ourselves to help us look outward toward what needs doing. Constraint is, paradoxically, the way to growth.

Rose bushes (as I am learning from sad experience) are naturally more likely to grow branches and leaves than flowers. Grape vines left unconstrained are likely to produce leaves rather than fruit. Neither plant will live up to its intended purpose unless and until it is pruned, sometimes quite vigorously.

God's purpose for us, Jesus says, is to produce fruit. Fruit is destined to be separated from the branch on which it grows, to refresh someone else, to spread its seed. Branches covered only with dense, lush foliage—branches that use the life of the Vine just to hang out—miss the point, and the consequences can be dire.

Thus the constraints we take on during Lent—like those limitations that God graciously throws in our path during the rest of the year—can become an uncomfortable opportunity to allow for growth and, more importantly, fruit. Love in action. Lives lived for God and others.

And Becket? The reasons for his martyrdom are still obscure to me—it sounds too much like power politics. In a sense he serves as a reminder that life is complicated, that the path of faithfulness is not always clear to either ourselves or onlookers. But his life and death have sparked faith (and courage and creativity) in thousands of believers over the years—not least in Chaucer, whose Canterbury Tales is organized around a pilgrimage to Becket's tomb.

Kiefer's comment reminds me of the grace of God. Even though life is complicated, I need never let my freedom paralyze me into inaction. If I act in obedience to what I do know, God's grace will transform my efforts, however misguided, into something that will touch people in ways my constrained imagination could never have conceived.

Of course, I still would rather just grow leaves. I'm good at leaves. Jesus, help me want to open myself to pruning rather than just wait for it to come.

Welcome

Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
If I lacked anything.

‘A guest’, I answered, ‘worthy to be here.’
Love said, ‘You shall be he.’
‘I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on thee.’
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
‘Who made the eyes but I?’

‘Truth, Lord, but I have married them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.’
‘And know you not’, says Love, ‘who bore the blame?’
‘My dear, then I will serve.’
‘You must sit down’, says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’
So I did sit and eat.

—George Herbert

A Yearly Physical

I am going to the doctor tomorrow. Nothing is wrong (that I know of). I just decided that it was time to get a checkup, a physical. The first one in, oh, ever. Well, first there was the 20-something “immortal” thing I had going. Then I got busy. Then got pregnant and had a baby. So it isn’t like I haven’t seen a doctor in the past few years, but we were mostly only dealing with a specific issue. And I have realized that there is more to me, physically, than the child-bearing aspect. And those other parts have received little, if any attention. And if you listen to the medical community, they are always talking about a “yearly physical”. So, I am woefully behind.

And that got me thinking about Lent. As I mentioned in my previous post, many Christian traditions look at Lent as an opportunity to take stock of their spiritual lives. A yearly physical, if you will.

Many of us probably take a few moments on a Saturday or Sunday during the worship service to think about our lives, and the Confession provides a brief opportunity to examine some of the places where we are weak. However, how often do we really sit down and take stock of where we are. Or, for an even more challenging task, how often do we ask our Creator to examine us, thoroughly, and give us a report? If you are like me, not nearly often enough.

I don’t want to go to the doctor tomorrow. I don’t want to step on the scale, have my blood pressure read, get my fasting blood sugar taken. I don’t want to be challenged about my lifestyle. I don’t really want him to tell me everything that could be wrong. I don’t want him to warn me about the future. I don’t want a prescription for a life different from the one I am living. But I am now a parent, and I want to be around to see my son grow up, and be a healthy mom for him. And since that desire is greater than my “don’t wants”, I am going to the doctor.

I often (frequently . . . most of the time) don’t want God to look at my life and take my spiritual temperature. Part of me would like to live life in denial of the cost that sin and temptation is taking. But another part of me wants God to be able to use me for His Kingdom work, and that means letting Him take a look at my life and tell me what His prescription is.

And Lent provides a fabulous time for us to get our Yearly Spiritual Physical. Especially if we have set aside some of the more distracting things in our lives. And God is faithful to give us much more than we ask. If we ask for health, He will give us the grace we need to get healthy, with His help.

I still don’t want to go to the doctor. But I am going.

Some Questions

Perhaps it's just me, but this year in particular Lent has has made me uneasy. I participated in Lent mostly because it is what you do when you have an Anglo-Catholic background such as mine. But this year, especially since I was given the opportunity to post on this blog, I have found myself preoccupied with questions about Lent, its origins and intent. Unfortunately, many of these questions are still out looking for their answers.

I have done some preliminary (and perhaps incredulous) research concerning my queries with the aid of the wonder that is Wikipedia and I have learned a few things about this ancient tradition. For instance the name 'lent' comes from "...the Germanic root for spring (specifically Old English lencten; also the Anglo-Saxon name for March—lenct..."

However this hardly gets to the root of the matter. I guess what I'm wrestling with is why we do Lent at all. Why do we insist on living in the wilderness when Christ has delivered us into the promised land? Shouldn't we see ourselves as God himself sees us in light of His Son? Haven't we been crucified with Christ and died to our own sin? Are we not citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven, having been given a royal inheritance?

Did anybody not sin today? I wouldn't count on it. Do we need to recognize and own our sin before the Lord? Absolutely. Is one of the main jobs of the Holy Spirit to convict our hearts? Most assuredly. I'm just having trouble not reducing this whole lent business to a dramatic remembrance of a really big problem that we used to have. Does sin really have the power to trip us up anymore, or do we give it that power by focusing so much of our attention on it?

These are honest questions and I'm honestly trying to answer them. I look forward to reading everyone's comments and getting all of this straightened out!

To Love and Martin Luther

Today the Anglican Kalendar (yes, this is spelled correctly) recognizes the contributions of Martin Luther, who died on this day in 1546 at the age of sixty-three. The appointed prayer makes reference to his being raised up by God to renew and reform His church in the light of His word, and asks that we may be blessed with the faith to boldly proclaim the riches available to us through Christ Jesus. A worthy desire, a “big ask” in Hybel-ese, and a lot to pack into one sentence—renewal, reform, the Word of God, faith, proclamation, and the riches of a relationship with Christ Jesus.

Today is also VD + 4, so on the occasion of sweeping up the wilted rose petals and tossing out what’s left of the Russell Stover’s, I might have taken this packed-in-a-cardboard-heart-tied-with-a-plastic-red-ribbon opportunity to inflict a brief rant on the third-most-commercialized pseudo-holiday of the secular calendar—that would be Valentine’s Day, not what you were thinking I meant by VD. But this is Lent; discipline, grace, and acts of kindness are the order of the day, so I choose not to go there (this time).

Instead, I share what I consider a striking confluence of two sets of facts that on their face are utterly unrelated. First, Martin Luther must have been both pretty strong and very much of a certain type in order to accomplish so much. It doesn’t take a long look backward or forward in time to see that renewal and reform of the church have been a really contentious front-and-center issue from the earliest written records to the many current journals, magazines, popular books, and scholarly tomes on the subject. I presume to presume that this is largely because of people of a similar Luther-ese bent. Scripture is colorfully littered with prophets, priests, and people who saw what God intended, saw what was being made of it, and couldn’t keep from pointing it out to anyone who would listen. Today, can we possibly avoid hearing from people who have some new way to avoid WCS—Withering Church Syndrome?

Second, psychologists have recently confirmed—meaning, someone got a juicy grant—that love only lasts for just so long, and we now know how long that is. No suspense here—love lasts about 18 months; after that it becomes “something else.” The one-liners almost write themselves, but what if this was true? Or, what if this was even partly, or something-like, true? What does it say about our ability to accomplish a “long obedience in the same direction” as couples, as families, or (you knew I was going here) as a church—or the Church—or THE CHURCH? If love in all its passionate obsession just “becomes something else” after awhile, then isn’t it simple logic to think that people who fall in love with their church are going to “go somewhere else” or “do something else” or “become someone else” after awhile, just as a matter of course? BTW, this is just a metaphor for thought, not a Bible commentary, so no flames about loving Jesus first, love is an action word, etc.—I know, you’re right, but that’s not the point here.

We’re very easily distracted, and even without the distractions we will apparently just wander off and “do something else” after awhile. Hence the rise, and the continuing need, for the Martin Luthers that God will always raise up to do what they do best, and what we need most—plead, beg, preach, cajole, nag, create, bless, write, sing, and most of all LOVE us back to where we once belonged before we inadvertently “became something else.” They may come off like Extra-Grace-Required folk more often than not, but we disrespect and ignore them at our own peril, personally and as the Church.

Lord, You made us to be like You, and one thing we know about You is that love is so integral to Your nature that You exist as a Trinity and a Unity one and the same. We thank You for all those You put in our path to keep us focused and help us return when we “become something else.” We ask you for grace to hear You when we receive them, and we also ask for boldness in those times when You want us to join them. We ask it because You told us we could; in all things we give you praise, honor, and blessing. Amen.

Lenten interlude with John Donne

BATTER my heart, three person'd God; for, you
As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee,'and bend
Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurpt towne, to'another due,
Labour to'admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue.
Yet dearely'I love you,'and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie:
Divorce mee,'untie, or breake that knot againe;
Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I
Except you'enthrall mee, never shall be free,
Nor ever chast, except you ravish mee.

Forgiveness Reflections # 1

Matt Redman has written a song called, ‘The Cross Has Said It All’, and the words have summed up for me so much of my personal gratitude for Jesus Christ and his cross.

The cross has said it all.
The cross has said it all
I can’t deny what you have shown.
The cross speaks of a God of love
there displayed for all to see.
Jesus Christ our only hope,
a message of the Father’s heart.
Come, my children, come home to me.

As high as the heavens are above the earth
So high is the measure of your great love.
As far as the East is from the West,
So far have you taken our sins from us.

The cross has said it all,
the cross has said it all.
I never recognized your touch
until I met you at the Cross.
We are fallen dust to dust.
How could you do this for us
Son of God? Shed precious blood,
who can comprehend this love?

How high, how wide, how deep?
The cross has said it all.
The cross has said it all.

Without the cross I stand before a Holy God unforgiven of my sin.

Jesus is our forgiveness model. He forgave perfectly. He forgave the way the Father forgives. After all Jesus is the Father come down from heaven to show us how to live our lives. The anguish and struggle Jesus went through that night at Gesthemane was the launching pad for forgiveness. He had not yet bought our forgiveness. He’d only agreed to pay the price for it. In order to complete our forgiveness, Jesus still had to endure the agony of the cross, and then he had to experience three days of death and separation from God.

Forgiveness is tough. It is a violent wrench of the body, soul, and spirit. Forgiveness is not a cheap piece of jewelry that we put on our wrists or around our neck as spiritual decoration. Forgiveness costs and it costs abundantly. It cost Jesus everything he had.

Forgiveness is also very lonely. Jesus asked his friends for support. If we choose to live a life of forgiveness that’s the way it is when we’re struggling to be forgivers.

Forgiveness is a choice, a life style. Jesus was free to choose the process of forgiveness. Forgiveness is a life style that we too are invited to choose to live.

Forgiveness is intense love, dripping with freshly spilled blood. Forgiveness is a heart-breaking choice to love the sinner more than you hate the sin. This is what Jesus came to do.

Forgiveness is free. God offers it. But it’s not cheap. It cost Jesus his life!

Repents of evil

Several days ago I began my morning reading from the Lenten Devotionals. I came across part of a verse from the book of Joel: “[God] repents of evil” (2:13, RSV). My first tendency with a verse like that is to read over it quickly, more or less dismissing it; or, giving it a bit more attention, to explain it away, sort of trivially. That morning I did not do either; it grabbed my attention—what a strange phrase—God repents—and then–of evil. Why does it say it that way?

Can God do evil? Aren’t those mutually exclusive? God—evil . . . So I wanted to read Joel, get the context, & see how other translations put it. I was hooked. This little three-chapter book, buried in the so-called “minor prophets” (I’m sure I’ve read it before several times, but not anytime recently), has captured me as a good place to “hang out” during Lent.

Oh, but it is a bitter story at its beginning. Joel starts out with terrible disaster, despair, sorrow, loss; stunning loss, stopped dead from the routine, unable to worship. . . . Locusts have devastated the land and invaded everywhere, an overwhelming powerful invincible army into every nook and cranny. In my mind’s eye I envision opening closets, cabinets, apparently closed jars and discovering the pulsating insects, chewing up everything. Clothes are taken out of drawers or closets to wear and the locusts are there crawling and devouring. Nevermind that they don’t eat some of those things . . . they are inescapable.

Joel calls his people to face and acknowledge the horrible loss—can you feel it? Weep, lament, stop, despair, all priests and lay-folks at a loss, dress in sackcloth, be silent. Call for a fast, round up everyone to pray–cry out to God–for help, for mercy–that devastation would not continue, that they would be saved.

Can God do evil? Most of us would quickly respond NO! I think that would depend on how you define evil, and, where you are at this moment. Perhaps the places I most easily charge Him with “evil” are the little disruptions that seem to undermine my safe routine. Like when the car suddenly isn’t working right, and there is not a simple obvious solution and I’m expecting to be somewhere else soon. Inside part of me is saying “why are you doing this to me, why now?” How petty, how small . . . What happens when the real locusts come, the whole army?

Does God do evil? I don’t think so. But He will let and even bring consuming locusts to “eat up” what I rely on for life–comfort, safety, pleasure, sense of well-being; what I define as must-have blessing . . .

What do You, O Lord, want to devour & destroy in me, in order to release something better?

For when I am weak, then I am strong

Lent: a time to delicately rub one’s face in the mud and acknowledge the fact that sin has overwhelmed one, and one needs a savior.

“One”: namely, me. Who am I to write a Lenten meditation? was my first thought, upon Sherri’s invitation to post to this blog. For I am not the picture of any kind of self-denial but of the opposite. I could recently be seen reading about the hyper-ascetical Desert Fathers with one hand while holding my 6th (but who’s counting?) slice of pizza in the other. I have obviously not been developing as a church resource on the topic—a Christian spirituality mainstay—of self-denial, and in fact I now weigh more than several Pacific island nations (and my food expenditures probably vies with their GDPs).

I knew that to write my first Lenten meditation would mean choosing one of two paths. One would be the temptation to write about some great spiritual ascetical things I have read about in books. The other would be to actually meditate. The latter led to being honest and personal, which may in itself seem self-indulgent to readers, and would in any case be humbling. But I don’t really think I have a choice.

Now, being overweight is not a sin, but I think gluttony is. Any disobedience to God’s will is sin. And in this arena, I found myself doing what I knew was sin, over and over. And along with it, like a swarm of demons, came the accompanying sins of dishonesty, dissipation, and misusing God’s money. And I postponed day to day—year to year—the implementation of the heavy artillery that would be needed to actually bring it all to an end.

When prayer, principles, promises, and plans weren’t enough I finally reached out to a community of like-minded sinners. (Actually, I think if had prayed more, I would just have gotten to the community sooner.) Dr. Jeffrey Satinover once pointed out how the 12 Steps of AA express basic evangelical Christian theology, if in Step 1 you substitute the word “sin” for “alcohol:”

1. We admitted that we were powerless over sin—that our lives had become unmanageable.

And etc. This I did. Now I write down what I plan to eat each day, ahead of time. But that is not enough. No: I share with a community. I make a phone call at least once a day to another sinner—I mean, over-eater—and share what I wrote down, and what happened the day before. I share reality.

This method can work for arresting not only alcoholism or gluttony but for any type of sinful behavior—anger, greed, pride, lust, and the other two Deadly Sins too. It works because it is God doing the work. For God, the New Testament makes abundantly clear, usually insists on working through other people.

But I don't think the vast majority of Christians, including me, could ever bring ourselves to practice it—until our backs are against the wall (or have “hit bottom”) and we have no other options. It is too humbling. Actually, humiliating feels more accurate, just as humiliating as sharing this with you now.

But it could be worse, I remind myself. Without His grace and a lived repentance, I could instead be judged and punished for all the time and money I have wasted and my many other sins, which is what I deserve.

Also, I remind myself, it works. Or rather, He works.

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” —2 Corinthians 12:9–10