"Theory, Theology, and Thick Thinking..........."

The writer of Hebrews, in one place, expresses the theology that if a man would come to God, he must first “believe that He is”. Yet elsewhere within the Word, we are told that “the devils also believe, and tremble”. Surely we are humbled, then, in any notion we might possess of our “belief” somehow securing any sort of promise unto us. Belief, like faith, is only of value if it is able to bring fruit forth unto us, if it can establish a foundation in truth wherein we know that we know; and when we who walk within the ranks of Christianity dare announce ourselves “saved” because of our mental manipulation of certain Biblical verses, let it be noted that much depends on when God confirms that fact unto us, especially since the same Book that leads us into making such confession also tells us our heart if deceitful above all things. Heaven is just a little late, for me, to discover Him. I want an encounter here, an indwelling to go with me and meet me in the journey; but I do not insist everyone else’s relationship resemble mine…..

Philip Yancey, in an age where the Pentecostal community appears to have chased, en masse, the televised charisma of anyone preaching health, wealth, and prosperity, has been unto me a welcomed witness in the midst of the madness, an honest voice testifying to that which I have found to be so in my own life. He also, of course, has given me reason, at times, to question whether his personal commitment to this is anchored in a tangible experience with an inner Reality; but, then, that’s between Yancey and the Creator he has long searched to know. I don’t expect his story to match my own. I fully realize that our environment, our history, and even the very chemical make-up of whom we are as individuals all play a part in this. It’s not for me to judge the other guy when God, alone, has all the details. Long ago I became convinced that our entrance through the Pearly Gates will not be a matter of our having met whomsoever’s list of Scriptural demands, but a gift of His grace extended unto us as He so determines…..

My thoughts were turned toward this theme upon reading in the above author’s new devotional of a bisexual friend of his who came to Christ through what he considers a bit of an epiphany. I have no problem with this fellow’s eyes having been opened for the first time to divine mercy through the words of two hymns penetrating his heart. What’s more: I do not require of him, now, anything other than the next step. If others would expect immediate and complete change, I can well understand their concern, but find no reason, myself, to classify him any differently than the rest of us who, if we are willing to admit it, also yet stumble in our humanity. Should there be at least an attempt on his part to find “healing”, a confession of his desire to know the rod and staff of God as he goes? That’s a given for all who would join these ranks, just as it’s a commandment that we should forgive even as we have been forgiven. Hopefully, his entry into this went deeper than merely a mental conclusion, though, or all he has is his own opinion…..

"Backyard Missionaries......................."

After about a twenty minute drive south on the Interstate last night, Beth and I took the exit ramp into rural Kentucky, winding our way downhill toward the river before a final six mile, two-lane stretch through the middle of nowhere. No Wal-Mart. No McDonalds. I don’t even recall seeing a gas station. We did end our journey, though, before reaching the actual city limits of Warsaw and, for all I know, there may well have been a shopping mall or a bowling alley just around the next bend in the road. It was our grandsons who lead us into the wilderness. A small Baptist church, with a sanctuary that couldn’t hold much more than a couple of hundred worshipers, had invited their youth drama team to come and conduct the mid-week service. We followed them, arrived early, and what we encountered there spoke to my heart…..

Parking just outside what we assumed to be the main entrance due to the large volume of kids being kids in that particular area, we ascended a few stairs and walked through the doors into an open foyer with a dining room just to the left. I was not surprised to find our group being fed. What did give me a bit of a jolt was to learn during a bit of conversation with an older woman who walked over as I munched on a cookie with a hot cup of coffee was that they cooked this meal every Wednesday evening, offering it to the young people of their community, no strings attached. Two years ago, one of their deacons suggested a change. With their own offspring grown and gone, what this elderly congregation needed was some sort of ministry to children and what began as a prayer meeting evolved into an open-house welcome to any and all who wanted a good meal…..

Some stay for the worship. Some families have been added in the interim. At one point they were filling the bellies of over two hundred, youngsters, teenagers, whomsoever was hungry; and another nearby denomination “caught the vision”, offered relief, the dinner enlarged. If such simple spirit of Christ touched me, though, it’s just as true that so many kids having responded to the gift, kids obviously hungry and appreciative of a good meal, just blew my mind. Surely it is indicative of the day and age in which we live, hard times and social values re-defining the words “home” and “family”. Indeed, part of that which our bunch would share was testimony to the fact that one never knows “the whole story”, for within our own ranks were those who struggle with various issues, faith not always an escape, but a promise confirmed in Him…..

"Examining the Map........................"

The house in which Beth and I live yet received its water from a cistern and that means it comes to our faucets via a pump. Saturday evening, while I was out at the old church with the grandkids “trunk or treating”, the cell phone rang to inform me that something was obviously wrong in the manner such system was operating. The only way one could get the mechanism to stop its duties was to flip the circuit breaker switch. Not good; but at least we still had access to the source and we went to bed knowing the son-in-law would arrive in the morning to attack the problem. What morning brought to us, however, was the discovery that the lines had evidently drained overnight and we were now unable to regain any flow. All attempts since to revive it have failed and we’re currently depending on a hose attached to the neighbor’s backyard spigot, filling a large cooking pot as we need it for whatever. A minor inconvenience, to be sure, another reminder that “things happen” and one can never be sure what the next bend in the road holds. If the journey has taught me anything, it is the truth that any vision one might possess concerning their life at some future point in time is almost always quite different in its actuality…..

Sunday afternoon we treated some friends of ours, a former pastor and his wife, to dinner at Red Lobster. About three decades ago, back when old-time holiness legalism was alive and well, this couple fed us in other ways, he being the most humble man I think I’ve ever known. On top of his pastoral duties, for next to nothing salary-wise, he labored close to sixteen hours a day, six days a week, putting heart and soul into the construction of a new sanctuary, one whose pulpit he would occupy but a few months before circumstances took him elsewhere. Now the two of them, she in her late seventies, he an octogenarian, enjoy a residence on the church grounds, courtesy of the present congregation. The interim was no “glory-road cakewalk”. We talked of memories, of the world around us, of how so much within the faith has changed along the way. Somewhere in the conversation, I looked at her and referred to the presence of God filling the temple to the degree that worship was a run to the altar or an exit out the door. When had we last seen it? Known it? Do we content ourselves with touching the hem of His garment, here, and there, or is there yet a hunger in His people to move inside the veil?.....

This is no longer the world, nor the faith, I knew in the beginning…..

"Spelunking.........................."

In a church service I attended recently, one fellow spoke of how, in spite of our having taken “one giant leap for mankind” and, via other mechanical methods, conquered Mars, he was glad that the Bible, in one place, refers to God having cast our sins “into the depths of the sea”. His reasoning was that, at its greatest point, we only have to descend a little more than six miles to reach the ocean floor, but the water pressure is so tremendous that we cannot overcome the challenge. I’m afraid, though, that, while nobody got out and walked around and nobody has since returned to duplicate the feat, it is nonetheless a documented historical fact that, in January of 1960, two men actually went all the way to the bottom of the Mariana Trench in something called the Trieste and we do possess, at least to some degree, first-hand information of what the location looks like. Our “under-the-blood” transgressions, of course, may well be positioned elsewhere within the deep; but, so far, no sightings that I know of…..

That’s not to say Scripture is erroneous, that science trumps God’s Word. It might shock some to discover that, having so penetrated outer space, enough to realize the dimensions between us and all that is out there, astronomers have come to believe that the universe is flat. I’m not sure how anyone got “out of the box” to arrive at such determination, but when you consider that there are three opinions as to what “flat” actually looks like, it’s probably safe to say that the theory evolved “from the inside out”. Supposedly this layer within which we exist resembles either the outer crust of some sphere, or a long cross-section of a cylinder (picture a saddle blanket draped over an invisible water buffalo), or think of a rectangular “cookie sheet” in the middle of, well, they still don’t really know what’s beyond what they “know”. They haven’t gotten that far yet. Learning, however, is always going to be an on-going process, whether one is exploring the heavens, the sea, or the Book. Truth will ever be greater than my ability to capture in its entirety…..

I sat in a three-hour class on “Audio Processing” Thursday afternoon, two highly degreed instructors speaking to us via DVD on how the brain works in its reception of linguistic input. While it began on a level that held our attention, it quickly (ascended? descended?) to places where most if not all of us in the room found it difficult to breathe. If we found it interesting, at first, to learn of three compartmental lobes, each with its own assignment regarding sound, sight, and touch, all supervised and governed by a central headquarters, the mumbo-jumbo of technical information put forth from that point on was too heavy for us to compute. What did occur to me was how, in diagramming and explaining the organ, these educated professionals ignored the “person”, himself. They were quite literate in the mechanics of the subject, but gave no reference to the “individual” who dwells within the temple, too busy securing what they had conquered to mention the wonder of that abyss yet unable to be completely contained in a textbook…..

"Rhythm and Soul.................."

“Day after day I’m so confused; but I look for the light through the pourin’ rain. You know
that’s a game I hate to lose; and I’m feelin’ the strain, ain’t it a shame…
Beginning to think that I’m wasting time. I don’t understand the things that I do. The world
outside looks so unkind. So I’m countin’ on you to carry me through…
Give me the beat, boys, and free my soul; I wanna get lost in your rock and roll; and drift away…..”


The above lyrics were first recorded in 1972 by a singer named Dobie Gray. I’m not sure if he actually composed it or not, but many have since kept it alive, including this old man, here and there, even if only in the seclusion of my automobile. I’m in agreement with an English friend who recently confessed that more than just Gospel music can feed one’s soul. In truth, it seems to me, even as I commented to him, that when the words come up out of “where one lives”, the result is often something that connects with us all, the difference being that secular offerings do not usually extend any real solutions…..

Having said that, however, let me freely admit that, while that which the church world brings forth as worship may well point to Christ as “THE” answer, the message within offers little, other than perhaps a few familiar phrases, to explain just why that is so. Our songs, for the most part, aren’t evangelistic other than in the sense of speaking to the human condition and in their hope that the unbeliever can hear our faith enough to sample our solution; but, for that to happen, the reality of the Holy Ghost must somehow be manifested through what we sing, well enough to penetrate the heart, not just the ear…..

People identify and become one with the flow in either genre. Without the latter, though, as it is with other methods we turn to for some source of “feeling good”, the cure lasts only as long as we ride the wave. We achieve “the moment” and gain a temporary “fix”, but the encounter, itself, does nothing for “the long haul” if, in touching the hem of His garment, we do not allow Him permanent residence within all that we are. He, not the experience, is the Savior. The next step remains. If, in it, He goes with us, the oasis will be there to return to, whether the point of contact occur in our prayer closet or Wednesday evening’s congregational hymn…..

"Drifting Downstream........................"

The last words in an old Robert Redford movie are spoken by an elderly gentleman who stands in the middle of a mountain stream fly-casting for trout and muses how, when he is all alone in the half-light of the canyon, all existence seems to fade to a being with his soul and its memories, how now nearly all those he loved and did not understand in his youth are dead, but he still reaches out to them. He returns, in his mind, to the last sermon delivered by his father concerning our inability, often, to help and reach out to those most dear to us, our possibility nonetheless to embrace and accept them; and then he concludes that “Eventually all things merge into one and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops; under the rocks are the words; and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.” It is those final five words which have held my thoughts since our visit to the rescue mission Wednesday evening…..

Tony, who usually completes our group, opted instead to celebrate with his wife, the date a wedding anniversary and filled in on his calendar. Bob and I weren’t late, but certainly not meeting our normal early bird arrival, this old man forgetting to bring the CD-player and thus instituting a few minutes’ delay in our journey. The room, therefore, was already packed when we entered with an inter-racial congregation of all ages, unfamiliar for the most part, only a couple of those who regularly attend. My cohort and I were” dry”, our jobs having us mentally fatigued, the change in weather affecting us physically; but, then, we weren’t there to serve some three-point revelation of the written Word, only to share with these fellows the One who walks with us through whatever each day brings; and, as it turned out, that became much a reciprocal event on this occasion. No one, as sometimes happens, “assumed the pulpit” with their particular spiritual insight. As invitation was put forth for prayer requests, several simply opened up their hearts…..

It was no more than that which we’ve heard before. An elder gentleman gave thanks for his having returned to Christ during a recent stay at a rehabilitation clinic, but expressed a shame yet keeping him from communicating with his children. Another man, younger and African-American, told of how he, having finally gotten his life together and secured a place of his own, was now battling loneliness, four walls and a warm bed leaving him yet void of a need for fellowship. Somewhere in the moment, however, we were not just “preachers visiting for a worship service”, they were not simply “occupying a pew” out of some obligation for a free meal. This was, in my opinion, “church” as it was meant to be, no ordered procedure, merely a flow from breast to breast, and a knowledge that, while we were individuals in our history, in truth it nonetheless remained we were joined in our existence, in our need of Him. We were “connected, in more ways than one, and it mattered not our circumstances, stones immersed in Him…..

"Pursuit.................................."

This coming Wednesday evening will be another visit with the men at the rescue mission and my mind is walking through two or three things I’ve read lately, things that seem like pieces of a puzzle, pieces that relate and can produce a picture if only connected properly. To begin with, one of my side links is a woman who lost her son a year or so ago and she recently spoke regarding a breakfast conversation experienced with someone who felt as if the purpose of life is “to be happy”. She, herself, reasoned that such a goal renders our existence virtually pointless, while the alternative, “to know God”, extends to us dignity and significance. I tend to agree and I find her explanation well worth the read, but would also like to ramble a bit with the subject here…..

Some verses offered over on Whiskey River refer to our existence as occurring between “two great darks, the first with an ending, the second without one” and that the interim is filled with a search for something we’ve lost, a space occupied with the mundane, chores and tasks, fears that nothing makes sense. I’m thinking that such scenario is familiar to all of us, even those of us “in” Christ; for surely all of us possess nothing more than what our next breath brings unto us, those things most dear to us not guaranteed as well, and so we take one more step and continue. There is nothing wrong with hoping for happiness to meet us in the journey. Where we err is in attempting to create it for ourselves apart from Him, in thinking “it“, rather than “He”, is what nurtures our soul…..

Knowledge of God, then, translates to an ever-present faith born out of an encounter with His presence gained along the way. We “know” Him only in as much as He has revealed Himself unto us; and even that is subject to re-arrangement each time we enter behind the veil. Where we err in this one, it seems to me, is in believing all we need to manufacture such education in who He is - is the Bible and our brain, then in concluding we have somehow thus “captured” Him in all that He is. God will always be bigger than the Book, more than we can fathom, and greater than any attempt on our part to describe Him. For a few moments, here and there, we can be one with Him at the oasis, gaining assurance, peace, a snapshot of His reality. Dignity? Significance? I simply count myself blessed…..