New Chapters

In the "early years" of marriage, after a long day at work, we'd escape to the pub and grille down the street for dinner. It made us feel like kids again, it made us feel like adults.

In this last night stateside, we took our son there for the first time. He told us he wanted chicken before we even asked. He watched football and ate french fries. He announced he was done, wiped his hands with napkins, finished his chocolate milk, then danced in his seat. When we left, he said, "Fun! Eating!" He understood why we like the place so much.

We said goodbye to two brothers and a dad.

We talked about starting life with no friends nearby, no family, no network. Life will be different. And it simply won't make sense attempting to recreate our American life in France. Most everything will change. It's a new chapter.

But who has ever read a chapter and slowed down because it was too good to end? Instead, we race to finish, unable to put the book down. And a good chapter makes us eager to continue, discovering what the next one holds with delighted curiosity.

So, here we go.

Missing Documentaries

Last night's victorious return to both movie-watching and documentary-watching has given me the itch for more. It probably comes in conjunction with what feels like the first real day off I can remember in years. That sounds pathetically dramatic, but in many ways feels true.

I was under the impression that not many good documentaries are being made in recent years. At least not like the year that Spellbound, Winged Migration, and Bowling for Columbine were all running for the same Oscar, or the next year with the Fog of War and Capturing the Friedmans. Those were good years. Of course, they were also the years I was a college student and had nothing better to do than study Methods of Fingerpainting 101 and track down all the latest documentaries, decent or not. (I even wrote a little manisfesto for the school paper before graduating, trying to explain my fascination.)

But today's documentary itch made me stumble onto Paste Magazine's always enjoyable list of the day blog to find, first, this list of the 20 best documentaries of 2010. Your response is probably the same as mine: You mean, there were enough documentaries made in 2010 to pick 20 and call them the best? Apparently. I've only seen one of them, and many of the remaining 19 look pretty great, including one to add the list of art-world docs, Art of the Steal, which apparently took place in my back yard.

But that led to this list, a better place to start for someone a bit more casually interested in exploring some decent documentaries. The 25 best documentaries of the past decade. I've seen 17 of the 25, and haven't heard of 2. While some of my favorites are missing (Stevie being the most obvious), you can't go wrong with the majority of these. And if you still need help, I'll narrow it down to seven for you:

23. Gleaners and I
16. God Grew Tired of Us
11. Born into Brothels
8. Spellbound
6. King of Kong
4. Fog of War
1. Man on Wire

Let me know what you watch. And remember that documentaries are always better when discussed.

Join the Hype Wagon

I'll cut to the chase: I want all of my friends to watch Exit Through the Gift Shop.
It's a documentary by Banksy. If you don't know who he is, I'll skip the superlatives so often thrown around and just tell you, basically, he's a famous graffiti artist.

I'm sort of delighted by this street art thing. Not obsessed--because I really don't know all that much about it. But just curiously delighted. So clever and intriguing. Witty and exciting. So to learn more about some of it and see some of it in action is just a lot of fun.

Just that--the first 20 minutes or so--would be enough for me. But then we get the extra surprise of this character, this wonderfully complex documentary subject that Banksy finds. Or did he find Banksy? Or did Banksy create him? And to what degree did Banksy create him? And what exactly in the world is going on here? No one is really sure, but it's so much fun.

And from there it opens the floodgates yet again on the art world just like My Kid Could Paint That and Who the #$&% is Jackson Pollock?. And if I were sticking around, I'd hold an all-day controversial-art-world-documentary festival with these three. And no one would get tired watching three movies in a row because all three are just as engrossing and involving and entertaining and question-raising and debate-sparking. In Banksy's own words: "This is from the frontline, this is watching an art form self-combust in front of you. Told by the people involved. In real time. This is a very real film about what it means to ‘keep it real’."

And after you watch it (which you should, don't forget), you'd do well to read this interview.

(It feels good to write about a movie again.)

Advent 13: All is Not Yet Bright

Charlie Brown wants to be happy just once on Christmas, and he's still just as depressed as last year.

Sufjan Stevens sings about the "Worst Christmas Ever": Our father yells, throwing our gifts in the wood stove. My sister runs away, taking her books to the schoolyard.

Our churches plan quaint and warm Christmas Eve services while in the home across the street there is sadness, disappointment, grief, estrangement, abuse.

We talk about peace and joy and love and good will and everything being right. It's the most wonderful time of the year, after all. We drive past homes and imagine the scenes of joy happening inside, families opening gifts in front of the fireplace, when in reality, there may be an angry father burning presents in rage.

And in our hearts, it is made worse because it is Christmas. Maybe it's the talking heads telling us everything is supposed to be OK now. Maybe it's our hearts affirming that something is still wrong here, and in so doing, we affirm that there's something better that we're still missing. It's not supposed to be this way, we insist.

It might be as small as the nagging feeling of emptiness after opening the presents. Or it might be much more serious--illness, dysfunction. Regardless, there is still darkness in this world. All is not yet bright. Silent night, Holy night, Nothing feels right, Sufjan sings.

Our answers are many but always fall short. Lucy says more community involvement. Sally's hoping more presents help. Snoopy gets sucked into commercialism and money, showing off his house to the neighborhood. And exasperated from the search, Charlie Brown yells, "Doesn't anyone know the real meaning of Christmas?!"

"Great tidings of joy...for all people," Linus proclaims.

But my dad just threw the presents in the fire, Linus. How is this baby in a manger bringing me any joy? How does this two-thousand-year-old story bring me any hope when I'm cold and lonely, reading books in the schoolyard on Christmas morning?

Whatever my lot, this baby makes all things well with my soul. That's important. But all is not yet bright.

And so, we keep waiting. Waiting for him to reappear just as he left, and this time truly making all things right, when every eye will finally see him and every knee will rightfully bow and the trees of the field will clap their hands. Like a tired Jew waiting for deliverance from the cruelty of the Egyptians or the Babylonians or the Romans, we wait for full deliverance from the shadows of darkness in this life.

As one man puts it, He comes to make his blessings known far as the curse is found.

And as Sufjan concludes, In time the Lord will rise.

Like many other weary soujourners before us, we plead, How long O Lord?

In the last chapters of story, he tells us, Behold! I'm making all things new! and I am coming quickly!

And so like John we respond, Amen! Come Lord Jesus!

Advent 12: Adopting a Son

Day one was fear and trepidation.

Day two was nervous hesitation.

Christmas morning, as we watched Charlie Brown together, ate scones, and watched him run across the room in new PJs, he became my son. And it's been that way from that moment on.

I wonder how it went for Joseph.

Advent 11: All is Calm

Typically, the month of December is anything but calm. Each one of us is prone to joining the chorus echoing that tired and pathetic sentiment as if we have no control over our lives: "It's such a busy time of year!" I'm sick of hearing it, sick of saying it.

And obviously, this Christmas season, much like the last one for entirely different reasons, has been nothing short of completely exhausting for us.

But that ends for a moment on the 25th. I love the fact that the banks close early today, and everything is closed on Christmas Day. Even the grocery stores! And even some of the blogs or news sites I frequent warn their readers of the impending break. While E and I really should be continuing to run around our house, cleaning and organizing and packing and what-have-you, we'll be taking our own break tomorrow too.

Everything gets put on hold for this day. Everyone pauses with a great exhale of relief. Rest. All is calm.

Do we know why?

Why is it that, though people reject the supposed "true meaning" of Christmas, this day still holds some sort of permanent sway in society? It's as if it's almost sacred or something. Sure, we can skip saying Merry Christmas, but we'll still revere the day.

Maybe it's for the family, maybe it's just the vacation, maybe it's sentimental traditions, maybe it's the new stuff we'll be getting. But I love that when you dig deeper into each one of those on-the-surface-reasons, there's something greater to be found. Fingerprints to be traced.

Familial bonds, the need for rest, the meaning-creating, the satisfying good gifts, all having their source in a Father who made us in his image, then wants to adopt us, bringing us back into his loving family, through the preposterous act of sending the Glory of the One and Only into our neighborhood as flesh and blood.

Whether you want to believe the billboards declaring that "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" or not, your actions make it seem that he really just might be, regardless of your acknowledgment or agreement or approval.

Exhortation

Goodbyes make you try to say everything you've always wanted to say. There's a sense of urgency. So I wrote a letter to my elders on two minor points. It was mostly a letter of exhortation towards matters close to my heart.

I exhorted my brother-in-law the other week. He happens to also be my pastor. He said, "When did you start exhorting people?" I treated it as a rhetorical question.

But we received a letter from a friend recently that felt like exhortation. And it felt good. And it made me realize how much we need exhortation, and how rarely we get it.

And I wondered how much of that lack of exhortation is because now we've earned the title of "missionaries." Like we don't need it anymore and we should be the ones giving it.

But I will tell you now, if that's the common train of thought, it's ridiculous.

Hebrews 3:13 "But exhort one another every day, as long as it is called 'today,' that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin."

We know all too well that leaders are not immune to hardening or the deceitfulness of sin. So don't they need exhortation just as much--if not, more--than the rest of us? And isn't it our job as parishioners to give it to them?

So, go exhort someone, even if it's a leader of yours. They might not like it at first because they're not used to getting it. But don't worry, they'll get used to it. And don't forget they need it.

My sister read the letter to the elders since she is an elder's wife. She said she loves how "bold" I am getting. I guess I just kind of wish that exhortation would be a normal part of life together and not something that requires "boldness."

Advent 10: Affirmation, Consolation

Erica pointed out another role of those shepherds the other night.

Mary and Joseph, to put it mildly, are experiencing a roller coaster of emotions. And I'm sure there were many days filled with doubt: "Was that really an angel? Was this really a conception by the Holy Spirit? Is this baby really who they say he is?"

I'm sure that barn felt lonely that night. Some relief with pregnancy and labor finally over, but now with a screaming baby next to a bunch of animals, probably not much. I'd imagine questions swirling, like "Why here?" and "What next?" and "Really, God? Seriously?"

And breaking the isolation, here come the shepherds rushing in with a story just as preposterous as their own. "A bunch of angels told us about you! We're looking for a baby in a manger. We're looking for you."

To anyone else, they'd appear as a bunch of crazies. To Mary and Joseph, walking by faith, this was just odd enough and familiar enough that it couldn't have been coincidence. Dirty, crazy shepherds became timely affirmation and consolation: all this chaos is worth it, and it's not some delusion, either. Something bigger is in fact going on here. Puzzle pieces coming together.

With an unexpected baby arriving in our lives last Christmas, I know this feeling well. Just when you are scared out of your mind and doubting the whole thing, there is more affirmation. A "still, small voice" screaming through more wonderfully bizarre circumstances, or unexpected people showing up on the scene, something to the effect of,

"Take heart. This is by design. You're doing the right thing. Wait and see."

Walking by faith can be scary, a dig-your-heels-in-fear-and-trepidation kind of thing. But God often seems so timely and brilliantly creative in giving just enough needed for the next step of courage.

Transatlanticism

Not much time to sit and think these days and it gets to be a bit draining. Between momentary attempts to anticipate the future and fleeting advent reflections, there are glimpses of life a year ago, just as busy and hectic for entirely different reasons.

On this day, Erica was still doing homework for a masters degree, feverishly wrapping up the last of it. On the 12th, she dressed up in a funny cap, gown and hood, walked with some friends, and talked about going to Harvard for a doctorate on the way home. On the 13th, when we thought life couldn't be more exhausting, we got the phone call to change our lives. And we simultaneously think, "It's only been a year?" and "It's been a year already!"

These days the moments when we're saddest, the kid is his happiest. The optimist of the family, so easy-going, so up for anything, so ready for adventure. When we heavily explain the plans for yet another time, just for preparation's sake, he nods with ease and agrees, "Sure!" No sweat. It's these moments I'm most grateful for this gift we could not even imagine, and grateful to be reminded again by his middle name that, "God is with us."

Trying to picture the future is getting increasingly difficult. We've talked about this move in theoretical terms for six years. Putting it into action is another story. And as it becomes more real it seems to become harder to understand. "Day at a time" is a frustrating but necessary cliche.

And then there's this letter found this morning, the first transatlantic piece of airmail in 1919. "Just a hurried line." One of the most heard phrases in conversation lately is, "Well, these days you have email, Facebook, Skype." Yes and true, but both blessings and curses are hidden there. There's something meaningful and magical in a belabored, intentional, handwritten note that had to fly across the ocean. On Skype you can only see hugs without giving and receiving them.

I forget who was telling me the story, and I even forget the story now. Something about a married couple becoming missionaries back then, leaving the ship in a small dinghy, rowing to Africa with their small trunk of possessions. Yes, times have changed, for better or worse.

But stories like those make me feel a little less crazy, like I'm somehow joining a rich heritage of transatlantic seafarers with something bigger on their minds. And then I stop and wonder if that actually makes me more crazy.

Maybe schizophrenia is the best way to describe all this.

It's settled

He's been using the litter box consistently since we've been home.
The vet saw him on moment's notice today and was able to take care of all requirements, including the "international microchip."
When leaving the house today, the kid said, "Bye Banjo! Love you!"
He's been sitting so contentedly on my lap for the past 30 minutes.
Well then, that's that. The cat's coming with us.

Have a safe trip, please.

How I spent my morning.

Advent 9: Mission, Surprises

I'm having a hard time separating the Christmas story from current life experiences this year.

I read about Mary receiving the news in Luke 1. Life-altering news, to say the least. Things will never be the same, and that's an understatement. She's greatly troubled at first, there are questions that follow, a mind racing, but ultimately a total submission, a sacrifice, a gutsy dying to self: "I am the Lord's servant." In essence, "Whatever he wants to do with me, I'll let him. He's got every right."

I guess there may be danger in comparing my current experience with the ordinary woman who gave birth to the Savior of the world and hasn't been forgotten since, but I read and hear a resonance with sentiments I've expressed recently. She expresses a willingness and God takes her for a serious ride. And all she can say is, like her Son will say later in life, "Not my will, but yours be done." Impressive and inspiring and motivating to me right now.

And as terrified as she probably is? She still can say, "My soul makes God big, my spirit leaps with joy."

Then there are those shepherds we heard about on Sunday. Years before those ordinary unschooled men take up the cause, and years before the smelly fishermen and corrupt tax collectors get recruited, there are the blue-collar shepherds going unnoticed in the hills, who all of a sudden are commissioned to be the ones to spread the news. Thrown into the mission. I love this upside-down God, full of surprises from the very beginning. If he chooses and uses shepherds to declare the glory, surely he can use two nobodies from small-town Pennsylvania, no?

Some things are harder to let go of than others.

(Free to a good home!)

Oh, Bumper Stickers

Pulled into a parking spot at the grocery store behind a car with two stickers on either side of the bumper.

"Follow Jesus. No Regrets. Ever."

and

"Your Obama Bumper Sticker might as well say, 'Yes, I'm Stupid.'"

In a rare moment of assertiveness, I quickly scribbled a note on a scrap piece of paper.

"From a fellow follower of Christ, a suggestion for you: If you want Obama supporters to follow Christ too, don't call them stupid."

Left it under the windshield wiper.

Went to DC today.

The cherry blossoms are beautiful this time of year.

Pretend

The kid's imagination has kicked in recently, and of course I couldn't be happier. It started one random day in North Carolina hiking in the woods, when he picked up a stick and all of a sudden it became an airplane once he declared it so and made it fly up and down, complete with advanced sound effects that I'm not sure can be transcribed intelligibly here.

But today I found him hiding in the back of the corner cupboard, squeezed behind the lazy-susan-type of shelves, and he called me over and told me to eat. (Power language--including all sorts of commands like "Eat!"--has also kicked in recently.) When I asked what we were eating, he said without hesitation, "Apple pie. And drinks." The apple pie was served on a plastic silver platter, the drinks in the blue and red plastic cups found on the top shelf.

Of course, I gobbled and guzzled. And that's when the smile widened and eyes twinkled.

And that moment is what I love most about kids at this stage and their pretend play, their imagination. When they offer invisible apple pie, they watch for a reaction, very clearly bluffing and knowing it. There's a pause, waiting for the unknown response. But when the adult all of a sudden accepts and gobbles it up, it's a delightful surprise, as if yes, there actually really is apple pie on that plastic silver platter, because Papa sees it too! And he's eating it! And it's delicious! So let's eat some more!

Thanks

If we're not thankful I wonder if there are basically two reasons. 1) We have no One to thank except for fate or lucky stars, impersonal forces that just feel too, well, impersonal to really thank. or 2) We've been duped to believe that we're self-sufficient, independent, more or less that all we have has been earned through sheer determination and a gritting of the teeth.

So perhaps I feel inexpressibly thankful this Thanksgiving because this year has simply left no room for either of those cases.

Last Thanksgiving we were less than a month away from, but completely oblivious to, the immanent and sudden expansion of our family. And there was no thanking lucky stars, as even lawyers, caseworkers, pediatricians, and the most random of acquaintances could agree on the divine story being written in the strange circumstances that paved the way and brought this child to our doorstep. And to have a free crib delivered the day before and a box of clothes delivered a few days after...down to the diapers and toys and books on a moments notice...how could we just toss it up to fate?

And since then it's been a year of complete dependence. Becoming a father on moment's notice, completing a master's degree, keeping up with a job, preparing for a cross-cultural move, fundraising, leaving that dream job before the future was guaranteed, then looking ahead to a new job in a new country that involves learning a new language, with the new surprise recently thrown into the mix just for good measure. Crazy? Of course. My ideal transition? Of course not. Something I can succeed through in my own strength? Absolutely no. (If you must know, in my own strength, I would have curled up in a corner somewhere long ago.)

It's my developing conclusion that once you tell God you're willing, once you agree to walk by faith and not sight, he will begin the twists and turns that test you, that force you to keep trusting or turn back, that call you to greater dependence or a return to independence. It's a process of breaking, refining, and then remolding. A process that strips you of all self-sufficiency, all dependence on personality strengths and natural ability. An emptying process that grips you until you can say, "Not my will, but yours" and "Whatever was to my profit I now consider loss...it's all a bunch of garbage."

At times it's painful, at times it's scary. It's a loss of control, it's a loss of identity.

But with it all comes a deeper trust and an intense comfort in a God who is good and sovereign, a God who knows what he's doing and isn't out to get you, a God who not only can see what the future holds but plans what the future holds, a faithful, unchanging, sustaining God. With it all comes the increasing ability to say, "I have strength for all things in Christ Who empowers me [I am ready for anything and equal to anything through Him Who infuses inner strength into me; I am self-sufficient in Christ's sufficiency]" or "I'm no longer competent in myself, my competence comes from God."

I'm feeling more like a cracked clay jar this year. One that will hopefully, eventually, in some way show a surpassing power that couldn't possibly be from me, but only from God.

It's all crazy and mostly inexplicable, and to an outsider or onlooker it probably sounds a bit senile, but I'm entirely thankful for it.

You were wrong, and I won't hold it against you

"I had so much hatred towards my family. And now it's gone."

These words were shared on Sunday morning by one young woman who's been meeting with three other women on a weekly basis, reading scripture, praying, and sharing life together. A simple practice that adds up to the first time she's ever been discipled in the truth of the gospel. And though I'm reading between the lines a bit, what I hear her saying is that the more she's around the knowledge of God's forgiveness, the more she's able to forgive.

Recent thoughts here and here and here, along with several discussions and teachings on forgiveness at our recent training, have been sort of converging towards what I'm starting to see as a compelling apologetic for the truth of the gospel. It's the supernatural wonder of forgiveness.

When we've been wronged, there is no piece of moral fiber in our bodies that wants to let it go. We want justice for ourselves. This starts a nasty cycle, the cycle that's been discussed here more recently. The only way out is real, true, full, complete forgiveness. But again, I'm becoming more and more convinced that this is not at all humanly possible.

Instead, forgiveness is a divine, supernatural gift. And it reverses so much that is wrong in this world. Restorative, healing, life-giving. It's the opposite of what we see in our broken societies.

Where does it come from? I find the most compelling teaching on forgiveness to be the parable Jesus shares with Peter, who in his humanness, wants to put limits on forgiveness. But if God puts no limits on his forgiveness, neither should we. (And in the conclusion of that parable, it seems the only limit God does put on forgiveness is if we're not willing to extend it to others ourselves.)

I firmly believe our willingness to forgive runs in direct correlation with our understanding of how much we ourselves have been forgiven. (And understanding how much we've been forgiven depends on how sinful we think we were in the first place, but that's another conversation for another time.) If we see our forgiven debt as being as large as the one forgiven by the master in Christ's parable, then surely we can close the record-keeping books in our relationships and forgive the trivialities around us.

"Forgive as the Lord forgave you." That begs the powerful question: How does God forgive us?

But this is only a powerful "apologetic" if it's actually seen authentically at work in the world around us. And I think that calls for better teaching on the topic in our churches: first of God's great forgiveness, then of our forgiveness of people around us, including what it is and is not.

In one of my favorite documentaries, Stevie, some strange advice is given that has always bothered me a bit. The "mentor" tells the subject of the film, "I'm not telling you to forgive, I'm telling you to forget." Apart from Christ's forgiveness, I wonder if that really is the best this world has to offer. Your grudge is excusable, just try to push it to the deep recesses of your mind. And if that's the best we've got, then it's no wonder so many relationships are fractured, left in ruin, characterized by distance and avoidance.

There's got to be a better way.

One more Post, then I'll call it a day, Promise.

Sufjan's late-night network debut made me giggle with glee. A lot.

Put it On Your Bucket List or Something

I can readily admit that the band Do Make Say Think is not for everyone. I can even admit that some days they aren't for me. But there are other days where they are the only music for me. Today is one of those days.
And so it is here that I will make this declaration, regardless of your feelings towards the band.

Absolutely everyone, just once in their lives, needs to listen to the song "Fredericia" as loudly as their living room speakers can reasonably handle, while doing nothing else, perhaps even with eyes closed. This will only require 10 minutes of your lifetime.

If that goes over well, another optional exercise would be the same with the song "Auberge Le Mouton Noir." And no, I don't like that song only because the title is in French.

And if you complete these exercises not feeling much better for it, then I recommend a more pleasant song, one I don't think is possible to NOT enjoy, with increased frequency, as much as needed: "A Tender History in Rust."

Out of Context

Why do we take scripture out of context? Aside from receiving a pathetic education in English/Literature/Philosophy/Logic/Debate, I'm afraid it's just in our nature, and has been since the beginning of time. Satan took God's Word out of context at the very beginning, twisting and distorting to a meaning with which we're comfortable, and we've been doing the same ever since.

Like the people of Israel, we only want to hear pleasant things, avoiding the conviction that comes from the Word of God:

Isaiah 30:9-10
For these are rebellious people, deceitful children,
children unwilling to listen to the LORD’s instruction.
They say to the seers,
“See no more visions!”
and to the prophets,
“Give us no more visions of what is right!
Tell us pleasant things..."

Like the people Paul warned Timothy about, we've got itching ears, wanting to suit our own desires of comfort:

2 Timothy 4:3-4
For the time will come when people will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear. They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths.

Finding Context

I've been trying to devote myself to the book of Philippians lately. And as I've already alluded to, I'm finding it to be a bit surprising. It's not quite the book I thought it was, and I'm afraid it's not the book the average Christian thinks it is. It's been a case study in some seriously out-of-context verses. I'll give just two examples, though there are several more in this book alone.

The most serious offender? Phil 4:13, "I can do all things through him who strengthens me."

We've heard just about everyone quote this verse as some sort of positive self-talk to get through some difficult circumstance. And taken on its own, it very quickly becomes a tool of the likes of Mr. Osteen, a believe-it-and-you-can-achieve-it sort of mantra. Simply put, the focus is on "doing all things" instead of on "through him who strengthens me." I really don't think that was Paul's intent.

The context? Financial hardship and God's provision. It's NOT performing some astounding miracle or overcoming the odds. It's just talking about being content with whatever you have. (Tell that to Mr. Osteen!)

And it's here we can realize that getting the context straight is only in rare cases something reserved for scholars and their proficient knowledge of Biblical times. Getting the context is often as simple as reading the verses before and after. Phil 4:11-13 "...I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me."

In other words, Paul's "secret" in all financial situations is finding one's sufficiency not in money, food, clothing, and resources, but in Christ alone.

Another example?

Phil 4:4-7 "Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus."

Some verses taken out of context become seriously and dangerously distorted, like the first example. Others, like this one, just lose some of their original intent, making them a little less powerful or meaningful.

When people quote these verses, it's usually when they're having a bad day or when something is bringing them anxiety, weighing them down, a situation that's burdensome. I don't think that's particularly inappropriate or incorrect in this case, but again, as always, it's helpful to see the context -- just by reading the verses before and after.

The context is interpersonal conflict. Phil 4:2-3 "I entreat Euodia and I entreat Syntyche to agree in the Lord. Yes, I ask you also, true companion, help these women who have labored side by side with me in the gospel together..."

There is some sort of serious disagreement going on that's threatening to bring division. As you work through this conflict, seeking to mend relationships, Paul says, "Rejoice, be reasonable, keep praying, rely on God, seek his peace..." And even further, he goes on to say in verse 8, "Think about the things that are true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, excellent, and praiseworthy."

All of a sudden these verses aren't just verses to get us through a bad day, they are verses that command us to pursue others and intentionally reconcile and restore relationships. And it's probably in those situations--when what we really want to do is run the other way and insist on our self-righteousness--that we need this reminder most. Instructions for preserving instead of destroying, constructing instead of destructing.

When we take verses out of context and force them to apply where they simply don't fit, we invert God's Word, putting ourselves at the center. Instead of it telling us how to live, we tell it what to tell us. It becomes a band-aid fixing the external instead of a remedy curing the heart. In so doing, we rob it of its transforming power and robust glory.

Good Reminder

The eyes of the LORD are on the righteous,
and his ears are attentive to their cry;
The righteous cry out, and the LORD hears them;
he delivers them from all their troubles.


In vain you rise early
and stay up late,
toiling for food to eat—
for he grants sleep to those he loves.


Strengthen the weak hands,
and make firm the feeble knees.
Say to those who have an anxious heart,
"Be strong; fear not!"

We stayed in North Carolina
long enough to watch the kudzu wilt
and the leaves turn a shade of rusty orange.

We drove north and watched
the trees lose their leaves as we went,
a season changing in mere hours.

We watched the sun rise
over the Shenandoah Valley from
our cold car windows on Skyline Drive,

seeming like the only ones alive,
as if the last visitor left
when the final leaf fell.

And though I swore and hoped
this year--this year, finally--would be the year,
yet again, winter caught us by surprise.

Travis asked what he could expect from the Sufjan Stevens concert.

I told him to expect beautiful chaos and glorious absurdity.
I'm not sure what that means, but I think it's fairly accurate.
I like when artists can be brilliant and yet still not take themselves too seriously.
Highlights of the night were probably "I Walked" and "Vesuvius" or in general just watching two drummers play together.

(photos by my beautiful wife.)

The guy next to us brought his parents to the show with him. It made me wish mine were along too, but once the show got started, I realized it was probably for the best that they weren't. It was just a little too bizarre.

I was right, You were wrong...

Variations on a theme, here, but I loved the explanation Mr. Stevens gave to this song last night--equal and opposite forces--all in a moment of honesty and clarity explaining the natural but devastating tendency to insist on our own way...eye for an eye...vengeance...retaliation...self righteousness...my way or the highway...et cetera et cetera et cetera.

Or the tendency to give up, run away, abandon ship too soon, when persisting and pursuing and persevering would bring what's really needed.

I walked, because you walked, but I won't probably get very far...
I would not have run off, but I couldn't bear that it's me, It's my fault...
I should not be so lost, but I've got nothing left to love...

All of which just begs the question yet again: What would happen if we reverse that devastating tendency?

And it all points to the One who did not walk away when he could have or should have, though he had every right, he continued pleading, continued with hands outstretched, with great compassion, with relentless pursuit. And the other One who served in silence and great humility. "When they hurled their insults at him, he did not retaliate; when he suffered, he made no threats."

We drove through snow on the Blue Ridge Parkway.

a motto

say what needs to be said.
hear what needs to be heard.

But I thought this book was supposed to be about joy? And rejoicing?

"It is my eager expectation...that with full courage now as always Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain." Philippians 1:20-21

"For it has been granted to you that for the sake of Christ you should not only believe in him but also suffer for his sake, engaged in the same conflict that you saw I had and now hear that I still have." Philippians 1:29-30

"...made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant...humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross." Philippians 2:7-8

"...for he nearly died for the work of Christ, risking his life to complete what was lacking in your service to me." Philippians 2:30

"Whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ...I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish...that I may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death..." Philippians 3:7-11

"It was kind of you to share my trouble." Philippians 4:14

Be careful of the lenses you put on before reading, lest you miss the point.

Go Do

One of the most significant "indie" music makers in the past decade agreed to scale down his theatrical performances and do free acoustic shows in record stores. One of the dates was in nearby Asheville, but tickets got snatched up before I could get to them. No matter, as the tour was canceled after Jonsi felt pretty uncomfortable and awkward during this first show. Seeing how tight things are and how close some guys are standing right next to him, I think I can see why. But man is this beautiful.

I thought I was a pretty decent thigh drummer. This made me reconsider.

Jónsi - Go Do [Acoustic] - Live at Origami from plastic pearl on Vimeo.

Question Raised while Playing with the Kid

Do Chinese kids dream about digging a hole and reaching America?

Curious

Halloween really wasn't the same this year without a house full of people awkwardly intermingling in absurd costumes, but we were glad for the opportunity to spread the creativity and fun to Knoxville, TN. Erica's friend Erin got in on the action, volunteering at the last minute to be a pillow for Erica, the tooth fairy.

Turns out I was quite a celebrity with the kids. It took me a while to figure it out, but all of a sudden realized kids were staring at me with looks of awe. Several followed me for a ways without me knowing it, until I finally turned around to notice and could shake their hands.

One girl, probably around age 3 or 4 and dressed like Spiderman in a dress, asked, "What's your name?"
"I'm the man in the Yellow Hat," I said while shaking her hand, "and you must be Spider Woman?"
"Noooo! I'm Spider GIRL!"

It's probably fair to say our costumes weren't quite on par with other years, but if you saw what my wife did with such limited resources (ie: no tape, no cardboard, no glue, no string, no miscellaneous craft drawer, and a Wal-Mart 30 min away), you'd be quite impressed. The hat, for example? Made the night before out of the only 4 sheets of yellow construction paper we had in our apartment and the spray adhesive her mom sent earlier this month.

And it's in the details, too. The tooth-fairy necklace had quarters glued to it.

More Childlike Wisdom

here

Never As Good as it Looked

...but man did it look good.

What they weren't showing you: 3 hours of tedious set up for 10 seconds of action, the clumsy kid that accidentally bumps it before you're finished, the plastic ridges that make it really hard to set up the dominoes on end. And the rocket never worked. Of course it didn't.

You were right, I was wrong...

There's this long and repetitive and borderline-obnoxious song by Howard Hello, two songs, actually, that are back to back on the album and flow into one another. Besides its 5/4 time signature, I really like that it builds and builds instrumentally until finally, the singer starts singing for the first time in several minutes, a simple but revolutionary line, over and over so that you can't run away from it: "You were right, I was wrong..."

Another way of saying what was said here is this:

It's our natural inclination to focus on what we're doing right and what everyone else is doing wrong.

What would happen if we reversed that, looking at what we're doing wrong and what everyone else is doing right?

Now, it might not be healthy to stay there and only there, of course, but what a place to start!

First Impressions

• This was not an album for a solitary listening party. This is meant to be shared and discussed. I really missed the crew from the Illinois party.
  
• I can honestly say I'm glad this wasn't another "50 state" album.
• 5 year gaps between albums free up the artist for innovation. That's a good thing.
• But at the same time, I love that you can hear snippets of every past Sufjan album tied up somewhere in here.

This is a prime example of artist as prophet, in so many ways.

First, the obvious: the music is confounding. It's hard to get through all the bleeps and bloops and ticks and tocks that start to fade together. This is a long way off from the mellow acoustic guitar and banjo that wooed so many listeners in the past. To stick with it takes a bit of persistence and perseverance. Those willing to seek and find will be rewarded. "Don't be distracted," we hear again and again.

In his most blatant moment, he says plainly, "Do yourself a favor and get real, get right with the Lord." I'm not sure how I feel about that lyric myself, as it seems to fit more with Audio Adrenaline than it does here. But a prophet will come out and say what he means at the right time, which is why he prefaces the statements with "Prophets, speak what's on your mind!" And like most prophets, he admits immediately after in the next song, "I'll talk but I know you won't listen to me. Oh you wouldn't say it, but you wanted to."

Like any good prophet, the full range of emotions is here. Pain and confusion, a desire for freedom, even fear, and moments of meditation, reflection, peace, and joy.

I'm looking forward to sitting down with any lyrics I can get my hands on, but after the first listen, I get this overwhelming feeling that Stevens, again in his apocalyptic prophecy, is pointing out the hell we've made for ourselves. Our misguided desires have gotten us, well, not much of anywhere. "I want nothing less than pleasure...we made such a mess together..." And where will all of this lead? There are ways out, and there are moments of relief, but it could very well get worse before it gets better. Harrowing stuff.

And I wonder if the synthesizers and drum machines and processors and computers have anything to do with that 21st century hell we have on our hands, as if to say the more we run things through our complex technology the further and further we get from anything real and relatable.

So, those are first impressions. I was expecting a different reaction from previous albums--the reaction where I get really excited and ready to burst and wanting to tell everybody about it. (See this reaction from four years ago.) Nope. Same reaction, with the realization that this is even richer than before. [It may not be the album I destress with, or the album I listen to while watching lightning storms, but it will be the album I really dig into.]

Why this reaction? His quote from this New York Times article explains what I've sensed in his music all along: “I believe that music is a spiritual language. My everyday self is pretty mundane and boring, but when I’m making music it allows for me to communicate a kind of transcendence that I can’t communicate otherwise.”

If you're interested in hearing the new album for yourself, visit here. You can stream for free...just don't expect it to be background music for the office.

What are the Adz

It's a beautiful Sabbath. The wife and kid are napping. At 12:52, I've already consumed too much coffee for one day. I've been waiting for this free moment for over a week, and so, I am about to finally immerse myself in Sufjan Steven's The Age of Adz for the first time. The best audio options are iPod earbuds. I'll take it. Unusual for moments like these, I'm going in with realistic expectations, maybe even expecting to be disappointed, or at least puzzled. I'll let you know how it goes.

On a Lighter Note

1. I ate a Pink Lady apple today for the first time. Pretty sure it was the best apple I've ever eaten. I want to describe it as "fruity" but that doesn't make much sense since an apple is already a fruit. But seriously, it had a sort of crazy grapefruit taste to it or something. And apples in North Carolina are super crisp. Seriously.

2. Tonight I watched a praying mantis attack a daddy-long-legger then proceed to eat it immediately. It was fascinating and exhilarating. Coolest insects ever, hands down. Proof that God is the originator of sci-fi. I feel weird being this excited about it.
(That's a katydid in the back, another wild creature, whom we expect to find dead in the morning.)

Art of Anderson

Choose one:
A) Field trip to San Francisco
B) Christmas Presents
C) All of the above

Haven't seen this much fun since Terrible Yellow Eyes.

Good Reminder

The creative power that made light out of nothingness is the same creative power that illuminates our minds to know the unknowable.

"For God, who said, "Let light shine out of darkness," made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ." 2 Cor 4:6

The powerful spirit that gave Christ victory over death is the same powerful spirit that gives life to us, lifting us out of deadness.

"And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit, who lives in you." Rom 8:11

For you, Christian, from an Artist

I am not an artist. To be honest, I really don't even know that much about art. I do my best to appreciate it, and often succeed, even if I don't always understand it.

Part of "my call" (I've been wanting to write about that concept, too) to "full-time ministry" (still getting used to that term, too), as lame as it might sound, was a revelation that I'm passionate about a lot of things I'm not very good at. For just one example, I feel really strongly about somehow bringing the arts back into the church, but I'm not an artist myself. And so there was this revelation that maybe God gave me all these strange desires that I couldn't complete myself in order to encourage others to put their gifts to good use.

So, for the rest of you Christians who aren't artists, this eloquent and powerful letter was written for you. Do not be tempted to think of it as an artist whining because he feels left out. We've done that for too long, and that's exactly the problem. I challenge you to read with a bit of empathy, trying to understand, eyes to see, ears to hear.

Members of One Another

Our instructor has an incredible ability to make the heady, brilliant, deep stuff quite relatable. A sort of simple explanation sends one spinning and searching, all of a sudden realizing, in a sense, that, there's a lot more here than I ever realized.

One small slice of class today looked at Eph 4:25. The NIV gives us Americans plenty of wiggle room:

Speak truthfully, for we are all members of one body.

Still plenty of room for individuality within this group, a separate identity, you're your own person who checks in but maintains some amount of freedom. Speak truthfully, then, so that the group can function well.

The NAS, a bit more literal I'm told, paints a different picture, which may feel a little uncomfortable, but seems a whole lot more meaningful.

Speak truth with your neighbor, for we are members of one another.

Whoa. You mean, it's more than just joining a group? I'm a part of you, and you're a part of me? This is "spousal language" as we were told this morning. In community we are knit together, we rub off on each other. I carry others in myself, and hopefully, others carry pieces of me in themselves. This is a whole different reason to speak truthfully, as now you are robbing a person of the opportunity to add the real you to themselves, and in a sense, you are lying to yourself, too! (Hmm...maybe that's getting a bit too "out there"...?)

And this members-of-one-another-business is a real picture of the Trinity, isn't? We've been saying all along that being made in the image of The Trinity has shaped our need for community, but I'm not sure how often we're talking about this type of community. It's so much deeper than we Westerners realize.

And it gets me quickly thinking: who is a member of me? This part of my identity is mom and and that part is dad, then there's brother and sister, teachers, mentors, role models, friends, those iron-sharpens-iron partners.

And further, of whom am I a member? And scarier, has that been beneficial to their identity? Or detrimental?

Childlike Exploration of Sounds

Lots was said today about becoming childlike in language learning. I'll direct you here for more details.

My favorite thought? A two year-old enthusiastically mimicking the words, "Oh, Wow!" over and over again, purely because she loves the sound of it, the feeling of the word as it moves through her mouth, rounded and bouncing and whole. Again! Again!

I don't know if I'll ever get to that point of being so care-free about language learning that I can just sit and enjoy a word for what it is, but I sure like the idea. And I guess that's what makes a good poet, too, huh?

Today makes me want to retire and write for the rest of my life about being childlike. On the other hand, how could one say things better than the likes of Chesterton?

"A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony.

But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.

The repetition in Nature may not be a mere recurrence; it may be a theatrical ENCORE."

Wisdom

So, I promise I'm not trying to compete with my wife's pretty wonderful photoblog. This speckled mountain is just one small slice of the beauty we saw this weekend, including a trip on the Blue Ridge Parkway to Pisgah Mountain and some hiking today at Linville Gorge. I didn't know it going in, but Western North Carolina is a pretty beautiful place to be. My only regret is wishing we had a bit more time to sit and rest and bask.

The main lookout at Linville Gorge is one of the most spectacular views I've seen, and it's called Wiseman's View. Is that because a wise man would pick this particular spot to look at nearby ridges and peaks? Or is it because, in taking in this view, a man becomes wise?

I prefer to to think it's the latter. Views like these bring proper perspective.

Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand,
or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens?
Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket,
or weighed the mountains on the scales
and the hills in a balance?
Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
The LORD is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
and his understanding no one can fathom.

The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom,
and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.

Weird

Worthless and Meaningful Stuff 2

I saw this quote hanging next to a painting in Paris once:

"Remember that a picture--before being a warhorse, a nude woman, or an anecdote--is essentially a flat surface covered with colors in a certain order."
-Maurice Denis

Worthless and Meaningful Stuff

One of the big conundrums of this beast we might call missionary life is what to do with all the stuff.

It's not so much an issue of stewardship. You can ship all your stuff across the ocean or replace everything on that side and either way you would pretty much break even. That's not so much the issue. I wish it were, because it would make some decisions a lot easier.

The issue is do you care about your stuff or don't you? And that's not as simple as it sounds. Like a chameleon or a schizophrenic, one minute you're ready to load the dumpster and go empty-handed, and the next minute you're hanging on with all your might, bursting into tears.

Of course, it's just stuff. If you don't throw it out now, your kids will when you die. You can't take it with you, and no one else wants it, so why hold on? And of course there's plenty of room to condemn materialism, or quote Christ telling his disciples to take nothing--no food and not even an extra cloak. Good and valid and challenging points. And those are the moments where you say, "Let's do something radical and go with absolutely nothing."

But of course, it's more than just stuff. The most insignificant and trivial of things all of a sudden become meaningful. A present from so-and-so, our first such-and-such, the thing we had when this happened, or the trinket from that-special-place. Or just something I really enjoy. No we don't need it, but yes, it's meaningful.

It sounds silly, but why does it happen so easily?

Yes, there is a certain amount of idolatry going on. But could it be something besides that? Not just that? Made in the image of The Creator, are we not designed to create meaning? We take the most ordinary and mundane items, breathe life into them, and make them significant, valuable, meaningful. We find beauty in unusual places, and thus, we're not always ready and willing to let go. Where others see trash, we see a story, a history, or a potential future. The object is known, it is ours, there is value.

And is this not exactly what The Creator has done? Taking dust, forming it, and declaring it "good." Taking a people senseless, faithless, heartless, ruthless, worthless and calling them his own.

Can't we rejoice in the fact that he didn't discard you and me?

I'm not saying that gives me good reason to pack up all my junk and keep it with me. This is no justification for materialism. But at the very least, it explains why deciding what to take and what to leave behind is so difficult.

The Limits of Knowledge

The pastor on Sunday morning said some stuff that was pretty provocative. The whole sermon was on being loved by God, resting in that love, growing in that love, experiencing that love, and in so doing, having all fear cast aside.

It was a good message for me, one of many components right now giving me the needed reminder that God loves more than I can possibly imagine, and it's about time I start resting in the security that brings.

But the pastor was treading in some dangerous waters when he started tearing down our idols of knowledge. He was talking about the breadth and length and height and depth of a love that surpasses knowledge.

"Here's our problem....In the church of America today, we have an unprecedented access to information. We have never had as much access to good Christian information as we do right now. The accessibility of good teaching on the internet, radio, or TV, the accessibility of good podcasts, good theology; it is all around us. I really believe that for a lot of us we have this almost orgy-astic approach to knowledge, hoping that somehow we can learn enough, or going from one conference to the next trying to find or hear that one thing that is going to fix you. It cannot work! What we need is not more information! We've got all the information that we could ever stand! Our education about God far exceeds our capacity to ever live any of it! We have received so much good information--our heads are chock-full! ... There is a knowledge of the love of Jesus that surpasses knowledge, you can't learn about it in your head, it doesn't come from getting more information, from seven steps, from a formula. The only way it works is if God supernaturally by his Holy Spirit reveals it to you. This is the reason Paul prays for it!"

This sounds too loose and free and easy for people in my circles, but I found myself nodding my head. We do have more information these days than we could ever stand. We can read classic works for free on Google Books. We can get a full seminary education for free on iTunes. We shop around asking who the best teachers are listen to their sermons throughout the week. We've got Kindles and iPads and any other tool you can imagine.

None of this is necessarily bad, but I have come to a point recently realizing that somewhere along the line, enough is enough. Not that we stop learning, but that we must be sure to actually do something with the things we're learning.

Unfortunately, the same people gorging themselves on this knowledge are often the same people who aren't doing much with their faith except to sit around in circles of friends and rehash everything they're learning. It's hording. It's gluttony. It's defeating the purpose of learning. And it's sinful.

To whom much is given, much is required. If you're given a whole lot of solid teaching, you better start acting on it somewhere along the line, taking the earbuds out just long enough to hear what your neighbor is trying to say to you.

If you know me, you know that I am by no means against knowledge or against these various means of learning more. But I have to agree with this Pastor that reading more books is not going to help us be loved any more. Resting in that love, understanding yourself as a secure child adopted into God's family, is much more important in ministry than listening to one more sermon. And that rest comes only through prayer. It is a spiritual battle won only by the Holy Spirit.

All this comes at a time where a gigantic binder filled with a lifetime of information for navigating life in cross-cultural ministry is dumped on me, and most days I am completely overwhelmed, feeling as though I'm not at all even keeping my head above water. Many days I need to zoom out, and remember the primary issue at hand is resting in the breadth, length, height, and depth of the love of God.

Interestingly enough, though, as I was mulling over all of this through the week, I came across this startling article about our level of Biblical literacy, saying that "nearly half (48%) of Americans who are affiliated with a religion say they 'seldom' or 'never' read books (other than Scripture) or visit websites about their own religion." Obviously, there's a balance here. There seem to be two populations. The ones with a bent towards education reading too much and the ones who are simply disinterested, not reading anything. So, all this isn't a call to throw away our books all together. Avoiding knowledge isn't the answer. Some clearly need a sermon in the opposite direction, on loving God with our minds and being transformed by the renewal of our minds and...

I was reminded, then, of this quote from a novel I taught last year. It describes this tension and balance well.

"I think you should learn, of course, and some days you must learn a great deal. But you should also have days when you allow what is already in you to swell up inside of you until it touches everything. And you can feel it inside you. If you never take time out to let that happen, then you just accumulate facts, and they begin to rattle around inside of you. You can make noise with them, but never really feel anything with them. It's hollow."

Knowledge puffs, but love builds.

The View from Our End

(Everybody in!)

Maybe, Maybe Not

Our family may or may not have eaten a banana split for dinner tonight. If we did, it was to commemorate a special occasion.

I may or may not have just ordered a five pound bag of coffee off the internet. If I did, it was because the price was right.

Communion

We went to our first Catholic mass last night. I don't want to talk bad about it, because we Evangelicals do plenty of flippant Catholic-bashing already. I know there are some Christ-following Catholics out there, and I know there are some people finding some real meaning in their Catholicism. I don't know much about it, so I have very little room to criticize. All I will say is this. From my view in one of the back pews, trying to keep my kid quiet as he either explored the acoustics by hooting into the cathedral's caverns or screamed from being squeezed into some sort of semi-submission, things seemed cold, distant, foreign, ritualistic, forced, obligatory. I really wanted to understand some of it, especially before throwing out adjectives of condemnation, but it was so impossible to break in as a visitor. I couldn't even understand most of the words that were being said, mostly due to the muddy acoustics and the distance from where I was sitting. Even the bulletin offered no explanation. I watched communion proceed, sitting this one out, feeling like I was observing from the back of the church figuratively besides literally.

This morning we went to a hipster church. Almost too hip for its own good. I was just glad I was in my twenties and could tell anyone that I own two Apple computers if they'd have asked. I don't say this out of disdain, because I actually quite enjoyed the service. After a meandering but very compelling sermon on the perfect love of Christ casting out all fear, this church, too, served communion. Similar to the mass, people left their pew, walking down the middle aisle, taking a piece of bread from one elder, dipping it in the wine from another elder, eating and walking back.

It's amazing the difference context can make. Same ingredients, same ritual, same origin, but worlds different.

But what was most moving was watching a young mother go forward ahead of us, taking and eating the bread and wine with the smallest, most content, most peaceful, most beautiful sleeping baby curled up and resting in her arms against her breast.

The act of communion last night brought tension, discomfort, stress, confusion. Watching and participating in the act of communion this morning--especially with this vivid picture before us, being a child of God through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ--brought a strong sense of rest, contentment, peace in the arms of the Father, thankful for a strong love that casts out fear.

Not Good Enough or Too Good to be True

I'm thankful for several readings we've been assigned that are making the gospel even more clear. Tonight was the "a-ha" of Isaiah 64:6.

"All our righteous acts are like filthy rags."

I always assumed this meant even our best acts weren't good enough before a holy God. That's only part of it. Our best acts might be plenty good, might be too good, so good that we rely on them for our righteousness instead of God and his work through Jesus Christ. So good that we are seeking a goodness on our own apart from Christ.

When we repent, we repent not only of the "bad stuff" we've done, but also--and in some cases more often--we repent of the "good stuff" we've done on our own. Like our own beautiful and industrious tower of Babel, those righteous acts are trying to achieve a name for ourselves, trying to reach God on our own strength.

Like the rich young ruler, it's not enough to follow every commandment. We are called to give up self-earned security, finding security instead in Jesus Christ and him alone.

And as has been said here recently, this is not only a conversion repentance, but a daily repentance. If our conversion begins by declaring our dependence on God, so it must continue.

"For only crazy people would think they could complete by their own efforts what was begun by God. If you weren't smart enough or strong enough to begin it, how do you suppose you could perfect it?"

Lessons in Just Making It

If you're going to make the dough by hand when the bread machine stops working and cook the sauce from scratch with your homegrown tomatoes, then do not, I repeat do not, finish the pizza with store-brand shredded mozzarella cheese, the kind that mysteriously refuses to melt in the oven, making the whole pizza resemble the pies in the frozen section that only cost a dollar and can conveniently be prepared in the microwave.

We've seen His Glory

"The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only..."

I really wanted to go there. I entertained the idea for several days before giving it up. I even sent help-cry of an email to Dan, who's done a lot more thinking on glory than I have in his effort on writing about the topic.

Glory's one of those words that we throw around a whole lot, but when you stop to ask what it really means, no one's quite sure. What does it mean to glorify God or to give him glory or bring him glory?

That's not to say we're just ignorant or ineloquent or flippant with our cliches (though that might be a part of it too). I think it's primarily one of those concepts that you feel more than you can describe. I know when something is glorious, and usually when I know it's glorious, that's the only word I can use to describe it, that's as close as it gets.

Dan helped me to understand a bit that glory can often equate to the presence of God. That gives an understanding, but still, the feeling of it doesn't quite translate.

Whatever it is, we know that Jesus is full of God's glory--he's filled with God's presence--and that it is evident, John could see it.

And you're beginning to see why I knew I couldn't include it that Sunday morning, because to touch on it for just a few moments would not quite do it justice, especially with my limited understanding of the topic.

But I love the idea that, with the presence of God now within us, we too have glory. And as we become more Christlike, we become more glorious, a glory that points back to God himself.

"...Now if the ministry that brought death, which was engraved in letters on stone, came with glory...will not the ministry of the Spirit be even more glorious? If the ministry that condemns men is glorious, how much more glorious is the ministry that brings righteousness! For what was glorious has no glory now in comparison with the surpassing glory. And if what was fading away came with glory, how much greater is the glory of that which lasts!

Therefore, since we have such a hope, we are very bold. We are not like Moses, who would put a veil over his face to keep the Israelites from gazing at it while the radiance was fading away...But whenever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away...And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit."

And then there's the idea of glorification, when this process of becoming like him will be completed. We've already seen his glory, so now we can reflect his glory, but one day when we see him as he is, we'll be like him fully.

"Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when he appears,we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is."

And if you can't feel that, well, then, I'm not sure what more to say. That's where the thought was left in the editing process. That's where I'll leave it here, too.

...unless Dan has anything to add?

Recent Lessons from James

"Now listen, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.' Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, 'If it is the Lord's will, we will live and do this or that.' As it is, you boast and brag. All such boasting is evil. Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn't do it, sins."

If you're going to die as quick as the steam rising from your cup of coffee, why not get the dying over with today? Put your big plans and your way of doing things to death. Entrust your life and your ideas to the one who not only knows but also controls what tomorrow will bring. We dig in our heels and refuse to do so, because it feels as though we're losing control. But that's exactly the point--you don't even know what will happen tomorrow. You have no control. Isn't there great rest and security in surrendering that false sense of power, in giving control to the one who actually has it?

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"Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed."

Is there any more powerful verse for living in community with others? What would happen to all of our attempts of mind manipulating, agenda pushing, debate winning, status gaining, idea twisting, conflict avoiding, side taking, hair splitting, if we simply followed these two rules?

Evangelicals are absolutely terrible at confessing sin to one another. We think we don't need to, we think it damages our reputation, we think the gospel is more appealing if we're as perfect as possible. But how powerful to come before another person admitting faults, admitting brokenness, admitting selfishness, admitting ugliness. It gives the other person permission to do the same thing. Think of the barriers this brings down. All of a sudden, we're on the same team, we're in this together.

And what if we prayed for one another in this as well? Not praying that the other would be convinced my way is right, but praying for whatever burden that man is carrying, praying that we would understand one another, praying that we would keep our eyes fixed on Jesus rather than on our agenda. More barriers come crumbling down.

I am no longer on the defense, trying to protect myself. All is laid bare for you to see. We can finally get down to work together.

What would the church look like if we followed these two instructions? For starters, as James says, we'd be healed.

A Grandfather called "Brother"

If I weren't meeting her halfway with the sugar she needed or the eggs we needed, I would typically be walking back with my parents. To the corner of our yard, through the overgrown weeds and around the garden, up to the back porch of the Cassels. Maybe for the annual neighborhood picnic, or visiting PJC alumni, or just saying hello.

With Mrs. Cassel, it was finding birds' nests, spotting robins in spring, or singing a song about puffy white clouds whenever they were in the sky. It was eating a treat there and leaving with a bag of snack mix. With Mr. Cassel, it was stories and questions.

Somewhere along the line, towards the end of high school, I started receiving invitations to visit alone. A casual lunch by myself or dinner with a few other friends of mine. Those visits continued through college, as I would make the same walk back through the yards, going to give updates about my progress at Taylor.

Dinner usually ended with devotions. She would read from the devotional book and he would read from The Message. And his slow prayers never had the cliche phrases I was used to hearing. It seemed like he was actually talking to someone, someone he knew, with some thought and depth of meaning. Those prayers usually put a lump in my throat.

One summer it was a thought-provoking book club. A few weeks before my wedding, it was teaching him how to sing a Magnetic Fields song. (The syncopation was tricky.)

Somewhere in the past five years or so, I have grown enough in ways that some people see me fit to pursue this beast called "full-time ministry." Five years doesn't seem like enough time for something like that, but it's happened somehow. Subtle though it often seemed, Mr. Cassel has played a big role.

(Let's not let him take all the credit, though, as Mrs. Cassel no doubt prepared me in the early years--especially with her tireless ministry to 2 and 3 year-olds--then handed me off to his care.)

Some days it was simply having someone to admire. Some days it was the stories that gave insight to a particular struggle. Some nights it was the prayer. Many times it was simply his willingness to listen. Listening to thoughts, ideas, some of them no-doubt off base, some of them immature. Listening to complaints, plenty of complaints. But every time, listening so graciously. Sometimes gentle correction. Sometimes the encouraging exhortation that would bring me to tears: "Don't despair. Press on."

It was taking a risk and asking me to teach a Sunday school on the book of Isaiah with him. A book I had never explored. I had no idea what I was doing, but I learned a lot. Then there was the Sunday he was supposed to teach and got sick. I visited his bedside on Saturday morning, and he handed off his notes, gave me a few thoughts, and entrusted the lesson to me. Yikes.

It was helping me prepare for sermons, then sitting in the first few rows as I delivered them.

And of course, there was that fateful question that continued to ring through my head on several occasions. Out of the blue, yet well-placed, timely, and needed. Not long after, there was the time he took me to a weekend retreat where other young men were considering the idea of full-time ministry. We shared a bunk bed there, which was kind of funny.

Somewhere along the line, Mr. Cassel became Carl. Somewhere along the way, he became a grandfather to me. And somewhere after that, we started calling each other, "brother." I don't care who it necessarily is or the nature of the relationship, at the very least, it's a real privilege to consider someone 50 years older than you a friend.

I have to wonder where and how often this sort of mentorship is happening? I have reason to believe it's not happening enough. I hear older generations worrying about where the next generation of leaders will come from. I trust God to build his church, but I often wish those fretting would start doing something about it. Maybe some are scared, nervous, not really knowing what to do or how to go about it. Carl's example shows it's not anything fancy or technical or structured. It's allowing others to observe your life, it's listening, it's guiding, and it's offering opportunities for partnership.

The other week, Erica and the kid and I ate lunch with the Cassels for what could likely be the last time in a while. We shared about our future transitions and they shared about what it was like to be getting old. I was holding it together relatively well until we said goodbye and set out on the walk through the backyard.

We left out the back door and walked through the grass--the same exact way I have been doing for 24 years. The same walk, but no longer a middle schooler, high schooler, college student, or young married man. The same walk, now holding the hands of a toddler and a wife, setting out on a journey full of unknowns. So much has changed, so much is changing. Yet so much--including the testimony of the brother Carl and sister Charlene--has proved that God is good and he is faithful. (Don't despair. Press on.)

And I've been with them enough to know they'd want that to be the focus.