So I'm still working on stuff, which I actually love. I don't want this semester to end, so I might be drawing it out a little longer than necessary. I'll have an actual update shortly, but for now here are two things I've read recently that I absolutely love:
Phrases
like Worship Service or Service of Worship are tautologies. To worship God means to serve him. Basically there are two ways to do it. One way is to do things for him that he needs
to have done--run errands for him, carry messages for him, fight on his side,
feed his lambs, and so on. The other way
is to do things for him that you need to do--sing songs for him, create
beautiful things for him, give things up for him, tell him what's on your mind
and in your heart, in general rejoice in him and make a fool of yourself for
him the way lovers have always made fools of themselves for the one they love.
-- Frederick Buechner
Anticipate your heaven below, And own that love is heaven. -- Wesley hymn
Right now I'm in the library working on a bibliography for a directed study I'm taking over the summer. I'd forgotten how much fun getting lost in a library is. I pity the librarian that has to pick up after me...it's a bit like something exploded in the stacks. And we're not supposed to reshelve the books ourselves.
Friday, May 16, 2014
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Today's Observation
Spitting is the manliest habit. If you are a man and you aren't spitting you should begin immediately.
Spit indiscriminately.
Spit informatively.
Spit interestingly.
Spit early.
Spit often.
And when you've spit your best, remember you are not a cowboy in a saloon. You're just a dude on the street who never saw Willy Wonka.
Spit indiscriminately.
Spit informatively.
Spit interestingly.
Spit early.
Spit often.
And when you've spit your best, remember you are not a cowboy in a saloon. You're just a dude on the street who never saw Willy Wonka.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
The Faithful Athiest Evangelist
I wrote this about a month ago and somehow forgot to pull the trigger. This is still true. He came to every Holy Week service.
________________________________________
There is a man who comes to church who is an atheist. He's been coming since Christmas, and he's very adamant that he thinks what we believe is bogus. But he comes every week. And he brings people. He's our faithful athiest evangelist.
He's a weird dude, and probably marginally homeless. He makes people uncomfortable. He wears sweatpants and sometimes a tie with his windbreaker jacket. He doesn't look or act hungry (some of his friends do), but maybe he just comes for the food after service. He doesn't participate in communion (some of his friends do). He doesn't sing. He sits with his eyes closed, and if it weren't for his physical response during the sermon you'd think he was sleeping. But he isn't. Every week after service he gets his plate of snacks and goes back to the sanctuary to sit alone and make a phone call where he relays the sermon in detail and explains why it was a total crock.
This week during service he read the scripture. And he stood for singing. And, after the offering plate had been passed and had returned to the front, he came up and put money in the plate. And after service he made his phone call. He's our reading, singing, tithing, faithful, atheist evangelist.
I don't know what this means, but I don't want to forget it. I don't know what God is doing inside of him, or what God is doing among the rest of us, but I can see something happening. God's ways are mysterious.
And I wonder how much he is like the rest of us. We call ourselves Christian, but sometimes we doubt. Is God really there? Does God really love even me? Are these people who profess God's real and present love just going to disappoint me again? Do we only call ourselves Christian when the certainty outweighs the doubt? Or do we cling to the identity through reading, singing, tithing, and showing up even when we don't have faith?
And is it what we say, or what we do, or what we believe that makes us Christian? Or is it God working in us, even as we spend our time telling God what a crock he is? Loving us despite our appearance.
And in those times where we cannot say we believe are we still Christians? Does our Christian-ness depend on our own action in the midst of doubt, or on Christ's never-letting-go-ness?
Among the lore that surrounds John Wesley is a story of his faith crisis and the response of his friend (Peter Böhler, a Moravian) that he should, "Preach faith till you have it." This seems silly on the surface, but isn't it what we all do? Maybe it's just me, but I can't possibly understand all the things about God. The more I know God the less I know I know and the more questions I have. Some of these questions lead toward faith, and some don't. If I waited to tell people about God until I understood everything I'd never open my mouth. And I'd miss out on learning from all the other reading, singing, tithing, faithful, atheist evangelists like me.
________________________________________
There is a man who comes to church who is an atheist. He's been coming since Christmas, and he's very adamant that he thinks what we believe is bogus. But he comes every week. And he brings people. He's our faithful athiest evangelist.
He's a weird dude, and probably marginally homeless. He makes people uncomfortable. He wears sweatpants and sometimes a tie with his windbreaker jacket. He doesn't look or act hungry (some of his friends do), but maybe he just comes for the food after service. He doesn't participate in communion (some of his friends do). He doesn't sing. He sits with his eyes closed, and if it weren't for his physical response during the sermon you'd think he was sleeping. But he isn't. Every week after service he gets his plate of snacks and goes back to the sanctuary to sit alone and make a phone call where he relays the sermon in detail and explains why it was a total crock.
This week during service he read the scripture. And he stood for singing. And, after the offering plate had been passed and had returned to the front, he came up and put money in the plate. And after service he made his phone call. He's our reading, singing, tithing, faithful, atheist evangelist.
I don't know what this means, but I don't want to forget it. I don't know what God is doing inside of him, or what God is doing among the rest of us, but I can see something happening. God's ways are mysterious.
And I wonder how much he is like the rest of us. We call ourselves Christian, but sometimes we doubt. Is God really there? Does God really love even me? Are these people who profess God's real and present love just going to disappoint me again? Do we only call ourselves Christian when the certainty outweighs the doubt? Or do we cling to the identity through reading, singing, tithing, and showing up even when we don't have faith?
And is it what we say, or what we do, or what we believe that makes us Christian? Or is it God working in us, even as we spend our time telling God what a crock he is? Loving us despite our appearance.
And in those times where we cannot say we believe are we still Christians? Does our Christian-ness depend on our own action in the midst of doubt, or on Christ's never-letting-go-ness?
Among the lore that surrounds John Wesley is a story of his faith crisis and the response of his friend (Peter Böhler, a Moravian) that he should, "Preach faith till you have it." This seems silly on the surface, but isn't it what we all do? Maybe it's just me, but I can't possibly understand all the things about God. The more I know God the less I know I know and the more questions I have. Some of these questions lead toward faith, and some don't. If I waited to tell people about God until I understood everything I'd never open my mouth. And I'd miss out on learning from all the other reading, singing, tithing, faithful, atheist evangelists like me.
Sometimes I think, but then again...
This semester has been a real doozie. I chose classes that would stretch me, and boy have they! In retrospect I probably should have spaced them out some. So I've struggled to learn, understand, and retain this material
while discerning what it means for my life, ministry, and it's exhausting!
I'm working on my final paper for my sacraments class (I know you're on the edge of your seats for that one, but go ahead and try to relax) about how the various understandings of Holy Communion are present in local food movements and systems. So I'm doing a lot of reflecting on the various understandings and how my relationship to the sacraments has changed over the last several months. Growing up we only had communion once a quarter. That's the minimum requirement in the UMC, btw. It was never explained exactly why we're doing it (sure Jesus said to do it, but beyond that, what does it mean?), and we didn't use an official rite. Last year I went to Catholic mass, where, as a protestant and for a variety of theological and ecclesial reasons, I'm not supposed to participate. This didn't bother me since I wasn't used to receiving it anyway. This year I'm in a church where we have communion weekly. At first it was weird. The explanation of why we were doing it was shoddy (it's getting better) and it didn't mean a whole lot. But when I went home for Christmas I missed it. And since taking this class and coming to understand what's up (even just a little, because God's ways aresometimes often mysterious) my participation has changed. I miss it--heck, I think about it, which is a change. This year I went to Easter Vigil at the Catholic church where I attended mass last year, and it bothered me that I couldn't partake. I missed it. It's weird, and it's wonderful.
So, I'm sure you're asking yourself #1) when I'm converting, and #2) what some understandings of Holy Communion are...I can feel your questions bursting up from inside of you... Okay, maybe not, but here's some info anyway. Holy Communion is a service of:
1) Thanksgiving, for God's work throughout history, for Christ's life, death, resurrection, and looked-for coming, and for the Spirit's continuing work in and among us. How can we not be thankful!
2) Fellowship, a gathering of the entire church, both local and around the world. When we partake in the body and blood of Christ we are becoming the body of Christ in and for the world. Beautiful!
3) Remembrance, we are remembering what God through Christ has done for us, and when we do this the memory is so powerful that it becomes a re-presentation of Christ among us. Christ is risen here and now for us!
4) Sacrifice, not that we're actually sacrificing Christ again every time we have communion, but that part of remembering is remembering the sacrifice, and realizing that just as Christ sacrificed himself for us we are to sacrifice ourselves and our wills and desires to God so that we can be transformed into the image of Christ to be used for God's will and work in the world. God has a plan for us if we can put down our own blueprints!
5) Action of the Holy Spirit, so Christ is risen and is seated at the right hand of God, but we were sent the Spirit. When we commune we ask that the Spirit be poured down upon us to empower us to do all the other things mentioned above--we can't do it alone. We need the Spirit!
6) Eschatalogical, stick with me on this one. Eschatology is the study of the end of history. It is the outcome of God's plan. We know Christ is coming again. When we participate in Holy Communion we are participating in the entire history of God's people--past, present, and future. It's a wild thought! We are being nourished for life here and now, but we are to look forward to the fulfillment of God's plan. In Holy Communion we get to participate in the connection between the past, present, and future. When we understand that God's plan for the world includes our participation in making it a just, loving, and peaceful kingdom (much like Jesus advocated in his ministry) it shapes the way we act in the world--our actions of thanksgiving, fellowship, remembrance, sacrifice, and dependence on the Spirit matter. Our lives and our futures matter to God and for God's kingdom!
How can you not want to participate in that?! Srsly. Hw?
Final, related (I swear!) thought. I struggle with confidence. I always have. I probably always will to some degree. Yet, I feel like I have these gifts I've been given for a purpose, to do something meaningful with. I find myself comparing me to others (another not-so-positive about my internal dialogue) and the work I see them doing and I just don't measure up. And I have to continually remind myself that I've only been doing this for almost two years. If I stop and think about how much I've learned, grown, and changed in those two years it's amazing. I'm amazing (in the most humble sense possible, as much as you can be humble and brag on yourself...but it's my self-reflection so get off my back!). God's work in me (and in humanity really) is amazing. It's the great thing about having a god that never leaves, forsakes, or accepts stagnancy. God always expects more, not because God is some never-satisfied, middle-management boss who doesn't want to give you a raise, but because God knows what we're made of. God's plan for us, and for all of creation, made visible in the act of communion, shows us what the expectation is. It's faithfulness, thanksgiving, connectedness with the triune God and with one another, and it's love, justice, and peace.
So though I feel, quite frankly, like I'm drowning, it will somehow be okay. God will send me to the Harvard library (where I currently am) where they keep all the knowledge about my topic (seriously, BU's library is terrible) and I will find sources and help there. And God will be with me, and you, as we figure out how to finish the next two weeks (maybe that's more me than you, but maybe not) and how to live life.
I'm working on my final paper for my sacraments class (I know you're on the edge of your seats for that one, but go ahead and try to relax) about how the various understandings of Holy Communion are present in local food movements and systems. So I'm doing a lot of reflecting on the various understandings and how my relationship to the sacraments has changed over the last several months. Growing up we only had communion once a quarter. That's the minimum requirement in the UMC, btw. It was never explained exactly why we're doing it (sure Jesus said to do it, but beyond that, what does it mean?), and we didn't use an official rite. Last year I went to Catholic mass, where, as a protestant and for a variety of theological and ecclesial reasons, I'm not supposed to participate. This didn't bother me since I wasn't used to receiving it anyway. This year I'm in a church where we have communion weekly. At first it was weird. The explanation of why we were doing it was shoddy (it's getting better) and it didn't mean a whole lot. But when I went home for Christmas I missed it. And since taking this class and coming to understand what's up (even just a little, because God's ways are
So, I'm sure you're asking yourself #1) when I'm converting, and #2) what some understandings of Holy Communion are...I can feel your questions bursting up from inside of you... Okay, maybe not, but here's some info anyway. Holy Communion is a service of:
1) Thanksgiving, for God's work throughout history, for Christ's life, death, resurrection, and looked-for coming, and for the Spirit's continuing work in and among us. How can we not be thankful!
2) Fellowship, a gathering of the entire church, both local and around the world. When we partake in the body and blood of Christ we are becoming the body of Christ in and for the world. Beautiful!
3) Remembrance, we are remembering what God through Christ has done for us, and when we do this the memory is so powerful that it becomes a re-presentation of Christ among us. Christ is risen here and now for us!
4) Sacrifice, not that we're actually sacrificing Christ again every time we have communion, but that part of remembering is remembering the sacrifice, and realizing that just as Christ sacrificed himself for us we are to sacrifice ourselves and our wills and desires to God so that we can be transformed into the image of Christ to be used for God's will and work in the world. God has a plan for us if we can put down our own blueprints!
5) Action of the Holy Spirit, so Christ is risen and is seated at the right hand of God, but we were sent the Spirit. When we commune we ask that the Spirit be poured down upon us to empower us to do all the other things mentioned above--we can't do it alone. We need the Spirit!
6) Eschatalogical, stick with me on this one. Eschatology is the study of the end of history. It is the outcome of God's plan. We know Christ is coming again. When we participate in Holy Communion we are participating in the entire history of God's people--past, present, and future. It's a wild thought! We are being nourished for life here and now, but we are to look forward to the fulfillment of God's plan. In Holy Communion we get to participate in the connection between the past, present, and future. When we understand that God's plan for the world includes our participation in making it a just, loving, and peaceful kingdom (much like Jesus advocated in his ministry) it shapes the way we act in the world--our actions of thanksgiving, fellowship, remembrance, sacrifice, and dependence on the Spirit matter. Our lives and our futures matter to God and for God's kingdom!
How can you not want to participate in that?! Srsly. Hw?
Final, related (I swear!) thought. I struggle with confidence. I always have. I probably always will to some degree. Yet, I feel like I have these gifts I've been given for a purpose, to do something meaningful with. I find myself comparing me to others (another not-so-positive about my internal dialogue) and the work I see them doing and I just don't measure up. And I have to continually remind myself that I've only been doing this for almost two years. If I stop and think about how much I've learned, grown, and changed in those two years it's amazing. I'm amazing (in the most humble sense possible, as much as you can be humble and brag on yourself...but it's my self-reflection so get off my back!). God's work in me (and in humanity really) is amazing. It's the great thing about having a god that never leaves, forsakes, or accepts stagnancy. God always expects more, not because God is some never-satisfied, middle-management boss who doesn't want to give you a raise, but because God knows what we're made of. God's plan for us, and for all of creation, made visible in the act of communion, shows us what the expectation is. It's faithfulness, thanksgiving, connectedness with the triune God and with one another, and it's love, justice, and peace.
So though I feel, quite frankly, like I'm drowning, it will somehow be okay. God will send me to the Harvard library (where I currently am) where they keep all the knowledge about my topic (seriously, BU's library is terrible) and I will find sources and help there. And God will be with me, and you, as we figure out how to finish the next two weeks (maybe that's more me than you, but maybe not) and how to live life.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Walter Brueggemann hit me over the head with Lent, and various other thoughts that don't quite fit together yet
This morning I went to a lecture given by Walter Brueggemann on the prophetic literature in the Hebrew Bible. Now, if you don't know who that is it sounds like a total snooze. I'm with you. A crusty, old, white guy talking about ancient texts. Yawn. But Walter Brueggemann is sort of a big deal, and the lecture was sort of life altering.
His lecture focused on the role of the prophet and the function of the imagery of the temple destruction (in 587 BCE) in the prophetic literature. Key to understanding the prophets is understanding their historical situation and tradition. The story of Israel prior to the destruction of the temple was that they were a chosen people who God would never abandon. A read through of Kings will show you pretty quickly that the kings of Judah and Israel weren't always nice guys. Even Solomon, who built the temple, wasn't perfect and was, in Brueggemann's words, the "Great Accumulator"--power, control, commodity, wisdom, wealth, and wives. This is Israel's "dominant narrative"--the story of who they were, the identity outside of which they could not imagine existence. Then in 587 the Babylonians sack Jerusalem and destroy the temple, the dwelling place of God on earth, and cart the people off into captivity. And the prophets don't say "I told you so" because their mothers taught them manners.
So who are these prophets anyway? They are those speaking from elsewhere into the dominant narrative. They are the voice of the outsider who can see something is terribly wrong. They are uncredentialed poets who speak of God's intended economy of holiness and neighborliness. Their role is to walk us into our failures and out into hope. Jeremiah 1:10 says the prophet is to pluck up, pull down, destroy, and overthrow the dominant narrative and instead build and plant something else. Later (9:23-4) Jeremiah is to overthrow the wisdom, wealth, and might of the dominant narrative in favor of the love, justice, and righteousness of relation and neighborliness.
The prophets are often viewed as angry, but woe is a sad word, not an angry word. It is the deep sadness of seeing that what is is unsustainable and destined for failure. Woe to you who are so anesthetized by your stuff that you don't see what's going on (Amos 6:4-7). Woe to you who steal from your neighbors, are self-indulgent, and call things by their wrongful names to hide their true nature (Isaiah 5:8-23, Habakkuk 2:6-19). Woe to you who exploit those who cannot stop you (Luke 6:24-26). Woe to you hypocrites (Matthew 23:13-29). Woe to you who think there are no consequences for your actions (Hosea 4:1-3, Jeremiah 5:26-29). You are headed to a place you don't want to go. The prophets MUST make us face these things that lead to destruction, otherwise there can be no repentance and restoration. The prophets must plunge us into despair (didn't they do a good job) before they can lead us back toward hope.
So what are these things for us now? Brueggemann argues that our 587 BCE is 9/11. This is the point at which the US's narrative of self-importance and infallibility, our "chosen-ness", came into question for us. We could not imagine a narrative in which we were not chosen and "God blessed", where we were not the good guys. We could not imagine why anyone would wish us harm. Never mind all the horrific things we had done in the name of national and economic security. I'm not really sure where the line for national security is (Can we and should we have security outside of Christ?), or if there even is any such thing, but his argument is compelling. We are currently living in a world where the dominant narrative, built on the backs of exploited peoples, is one of consumerism and greed. It's built at the expense of our planet. It's sustained at the expense of our families and our health. Brueggemann believes that we can't walk out of our 587 until we face our failure. From my own experience I know this to be true. Putting your head in the sand doesn't make the problem go away. The problem just grows while you smile and pretend things are okay.
This is the point of Lent, to walk us into our 587. Lent culminates in crucifixion, a descent into hell, and resurrection. We examine where we've turned away, where we've been led into captivity, and we return to God for healing and hope. We allow God to move us beyond restoration and into transformation. I don't simply want to be restored to what I was--I want to become something purer and holier. And I want you to come with me. This is the essence of our Christian lives, moving onward toward perfection in love of God and others. This is the kingdom. This is heaven. And God aches to give it to us.
But often we are no good at being the kingdom. In large things and in small we daily we reject the offer of heaven.
When we hide from our hurts. We reject heaven.
When we deny healing. We reject heaven.
When we hold on to anger. We reject heaven.
When we don't stop and listen. We reject heaven.
When we refuse accept love. We reject heaven.
When we ignore those who are "other". We reject heaven.
When we perpetuate injustice. We reject heaven.
When we hate mercy. We reject heaven.
When we refuse to walk humbly with God. We reject heaven.
Accepting heaven is hard because it is among us now and yet just out of reach. It is ephemeral and paradoxical and concrete and so very real. We know all of this because we've experienced it--healing, joy, answered prayer, fellowship, grace, peace, and unfathomable, unprecedented, unmerited love. And we also know heaven exists because we've seen the hell of war, hunger, poverty, genocide, rape, depression, substance abuse, and domestic violence. These are not spiritual imaginings. These are the active forces of heaven and hell among us.
As someone who feels all the feelings all the time I know it is hard to live life openly before God, because living for God means living for and in but not of the world. In the words of Jason Gray, "To bring my heart to every day--to run the risk of fearlessly loving without running away." It hurts and it's messy, just ask Jesus. It can feel like a no-win situation. We wonder if things will change. How will we ever make a difference?
The good news is that we are not the ones who have to make a difference. The difference has already been made. We know how the story ends. God leaps up to save us from ourselves. To save me from me and you from me. To hand us heaven trusting that we will, to the best of our God-given ability, walk humbly. And this gift, though freely given, requires work on our part. It's not a stroll through the tulips. It's a good and worthwhile fight against the dominant narrative that wants to shush the good news of Christ.
So the end of what I'm thinking about--what I want you all to think about--is what do we need to be led through and to? What do we need to lament? Where are we denying God's offer of heaven? You do it. I do it too. We can choose to stop. Let's stop. Let us open our eyes and choose instead to participate in God's good work already going on around us. Let us not keep silent when we see injustice. Let us offer mercy and charity first, and in such abundance that offering anything else becomes unnecessary. Let us not simply walk, but run humbly to God. Let us be the kingdom. Dear God! Let us be your kingdom!
His lecture focused on the role of the prophet and the function of the imagery of the temple destruction (in 587 BCE) in the prophetic literature. Key to understanding the prophets is understanding their historical situation and tradition. The story of Israel prior to the destruction of the temple was that they were a chosen people who God would never abandon. A read through of Kings will show you pretty quickly that the kings of Judah and Israel weren't always nice guys. Even Solomon, who built the temple, wasn't perfect and was, in Brueggemann's words, the "Great Accumulator"--power, control, commodity, wisdom, wealth, and wives. This is Israel's "dominant narrative"--the story of who they were, the identity outside of which they could not imagine existence. Then in 587 the Babylonians sack Jerusalem and destroy the temple, the dwelling place of God on earth, and cart the people off into captivity. And the prophets don't say "I told you so" because their mothers taught them manners.
So who are these prophets anyway? They are those speaking from elsewhere into the dominant narrative. They are the voice of the outsider who can see something is terribly wrong. They are uncredentialed poets who speak of God's intended economy of holiness and neighborliness. Their role is to walk us into our failures and out into hope. Jeremiah 1:10 says the prophet is to pluck up, pull down, destroy, and overthrow the dominant narrative and instead build and plant something else. Later (9:23-4) Jeremiah is to overthrow the wisdom, wealth, and might of the dominant narrative in favor of the love, justice, and righteousness of relation and neighborliness.
The prophets are often viewed as angry, but woe is a sad word, not an angry word. It is the deep sadness of seeing that what is is unsustainable and destined for failure. Woe to you who are so anesthetized by your stuff that you don't see what's going on (Amos 6:4-7). Woe to you who steal from your neighbors, are self-indulgent, and call things by their wrongful names to hide their true nature (Isaiah 5:8-23, Habakkuk 2:6-19). Woe to you who exploit those who cannot stop you (Luke 6:24-26). Woe to you hypocrites (Matthew 23:13-29). Woe to you who think there are no consequences for your actions (Hosea 4:1-3, Jeremiah 5:26-29). You are headed to a place you don't want to go. The prophets MUST make us face these things that lead to destruction, otherwise there can be no repentance and restoration. The prophets must plunge us into despair (didn't they do a good job) before they can lead us back toward hope.
So what are these things for us now? Brueggemann argues that our 587 BCE is 9/11. This is the point at which the US's narrative of self-importance and infallibility, our "chosen-ness", came into question for us. We could not imagine a narrative in which we were not chosen and "God blessed", where we were not the good guys. We could not imagine why anyone would wish us harm. Never mind all the horrific things we had done in the name of national and economic security. I'm not really sure where the line for national security is (Can we and should we have security outside of Christ?), or if there even is any such thing, but his argument is compelling. We are currently living in a world where the dominant narrative, built on the backs of exploited peoples, is one of consumerism and greed. It's built at the expense of our planet. It's sustained at the expense of our families and our health. Brueggemann believes that we can't walk out of our 587 until we face our failure. From my own experience I know this to be true. Putting your head in the sand doesn't make the problem go away. The problem just grows while you smile and pretend things are okay.
This is the point of Lent, to walk us into our 587. Lent culminates in crucifixion, a descent into hell, and resurrection. We examine where we've turned away, where we've been led into captivity, and we return to God for healing and hope. We allow God to move us beyond restoration and into transformation. I don't simply want to be restored to what I was--I want to become something purer and holier. And I want you to come with me. This is the essence of our Christian lives, moving onward toward perfection in love of God and others. This is the kingdom. This is heaven. And God aches to give it to us.
But often we are no good at being the kingdom. In large things and in small we daily we reject the offer of heaven.
When we hide from our hurts. We reject heaven.
When we deny healing. We reject heaven.
When we hold on to anger. We reject heaven.
When we don't stop and listen. We reject heaven.
When we refuse accept love. We reject heaven.
When we ignore those who are "other". We reject heaven.
When we perpetuate injustice. We reject heaven.
When we hate mercy. We reject heaven.
When we refuse to walk humbly with God. We reject heaven.
Accepting heaven is hard because it is among us now and yet just out of reach. It is ephemeral and paradoxical and concrete and so very real. We know all of this because we've experienced it--healing, joy, answered prayer, fellowship, grace, peace, and unfathomable, unprecedented, unmerited love. And we also know heaven exists because we've seen the hell of war, hunger, poverty, genocide, rape, depression, substance abuse, and domestic violence. These are not spiritual imaginings. These are the active forces of heaven and hell among us.
As someone who feels all the feelings all the time I know it is hard to live life openly before God, because living for God means living for and in but not of the world. In the words of Jason Gray, "To bring my heart to every day--to run the risk of fearlessly loving without running away." It hurts and it's messy, just ask Jesus. It can feel like a no-win situation. We wonder if things will change. How will we ever make a difference?
The good news is that we are not the ones who have to make a difference. The difference has already been made. We know how the story ends. God leaps up to save us from ourselves. To save me from me and you from me. To hand us heaven trusting that we will, to the best of our God-given ability, walk humbly. And this gift, though freely given, requires work on our part. It's not a stroll through the tulips. It's a good and worthwhile fight against the dominant narrative that wants to shush the good news of Christ.
So the end of what I'm thinking about--what I want you all to think about--is what do we need to be led through and to? What do we need to lament? Where are we denying God's offer of heaven? You do it. I do it too. We can choose to stop. Let's stop. Let us open our eyes and choose instead to participate in God's good work already going on around us. Let us not keep silent when we see injustice. Let us offer mercy and charity first, and in such abundance that offering anything else becomes unnecessary. Let us not simply walk, but run humbly to God. Let us be the kingdom. Dear God! Let us be your kingdom!
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