”You’re gonna miss this; you’re gonna want this back; you’re gonna wish these days hadn’t gone by so fast. These are some good times, so take a good look around. You may not know it now; but you’re gonna miss this”……..Trace Adkins
This week began with basketball and grandsons, Steven, the one who lives in Lexington, up for a rare few days visit, and Papaw got to enjoy watching all four playing hoops with some of their friends on a small patch of concrete in the back yard. He left to go home Tuesday evening, but the granddaughter, who also shared our house for that space of time, stayed overnight to go shopping at the mall with her Mamaw yesterday. It was intended to be a short safari in the jungle, mission no more than a new pair of tennis shoes for school. Somewhere along the way, however, McKenna fell in love with an outfit in somebody’s window and when she left for VBS last night, she was dressed all in pink, complemented by a plaid skirt and a matching plaid cap on her head, a loose, green tie that somehow blended in with a thread of that same shade of color running through the plaid. Her grandmother was as much pleased with her appearance as she was…..
Usually I would have gone along with them for the excursion. Sitting outside on a bench with a cup of coffee while they browse through the merchandise doesn’t bother me, actually it’s kind of fun to watch them, but on this occasion the old man stayed home, piddling on the computer rather than be dealing with the dreary, drizzling rain around the area. At one point, then, my memory failed me as to the title of a certain song held in my music folder, so I clicked and sat there, listening, with tears running down my face as the lyrics, though reflecting on a young girl’s passage through life, spoke truth to my heart. Easy for me, at this point, to value such admonishment. The hard part is in recognizing, as it comes to you, that each breath, each event, good or bad, is a part of the whole and one day the whole journey is going to be sacred, a treasure accessible only in as much as you, yourself, secured it. Too often we are “living in a bubble” with the tape recorder turned off…..
Most certainly I, the guy whose brain is almost continually “out there”, somewhere other than what is going on around me, am certainly not the best one to be preaching here, but it seems to me that such condition probably applies to most us, at least to some degree. We focus on “self”, on what we deem important, on what occupies our sense of survival; and that’s not always bad. What counts is whether our ego has us as the only one who counts; and, in my own case, if brought to judgment concerning such matter, my plea would no doubt point to “negotiating entrance beyond the veil”, although the old adage that claims one can be so spiritually minded as to be no earthly good might well apply here. It’s one reason why I believe it all important to possess that “inner tug”, that connection with Christ given through the Holy Ghost. Even the “saved” need a wake-up call now and then; and I’ve learned it can be found in the message brought forth by some country singer every bit as much as anything else…..
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
"Addendum........................."
As the title states, this is an attachment to the previous post...
Rather than give false impression with my last entry here, perhaps I should extend those thoughts a bit more. My concern for the two friends at the restaurant was not directed at their denominational seating within the Institution, but at their likely possessing no more of Christ than whatever image constructed out of such material as fed them down through the years. Immediately, having said that, however, let me stress that Pentecost troubles me as much as any other bunch out there, it being just as capable of creating its own idol, its own version of who and what God is. No one, of course, likes to plead themselves guilty of such accusation; but it is the nature of the beast, whether we are prone to demand communal rigidity in our theology or simply chase our own individual reasoning in the matter, to carve a mental totem before which we may or may not fall down and worship. That is my point, however: If we all are so designed as to theologically construct hope of our salvation and there actually exists a deity whose likeness we’re trying to correctly “capture”, doesn’t it make sense that we hand Him the chisel and allow Him to reveal Himself as we go? I’m not asking anyone to throw away their Bible, nor suggesting that this old man’s attempt isn’t as marred, in the process, by my own humanity; but I do admit to possessing a “stirring in my belly”, a passionate desire for any and all to know the reality of Christ, the possibility of a tangible witness of His presence and I confess to finding the Church, at large, to often be as void of that knowledge as is what they refer to as “the world”…..
Rather than give false impression with my last entry here, perhaps I should extend those thoughts a bit more. My concern for the two friends at the restaurant was not directed at their denominational seating within the Institution, but at their likely possessing no more of Christ than whatever image constructed out of such material as fed them down through the years. Immediately, having said that, however, let me stress that Pentecost troubles me as much as any other bunch out there, it being just as capable of creating its own idol, its own version of who and what God is. No one, of course, likes to plead themselves guilty of such accusation; but it is the nature of the beast, whether we are prone to demand communal rigidity in our theology or simply chase our own individual reasoning in the matter, to carve a mental totem before which we may or may not fall down and worship. That is my point, however: If we all are so designed as to theologically construct hope of our salvation and there actually exists a deity whose likeness we’re trying to correctly “capture”, doesn’t it make sense that we hand Him the chisel and allow Him to reveal Himself as we go? I’m not asking anyone to throw away their Bible, nor suggesting that this old man’s attempt isn’t as marred, in the process, by my own humanity; but I do admit to possessing a “stirring in my belly”, a passionate desire for any and all to know the reality of Christ, the possibility of a tangible witness of His presence and I confess to finding the Church, at large, to often be as void of that knowledge as is what they refer to as “the world”…..
Monday, July 27, 2009
"Knocking On Doors........................"
In the fifth chapter of John’s Gospel, Jesus heals the cripple by the Pool of Bethesda on the Sabbath and the Pharisees begin to take issue with Him. Indeed, the Bible says they “sought to slay Him” and Jesus answered them referring to God as “My Father”. Now He’s really in trouble, for, in their eyes, He is making Himself equal with God; and His explanation unto them is enough to even further “blow their minds”. Speaking to them of a resurrection and a judgment to come, He clearly identifies Himself as being one with Jehovah, the Creator, and offers as proof (a) the witness of John the Baptist; (b) the works that He brings forth; and (c) His Father’s own word, which He tells them they have never heard, this in spite of their claiming to possess understanding of God’s voice unto them through the Law. “Search the Scriptures,” He charges them; “for in them you think you have eternal life: and they are they which testify of me; and you will not come to me that ye might have life”…
We, within the Church, or at least within that which is considered “the Church”, have simply, for the most part, repeated that which the Jews did with the two stone tablets brought down off Sinai by Moses. Rather than look to Him as an ever-present source of wisdom, we pick up our Bible and construct our own version of His Word unto us, set it in cement and declare ourselves “saved” by our own determination. While our theology speaks of a Trinity, thereby serving notice to the world that we believe in a Supreme Being who spoke all into existence and then put Himself into a woman’s womb to become all that we are in order to renew a former connection between heaven and earth that Jesus said is established in our “belly”, yet we seemingly reduce the whole claim to a Book, requiring no notarization of what is truth other than our own stamp of approval. Sometimes I wonder if the whole ecclesiastical system of Christianity isn’t just a reincarnation of those early Judean priests...
Business was slow at Bob’s this evening and a young waiter, a friend, sat down with Beth and me, joining us as he enjoyed his own meal. Our waitress, then, also became part of the conversation for a few moments and when she spoke of her nephew being a missionary for the Mormons, I learned that she, herself, was Catholic and that the young man was Baptist. Our membership in Pentecost instigated mention, on their part, concerning tongues, but the location, if nothing else, prevented any deep discussion of the subject. Witness, though, is always more a matter of His opening the door, a manifestation of His presence stepping into the affair and not me attempting to convince someone of my doctrinal view of the matter, but a sharing of the reality of His resurrection. Too often “church”, likewise, is mostly ego and program, humanity in the flesh, when it should be, instead, a “stirring of the water”, a surrendering unto His flow, His promise unto us, grace assuring us of the fullness of our faith…
We, within the Church, or at least within that which is considered “the Church”, have simply, for the most part, repeated that which the Jews did with the two stone tablets brought down off Sinai by Moses. Rather than look to Him as an ever-present source of wisdom, we pick up our Bible and construct our own version of His Word unto us, set it in cement and declare ourselves “saved” by our own determination. While our theology speaks of a Trinity, thereby serving notice to the world that we believe in a Supreme Being who spoke all into existence and then put Himself into a woman’s womb to become all that we are in order to renew a former connection between heaven and earth that Jesus said is established in our “belly”, yet we seemingly reduce the whole claim to a Book, requiring no notarization of what is truth other than our own stamp of approval. Sometimes I wonder if the whole ecclesiastical system of Christianity isn’t just a reincarnation of those early Judean priests...
Business was slow at Bob’s this evening and a young waiter, a friend, sat down with Beth and me, joining us as he enjoyed his own meal. Our waitress, then, also became part of the conversation for a few moments and when she spoke of her nephew being a missionary for the Mormons, I learned that she, herself, was Catholic and that the young man was Baptist. Our membership in Pentecost instigated mention, on their part, concerning tongues, but the location, if nothing else, prevented any deep discussion of the subject. Witness, though, is always more a matter of His opening the door, a manifestation of His presence stepping into the affair and not me attempting to convince someone of my doctrinal view of the matter, but a sharing of the reality of His resurrection. Too often “church”, likewise, is mostly ego and program, humanity in the flesh, when it should be, instead, a “stirring of the water”, a surrendering unto His flow, His promise unto us, grace assuring us of the fullness of our faith…
Friday, July 24, 2009
"Them Dry Bones............................."
“Vehemence is the expression of a blind effort to support and uphold something that can never stand on its own. Whether it is our own meaningless self we are upholding, or some doctrine devoid of evidence, we can do it only in a frenzy of faith.”— Eric Hoffer, The Passionate State of Mind (1954)
My eyes opened at five-thirty this morning and as usual, when that happens, my brain automatically clicked into “imagination mode”, pondering life as it exists around me, wondering how all the pieces of the puzzle fit together. Not so much, on this occasion, considering financial aspects concerning if this happens or that happens, but mostly the state of the Union: Where does America yet stand as a significant force in a world seemingly teetering on the brink of destroying itself? Without any wish to demean our President, I point to an entire “checks and balances” system that presents itself to me like some television soap opera (you watch the news and you might as well be tuned in to “All My Children”) and I ask myself how much longer we can maintain the funds, not just to keep the gears of our economy turning, but to provide a strong defense against those who would take us down by whatever means. If indebtedness to China and a printing press is what we’re banking on, doesn’t that leave us with merely the grit and determination of “we the people” to somehow make a living, earn a paycheck from which taxes can be extracted? I hold no degree in this, but it seems to me that liberty and freedom exist only in as much as this country is able to pump air into their reality…..
Likewise, in an examination of Christianity, at large, a question comes to me as to its current state of affairs. Yesterday, over brunch, a friend suggested that, while some would declare the Church to be a strong witness of the faith, in truth it is only “in position” to fulfill such task. I would agree, adding to her statement, though, that “in position” has always been a proper attitude for it to establish. The Church's testimony, from the very beginning, was never a matter of “works”, but a matter of whether or not His reality confirmed the message it proclaimed. If Christ be not raised, faith is in vain. If heaven and earth be not spanned in such a way so as a manifestation of Christ is not evident to both me and those around me, then the Gospel is just words, nothing more. Chapter and verse accomplishes little if He, Himself, does not breathe into them as well as into me. Remove such resuscitation and we are Spiritually bankrupt other than perhaps a knowledge of that which once was. Definitions and credo may give us theology, but, void of Him, all we’re promoting is ego, trying to convince others of how we, alone, have solved the mystery. Even an atheist can speak, to some degree, that which holds up under inspection; and the Creator, alone, can revive the dead..…
My eyes opened at five-thirty this morning and as usual, when that happens, my brain automatically clicked into “imagination mode”, pondering life as it exists around me, wondering how all the pieces of the puzzle fit together. Not so much, on this occasion, considering financial aspects concerning if this happens or that happens, but mostly the state of the Union: Where does America yet stand as a significant force in a world seemingly teetering on the brink of destroying itself? Without any wish to demean our President, I point to an entire “checks and balances” system that presents itself to me like some television soap opera (you watch the news and you might as well be tuned in to “All My Children”) and I ask myself how much longer we can maintain the funds, not just to keep the gears of our economy turning, but to provide a strong defense against those who would take us down by whatever means. If indebtedness to China and a printing press is what we’re banking on, doesn’t that leave us with merely the grit and determination of “we the people” to somehow make a living, earn a paycheck from which taxes can be extracted? I hold no degree in this, but it seems to me that liberty and freedom exist only in as much as this country is able to pump air into their reality…..
Likewise, in an examination of Christianity, at large, a question comes to me as to its current state of affairs. Yesterday, over brunch, a friend suggested that, while some would declare the Church to be a strong witness of the faith, in truth it is only “in position” to fulfill such task. I would agree, adding to her statement, though, that “in position” has always been a proper attitude for it to establish. The Church's testimony, from the very beginning, was never a matter of “works”, but a matter of whether or not His reality confirmed the message it proclaimed. If Christ be not raised, faith is in vain. If heaven and earth be not spanned in such a way so as a manifestation of Christ is not evident to both me and those around me, then the Gospel is just words, nothing more. Chapter and verse accomplishes little if He, Himself, does not breathe into them as well as into me. Remove such resuscitation and we are Spiritually bankrupt other than perhaps a knowledge of that which once was. Definitions and credo may give us theology, but, void of Him, all we’re promoting is ego, trying to convince others of how we, alone, have solved the mystery. Even an atheist can speak, to some degree, that which holds up under inspection; and the Creator, alone, can revive the dead..…
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
"Which Way Did He Go?........................"
Today was my yearly appointment for a minor physical check-up at the clinic. The doctor was a little concerned about my blood pressure, but merely advised a change in my diet, giving me the usual admonishment to exercise more frequently. My real worry has little to with the state of this old man’s coronary equipment, though. Driving over there, my mind was drifting, out in left field, considering a variety of things; and, missing the Interstate entrance ramp, I made a u-turn at the next intersection to correct my error. Headed now in the right direction, my thoughts returned to their previous location and suddenly I discovered myself taking the exit ramp at the top of the hill, going where, I did not know. Easy enough to fix. I turned left at the traffic light, immediately re-gaining access to the expressway; but, quickly, it becomes evident that I should have turned right because I am now travelling back down the hill already conquered. If you’re not already convinced of my candidacy for Alzheimer’s, add to the above the sad fact that, just two blocks before arriving at my destination, I once again miscued and had to adjust for being lost in thought……
Wikipedia tells me that the Rene Descartes’ phrase “Cogito, ergo sum” was first put forth in French and can be less ambiguously translated as “I am thinking; therefore I exist”. Its meaning was not intended to suggest we are here merely because we deem it so, but to note that if someone wonders if he indeed exists, that is, in and of itself, proof that he does exist since, at the very least, there is an “I” who is so utilizing his brain. Philip Yancey, then, in his prologue to “Finding God in Unexpected Places”, states that “we tend to see what we are looking for”, perceiving “things that aren’t really there” and sometimes failing to notice “the very element we’re floating in”; and that says to me: Just because we “are”, it doesn’t mean we’re pluperfect in our understanding. Just because we have all our mental faculties, it doesn’t ensure they‘re always being directed in our best interests. Surely the above testimony provides enough witness of such accusation and I submit that it’s probably true of any perspective one might take in examining my intelligence. Inspired or not, the Bible doesn’t guarantee that this fellow or any other man has a lock on the mystery of it all. Give me, therefore, His rod and His staff, the Holy Ghost, and the next step……
Wikipedia tells me that the Rene Descartes’ phrase “Cogito, ergo sum” was first put forth in French and can be less ambiguously translated as “I am thinking; therefore I exist”. Its meaning was not intended to suggest we are here merely because we deem it so, but to note that if someone wonders if he indeed exists, that is, in and of itself, proof that he does exist since, at the very least, there is an “I” who is so utilizing his brain. Philip Yancey, then, in his prologue to “Finding God in Unexpected Places”, states that “we tend to see what we are looking for”, perceiving “things that aren’t really there” and sometimes failing to notice “the very element we’re floating in”; and that says to me: Just because we “are”, it doesn’t mean we’re pluperfect in our understanding. Just because we have all our mental faculties, it doesn’t ensure they‘re always being directed in our best interests. Surely the above testimony provides enough witness of such accusation and I submit that it’s probably true of any perspective one might take in examining my intelligence. Inspired or not, the Bible doesn’t guarantee that this fellow or any other man has a lock on the mystery of it all. Give me, therefore, His rod and His staff, the Holy Ghost, and the next step……
Sunday, July 19, 2009
"Check-up................................."
“The church is the church only when it exists for others. To make a start, it should give away all its property to those in need. The clergy must live solely on the free-will offerings of their congregations, or possibly engage in some secular calling. The church must share in the secular problems of ordinary human life, not dominating, but helping and serving. It must tell men of every calling what it means to live in Christ, to exist for others.” – Dietrich Bonhoeffer
Some friends arrived from West Virginia yesterday, here to visit a sister’s grave and return a niece to her siblings after a few weeks away on summer vacation. As we sat in our small living room, another couple, attached to our old assembly but involved with missionary work in Mexico, dropped by also (whether to see us or the guests there with us, I’m not certain) and conversation was a mixture wherein my continued “back-pew-attendance” with another congregation was quizzically addressed. I took no offence, realizing my exit, after a thirty-year relationship with the former bunch, tends to worry a few, especially when they consider the new location’s drastic difference in defining worship, especially when I yet return from time to time giving evidence of still knowing what it is to “find the flow”. It’s no secret that the back exit gives departure as often as the front entrance gains new populace at most ecclesiastical ventures. It is strange, though, I suppose, that an old horse, this far along in the journey, should find pasture elsewhere without abandoning the herd all together…..
Apostate? Reprobate? It’s not like I haven’t asked myself the same question. If one applies such terms to my beliefs held in former years, they might find enough reason to thus classify my present state; but salvation, to me, has always been about growth, about expanding knowledge, and I mean that, not so much in the sense of casting off one’s foundational beginnings, as in the reality of following Him in a walk through life as it comes to you. Rather than the Word being encased in doctrinal cement, I see it more as being “stepping stones”, never changing in its “genetic DNA”, but, through the Spirit, being alive and a continual teacher of the way. I yet believe in the gift of tongues. I just don’t buy everything that’s being done with it out there. I still claim Pentecost and think sanctification is part of the process, but I’ve found “Christ in me” to be an on-going encounter and not some instantaneous transformation into Super Saint. What’s more, it seems quite obvious to me that, no matter the name over the door, we have greatly “missed it”; and, until we’re willing to begin there, we’re just too puffed up in our own form of religiosity…..
Do we need to embrace all the changes suggested above by Bonhoeffer? The problem isn’t so much a matter of what we do or do not do, as I see it, but humanity being what it is and always was: too prone to vanity; and unless our message acknowledges that fact without losing a declaration of the Holy Ghost that includes a genuine manifestation of the Holy Ghost, it’s not going to get any better. Maybe it was never intended to in the first place. Maybe the Institution, itself, bricks, mortar, and big fancy steeples, wasn’t the initial directive and tolerated only because it teaches us, as well as anything else, that God’s grace covers a multitude of sin. As for me and membership: I’m quite happy tithing where it appears to be needed, serving wherever He opens opportunity, and doing my best to hear His voice in all things. “Vision”, to me, translates to understanding, not building bigger barns. Fellowship is a matter of friendship and doesn’t require my name on a green card. Ministry is being fulfilled via the Rescue Mission, the Detention Center, and whomever Heaven sets in front of me. So far, so good…..
Some friends arrived from West Virginia yesterday, here to visit a sister’s grave and return a niece to her siblings after a few weeks away on summer vacation. As we sat in our small living room, another couple, attached to our old assembly but involved with missionary work in Mexico, dropped by also (whether to see us or the guests there with us, I’m not certain) and conversation was a mixture wherein my continued “back-pew-attendance” with another congregation was quizzically addressed. I took no offence, realizing my exit, after a thirty-year relationship with the former bunch, tends to worry a few, especially when they consider the new location’s drastic difference in defining worship, especially when I yet return from time to time giving evidence of still knowing what it is to “find the flow”. It’s no secret that the back exit gives departure as often as the front entrance gains new populace at most ecclesiastical ventures. It is strange, though, I suppose, that an old horse, this far along in the journey, should find pasture elsewhere without abandoning the herd all together…..
Apostate? Reprobate? It’s not like I haven’t asked myself the same question. If one applies such terms to my beliefs held in former years, they might find enough reason to thus classify my present state; but salvation, to me, has always been about growth, about expanding knowledge, and I mean that, not so much in the sense of casting off one’s foundational beginnings, as in the reality of following Him in a walk through life as it comes to you. Rather than the Word being encased in doctrinal cement, I see it more as being “stepping stones”, never changing in its “genetic DNA”, but, through the Spirit, being alive and a continual teacher of the way. I yet believe in the gift of tongues. I just don’t buy everything that’s being done with it out there. I still claim Pentecost and think sanctification is part of the process, but I’ve found “Christ in me” to be an on-going encounter and not some instantaneous transformation into Super Saint. What’s more, it seems quite obvious to me that, no matter the name over the door, we have greatly “missed it”; and, until we’re willing to begin there, we’re just too puffed up in our own form of religiosity…..
Do we need to embrace all the changes suggested above by Bonhoeffer? The problem isn’t so much a matter of what we do or do not do, as I see it, but humanity being what it is and always was: too prone to vanity; and unless our message acknowledges that fact without losing a declaration of the Holy Ghost that includes a genuine manifestation of the Holy Ghost, it’s not going to get any better. Maybe it was never intended to in the first place. Maybe the Institution, itself, bricks, mortar, and big fancy steeples, wasn’t the initial directive and tolerated only because it teaches us, as well as anything else, that God’s grace covers a multitude of sin. As for me and membership: I’m quite happy tithing where it appears to be needed, serving wherever He opens opportunity, and doing my best to hear His voice in all things. “Vision”, to me, translates to understanding, not building bigger barns. Fellowship is a matter of friendship and doesn’t require my name on a green card. Ministry is being fulfilled via the Rescue Mission, the Detention Center, and whomever Heaven sets in front of me. So far, so good…..
Friday, July 17, 2009
"Relationships......................."
"Our loved ones leave behind spaces in the world that can never be filled; but they also leave behind love and light in each of us, sparks of joy and hope that live in our hearts and give strength to our souls”…..Hallmark
Circumstances being as they are, my mind has been turned toward relationships. Country music is not a passion with me, but, as with other genre, there are those songs which catch my heart, my mood, and speak to something within me. Reba McEntire, several years back, had an album out with a couple of such “movers”. One simply voiced the plaint of “If I had only known” and another defined “The greatest man I never knew”, giving you, I suppose, both sides of the equation. It isn’t so much the conclusions as it is the journeys, though, that hold my thoughts at the moment, for while it is easy to pronounce judgment on the finality, on the present state of existence, there’s always a history behind it, a story to be examined; and even if it doesn’t bring us ability to forgive, at least, in the looking, we might be able to better understand and get beyond the hurt, the anger, the pain that eats at our own soul…..
The human psyche being the individual that it is, surely there is no way to categorize just how any one of us is shaped by life as it comes to us. Medical professionals may attempt to label conditions; but we’re like snowflakes: a myriad of genetic reaction. No single answer explains all. Nonetheless, it seems to me that I don’t have to “know” you to “connect” with you, since somehow there comes with “the created package” a common thread, an internal “hook-up”; and the only question is whether we, ourselves, are willing to yield freedom for it to operate. I’ve got a sister-in-law who hasn’t talked to me and Beth for over a decade, all because we refused to excommunicate another relative with whom she has a quarrel. From the beginning, there have been no hostilities on our part and opportunity given to reconcile, but the door, on her end, remains closed. Sadly, in some ways, it does take two to tango…..
Having no partner, however, is no reason to abandon all pursuit to the point of leaving the dance floor. I loved the words spoken at the ending of “A River Runs Through It”, the old man quoting his preacher father who had once sermonized on those with whom we live and whom we should know, but who nonetheless elude us. “We can still love them,” he noted; “We can love them completely, without completely understanding.” To be sure, that’s not always an easy task; but what helps me in the undertaking thereof is remembering, as best I can, two things: (1) Surely it is no picnic for whomever is dealing with this old man, an odd fellow who, in many ways, isn’t all that outgoing in his personality; and (2) If there’s going to be any success at all in the matter, what is needed is “Christ in me”, not my home-grown gardening, but His fruit right off the Vine. Vertical feeds horizontal; and horizontal, in turn, helps clear the vertical…..
Circumstances being as they are, my mind has been turned toward relationships. Country music is not a passion with me, but, as with other genre, there are those songs which catch my heart, my mood, and speak to something within me. Reba McEntire, several years back, had an album out with a couple of such “movers”. One simply voiced the plaint of “If I had only known” and another defined “The greatest man I never knew”, giving you, I suppose, both sides of the equation. It isn’t so much the conclusions as it is the journeys, though, that hold my thoughts at the moment, for while it is easy to pronounce judgment on the finality, on the present state of existence, there’s always a history behind it, a story to be examined; and even if it doesn’t bring us ability to forgive, at least, in the looking, we might be able to better understand and get beyond the hurt, the anger, the pain that eats at our own soul…..
The human psyche being the individual that it is, surely there is no way to categorize just how any one of us is shaped by life as it comes to us. Medical professionals may attempt to label conditions; but we’re like snowflakes: a myriad of genetic reaction. No single answer explains all. Nonetheless, it seems to me that I don’t have to “know” you to “connect” with you, since somehow there comes with “the created package” a common thread, an internal “hook-up”; and the only question is whether we, ourselves, are willing to yield freedom for it to operate. I’ve got a sister-in-law who hasn’t talked to me and Beth for over a decade, all because we refused to excommunicate another relative with whom she has a quarrel. From the beginning, there have been no hostilities on our part and opportunity given to reconcile, but the door, on her end, remains closed. Sadly, in some ways, it does take two to tango…..
Having no partner, however, is no reason to abandon all pursuit to the point of leaving the dance floor. I loved the words spoken at the ending of “A River Runs Through It”, the old man quoting his preacher father who had once sermonized on those with whom we live and whom we should know, but who nonetheless elude us. “We can still love them,” he noted; “We can love them completely, without completely understanding.” To be sure, that’s not always an easy task; but what helps me in the undertaking thereof is remembering, as best I can, two things: (1) Surely it is no picnic for whomever is dealing with this old man, an odd fellow who, in many ways, isn’t all that outgoing in his personality; and (2) If there’s going to be any success at all in the matter, what is needed is “Christ in me”, not my home-grown gardening, but His fruit right off the Vine. Vertical feeds horizontal; and horizontal, in turn, helps clear the vertical…..
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
"Reflections..............................."
My mother died early Sunday morning. The nineteenth of next month would have marked her eighty-sixth birthday. She called herself a “survivor”; and survive she did, from one mistake to another, her years after my father’s unexpected demise in January of ’60 containing three more marriages extinguished by either death or divorce. Along the way, she hardened, as if holding a grudge against life while, at the same time, fighting a fear of leaving it; and, somewhere in the journey, I found myself, not abandoned by her, but having to meet impossible demands if we were to keep any kind of workable relationship. That said, there only remains to confess my lack of any real remorse. I sense a “finality”, yet not a severing of that spiritual umbilical cord connecting us, but an inner desire to secure it and go back to my roots…..
Sunday afternoon a friend called me, a woman who has no reason to be kind in her memories of Mom, but who nonetheless spoke to me of looking back to our teens, a time when her family and mine bonded in different activities. Such words caught my own heart, for even if our paths often separate us as we go, that does not mean it has to destroy that which we once knew. The surgeon, who a week ago operated in an attempt to heal, spoke with us afterward of my mother having been part of that “great generation” and it was a bit of a revelation for me. Dad had fought in Italy during WWII. It had never occurred to me before that my mother, struggling here with three kids on the home front, deserved that label as well. My mind goes back to a day when my father, with a duffel bag over his shoulder, stepped out of an alley way, returning home, and she, with great joy, received him…..
I remember her bundling me in several layers of winter protection, equipping me with a thermos of hot tea, and no doubt guarding me from some secluded location while I stood school patrol duty at the corner of Sixth & Main. I remember her care, nursing me through long individual segments of Rheumatic Fever that kept me home tutored during most of my Elementary education. Vacations usually meant Mom cooking over a campfire, tenting not too far from some stream Dad fished; and when he, himself, built our house on an acre of ground a few miles outside city limits, she helped mix mortar, carried concrete blocks, involved herself in various parts of the labor. Afraid of water, she once let him talk her into taking our small boat out by herself on the Ohio River and then ran it out of gas. My childhood turned into happy days of basketball, girls, and high-school dances and my mother went with me through it all. I recall such times and miss her…..
Sunday afternoon a friend called me, a woman who has no reason to be kind in her memories of Mom, but who nonetheless spoke to me of looking back to our teens, a time when her family and mine bonded in different activities. Such words caught my own heart, for even if our paths often separate us as we go, that does not mean it has to destroy that which we once knew. The surgeon, who a week ago operated in an attempt to heal, spoke with us afterward of my mother having been part of that “great generation” and it was a bit of a revelation for me. Dad had fought in Italy during WWII. It had never occurred to me before that my mother, struggling here with three kids on the home front, deserved that label as well. My mind goes back to a day when my father, with a duffel bag over his shoulder, stepped out of an alley way, returning home, and she, with great joy, received him…..
I remember her bundling me in several layers of winter protection, equipping me with a thermos of hot tea, and no doubt guarding me from some secluded location while I stood school patrol duty at the corner of Sixth & Main. I remember her care, nursing me through long individual segments of Rheumatic Fever that kept me home tutored during most of my Elementary education. Vacations usually meant Mom cooking over a campfire, tenting not too far from some stream Dad fished; and when he, himself, built our house on an acre of ground a few miles outside city limits, she helped mix mortar, carried concrete blocks, involved herself in various parts of the labor. Afraid of water, she once let him talk her into taking our small boat out by herself on the Ohio River and then ran it out of gas. My childhood turned into happy days of basketball, girls, and high-school dances and my mother went with me through it all. I recall such times and miss her…..
Saturday, July 11, 2009
"The Gap Between......................."
For whatever reason, my eyes popped open about 3:00 a.m. last night and, as I’m prone to do at such times, I simply retreated to the computer with a cup of hot coffee. At that hour, there’s not all that much new on my regular circuit, but exploration took me to one fellow’s thoughts concerning the inerrancy of Scripture even though he readily admits that the Bible not only in places contradicts itself, it also has within its passages statements that cannot be. How does he reconcile that with his claim? He says one has to begin by surrendering to the fact of the Word being infallible and then, through prayer, trust God to explain the mistake. That makes about as much sense to me, however, as the young, confirmed atheist who keeps pointing out all those same questionable portions of chapter and verse along with what he considers the nonsensical extremes where we, as believers, often go with our faith. Can I dare to suggest that, if the latter sees only the humanity of men and, in doing so, has failed to encounter a living Christ, then the former sees the Creator merely in terms of a Book that, in correctly conquering its content, one unlocks and possesses truth in the form of concrete, doctrinal theology. To me, both men miss the gift……
I suppose there is an argument that can be made as to my own point of view not being all that different from the Bible thumper. To my way of thinking, though, any time the Creator filters a portion of Himself through the likes of me, something gets lost in the translation. The apostle John, in his first epistle, wrote of “three that bear record in heaven, the Father, the Word, and the Holy Ghost: and these three are one”; then he continued, noting “three that bear witness in earth, the spirit, and the water, and the blood: and these three agree in one”. For years now, I have, from time to time, pondered exactly what he meant by that last grouping. Surely there are those with high degrees who have supposedly solved the equation, but I long ago came to the conclusion that even as we yet do not fully grasp the Trinity on high, neither will we ever conquer the gift in all that it brings unto us. What we get is a “connection”, a “re”-connection, if you will, and a free choice to bring that mess of who and what we are unto a portal established within us. What we receive there is a multitude of Biblical terms to which we have no trouble giving definition, but terms which we often fail to recognize as a manifestation of who He is. It’s not the Book with which we wrestle, but the jack-in-the-box……
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
"Revelation....................................."
“The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time”….TS Eliot
I came across the above quote in Yancey’s “Soul Survivor” and have pondered it a bit the last few days. People speak of God as being a great enigma; but, to me, it is life, itself, that is the puzzle. Thirty-five years ago this past March, the Creator stepped into the innermost of who I am and, although I yet catch myself at times speaking to Him as if conversation required spanning some great distance, what became possible via that connection is an oasis within to which I run again and again. Finding the flow is not a matter of formula. Indeed, I’ve come to believe the only part given to me is surrender and a willingness to trust in His wisdom, His faithfulness. A friend’s recent (July 1st entry) post, written as unto Him, has stayed with me, her words, although originating in a loss thankfully not experienced in my journey, bringing to me a witness of my own heart. My relationship with the Church during these more than three decades, as well as my success in being and living all that the message of the Church suggests possible, falls much in line with Yancey’s thinking: “Why doesn’t it work?”; but, at the same time, my “belly” would shout to the world of what has not failed me through everything the years have brought unto me: “He abides; and the anchor holds!”…
Yancey quotes Mahatma Gandhi as says: “Stoning prophets and erecting churches to their memory afterwards has been the way of the world through the ages. Today we worship Christ, but the Christ in the flesh we crucified”; and notes, himself, in one place, that “It is our very longing, our failure, our sense of incompleteness that forces us to throw ourselves on God’s mercy. Our imperfection in this life calls for another, more complete realization of that goal.” He also quotes Dr. Robert Coles who speaks of what he calls seeing, hearing, and feeling what he calls “the animated spirit of the Spirit becoming active, becoming an event”. Granted-people remain people, and humanity always makes for a less than a perfect product, but when the doctor describes the encounter as “transporting, elevating, and summoning” the individual, giving them the sense of at last being “on the way, set to do something” and, yes, even knowing a measure of “having arrived”, he’s close to what captured me in my living room and what has kept me when other aspects of this religious pilgrimage didn’t make sense. Revelation isn’t just the last few chapters of the Bible. It is grace and peace manifested unto me through the reality of a union with Him in a prayer closet…
I came across the above quote in Yancey’s “Soul Survivor” and have pondered it a bit the last few days. People speak of God as being a great enigma; but, to me, it is life, itself, that is the puzzle. Thirty-five years ago this past March, the Creator stepped into the innermost of who I am and, although I yet catch myself at times speaking to Him as if conversation required spanning some great distance, what became possible via that connection is an oasis within to which I run again and again. Finding the flow is not a matter of formula. Indeed, I’ve come to believe the only part given to me is surrender and a willingness to trust in His wisdom, His faithfulness. A friend’s recent (July 1st entry) post, written as unto Him, has stayed with me, her words, although originating in a loss thankfully not experienced in my journey, bringing to me a witness of my own heart. My relationship with the Church during these more than three decades, as well as my success in being and living all that the message of the Church suggests possible, falls much in line with Yancey’s thinking: “Why doesn’t it work?”; but, at the same time, my “belly” would shout to the world of what has not failed me through everything the years have brought unto me: “He abides; and the anchor holds!”…
Yancey quotes Mahatma Gandhi as says: “Stoning prophets and erecting churches to their memory afterwards has been the way of the world through the ages. Today we worship Christ, but the Christ in the flesh we crucified”; and notes, himself, in one place, that “It is our very longing, our failure, our sense of incompleteness that forces us to throw ourselves on God’s mercy. Our imperfection in this life calls for another, more complete realization of that goal.” He also quotes Dr. Robert Coles who speaks of what he calls seeing, hearing, and feeling what he calls “the animated spirit of the Spirit becoming active, becoming an event”. Granted-people remain people, and humanity always makes for a less than a perfect product, but when the doctor describes the encounter as “transporting, elevating, and summoning” the individual, giving them the sense of at last being “on the way, set to do something” and, yes, even knowing a measure of “having arrived”, he’s close to what captured me in my living room and what has kept me when other aspects of this religious pilgrimage didn’t make sense. Revelation isn’t just the last few chapters of the Bible. It is grace and peace manifested unto me through the reality of a union with Him in a prayer closet…
Friday, July 03, 2009
"Target-shooting..................."
Yesterday morning, opportunity presented itself for a descent to the lobby area of our condo, a place where a man can get alone with his lap-top, check his e-mail, and perhaps catch up with a few friends. Instead, as it happened, I got "mugged" by a Morman. The only other person in the room was a gentleman, my age, seated there with his own hook-up to the Internet; and, when he spoke, in jest, of the rainy weather outside, I opened the door for polite conversation. He, though, simply stuck his foot in the gap and went for my jugular. For twenty minutes or so, he ignored my reference to already being solidly anchored in my own beliefs, my willingness to accept the possibility of his being correct about a few things even though we disagreed, and was still trying to convince me, as I shook his hand in leaving, of there being three levels of Heaven to which, no doubt, his individual ilk was assigned the highest elevation. At the moment, though, all I wanted was the fifth floor.....
Years ago, a colleague at the railroad, a Christian, but of another flavor than my own particular scoop from the freezer, continually pestered me as to the error of my conversion. "Three in one" was literally the singular foundition of his bunch and, upon that theory all else rested. If a man had not been baptized in the name of Jesus, only, you were hell-bound, condemned forever. Still wet in my own walk, yet fully convinced in my experience thus far, I saw no reason not to at least humor this fellow and so approached my pastor about a new immersion, if for no other reason than to make everybody happy. The shepherd of my flock, however, got quite upset to hear such a request, leaving me concerned as to what, indeed, truth really was. In the end, peace about the matter came to me in a prayer closet. The daily harassment at work ceased when Frank, one night, gave me a tract with ninety-nine Biblical verses supposedly supporting his tenets and I returned it with ninety-nine of the same, tit-for-tat, counter-balancing the theology.....
The call to witness of Christ is in my heart as well. Thirty-seven years in this, though, has taught me well that, like most other aspects of the Gospel, connection is established through Him, not by any forcing of the message on my part. Whether one speaks of bringing forth the Word or manifesting a tangible extension of His love, the proof is in the pudding: Jesus, Himself, "seals the deal". In the book I'm currently re-reading, Yancey quotes T.S. Eliott as saying: "The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we first started and know the place for the first time". While I can envision there possibly being such a future point in my eternal existence, there nonetheless already abides within me an "island" that goes with me day by day, an oasis to which I frequently retreeat, a well that often overflows the vessel reminding me of its reality, surprising me in its grace. Always the flow ministers to me; but sometimes it moves through me and beyond me,and two, three, a room, become one in Him. In that flow, I trust.....
Years ago, a colleague at the railroad, a Christian, but of another flavor than my own particular scoop from the freezer, continually pestered me as to the error of my conversion. "Three in one" was literally the singular foundition of his bunch and, upon that theory all else rested. If a man had not been baptized in the name of Jesus, only, you were hell-bound, condemned forever. Still wet in my own walk, yet fully convinced in my experience thus far, I saw no reason not to at least humor this fellow and so approached my pastor about a new immersion, if for no other reason than to make everybody happy. The shepherd of my flock, however, got quite upset to hear such a request, leaving me concerned as to what, indeed, truth really was. In the end, peace about the matter came to me in a prayer closet. The daily harassment at work ceased when Frank, one night, gave me a tract with ninety-nine Biblical verses supposedly supporting his tenets and I returned it with ninety-nine of the same, tit-for-tat, counter-balancing the theology.....
The call to witness of Christ is in my heart as well. Thirty-seven years in this, though, has taught me well that, like most other aspects of the Gospel, connection is established through Him, not by any forcing of the message on my part. Whether one speaks of bringing forth the Word or manifesting a tangible extension of His love, the proof is in the pudding: Jesus, Himself, "seals the deal". In the book I'm currently re-reading, Yancey quotes T.S. Eliott as saying: "The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we first started and know the place for the first time". While I can envision there possibly being such a future point in my eternal existence, there nonetheless already abides within me an "island" that goes with me day by day, an oasis to which I frequently retreeat, a well that often overflows the vessel reminding me of its reality, surprising me in its grace. Always the flow ministers to me; but sometimes it moves through me and beyond me,and two, three, a room, become one in Him. In that flow, I trust.....
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