Be careful what you ask for in prayer...
Last night, I got into a serious pose with God. That's happened only a couple of times before in my life, but when it has, something has happened to change me. Last night, before I went to sleep, I got into that serious discussion with God and told Him that I really needed Him to help. Oftentimes my prayers are generic requests for blessings on others, or for forgiveness of my sins, but every so often, they are serious heart-to-heart requests for help. Like last night.
At 2:30, I woke up. That's not really all that common for me, and I was just laying there. Suddenly, I had a startling vision, unbidden, and out of nowhere. It had dream-like qualities, where I was both in and observing the same object, but I was awake.
It was dark. There was this very large plain of dead grass, stretching out as far as the eye could see. It was cold, but I could not feel the cold. There were stars in the sky. No moon. No wind. No sound. Total stillness.
There was a statue on the plain. It was life-sized, and it was of a man standing. He was looking down and to the right, as though he were looking at the ground, and not just at it, but through it. Getting close to the statue, I realized it was me. But there was no color in the statue. It was black, like it was opaque, cold glass, and it was reflecting the points of starlight. I looked down at where the statue was looking, and I saw what it was seeing. I realized I was on a vast landfill, but more than a landfill, a grave site. As I was able to see underneath the grass, I saw images I did not at first understand, but quickly realized that they were the remains of my life so far. I saw all the dreams of others I had destroyed. I saw memories of my first marriage, frozen in time, shimmering as though underwater. And they had lost their color, and were like corpses, cold, lifeless, frozen in decay. I kept looking, and the more I looked, the more I saw. I saw memories of old relationships, I saw the self esteem of women whose love I had been gifted with protecting, and which I had destroyed by being critical or self-righteous. I saw their dreams, their desires, all frozen in my landfill. I even saw the hurts I had inflicted on my second wife. Even though my conscious mind tries hard to justify my behavior in the marriage, I saw all the things that mind never let me see happening to her at the time they were happening. Images of all the past hurt I was responsible for were everywhere I looked. Once I realized the contents of the landfill, and its vastness, I felt like I would quickly be overcome, and so I looked up at the statue again. He was frozen in position, staring at the ground while the images kept shifting under his gaze. And then I was inside the statue, looking down, seeing the images, unable to look away. I felt the cold, and it was beyond cold. It was a total absence of heat, but I could not feel anything like the cold of life. I realized I knew it was cold, but somehow, in the statue, I was beyond the ability to feel it as cold. It was sterile, lonely, emptiness. And still the images kept coming before the eyes of the statue. I, the vision I, was horrified by the honesty of it, but I realized that I, the statue I, was beyond horror, was even beyond regret. No tears, no sadness, no ability to feel anything at all. It was just what it was, and there was no changing it, ever. Cold replays of deaths I had caused, deaths of dreams, deaths of hope, deaths of esteem. And the landfill was so huge, I knew I would never get to the end of it all, but I couldn't turn my gaze away. It was just me, alone, the statue, in the middle of the vast plain, with only my dead to see.
At that point, the vision ended, and I heard a voice in my heart say, you have a choice. And then I saw a different path. I saw a path where I ended, and where those I could help began. The flowing, color filled lives of others without me in them, but lives that I had the opportunity to touch. And it was like a park, with laughter and sound, and somewhere, off in the distance, I saw something that looked like me, but was moving, constantly moving. Green, growing, and moving, touching people's lives, smiling with joy, and moving on.
I started this mitzvot praying for a change in myself. Knowing I needed it. Hoping that reflections on God's word would change me and get me to a place I respect in others, that ability to give and love freely. If some vision like this comes, and pertains to a change in me, even if it has no scriptural reference for the NT or OT reading of the day, then I have to write about it in the broader context of what the mizvot is all about. Regardless of the spectrum of deconstructionism vs legalism in biblical interpretation, the fact is that God IS. I believe. That is my faith. If faith begets a change, then the mitzvot is working. Prayer, serious heart to heart prayer, works.
I was shown last night how people have been forced to defend themselves from me, and no matter how badly that hurts to know, I have to take that as part of the journey toward healing. If this seems like a self-absorbed post, maybe my reflections on how prayer works will be helpful to someone else in the future. What else is all this for, if not that?
Monday, March 29, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
...they had refused John's baptism.
Oh boy. Behind again. I work out. All the time. At the beginning of every year, there is a sudden influx of people who are trying to "get in shape." They last about three months, and then they start to tail off around March and April. Those of us who work out routinely suffer patiently through the excesses of the New Year's Resolutioners who come and over-exercise for January and February, and then start to vanish in March. We know their end is near...
But, as a someone who is normally a routine-keeper, I am finding myself chagrined for being one of "those people" if not physically, then spiritually. That is, I wonder if I am tailing off of my discipline to stick with the program and continue to write as a way of processing the words of God, as another way of learning it, a more active way. I did well in January and February, and now find myself, similar to "those people," tailing off in March and April.
So, I am behind a couple of days. I have decided to write something personal, in the NT reading for 3/26, Luke 7:30.
"But the Pharisees and experts in religious law had rejected God's plan for them, for they had refused John's baptism."
The majority of my writing has dealt with a discourse on legalism versus deconstructionism. It has been repetitive, not because I can't go much deeper than the main points of faith, but because extension into sub-themes of deconstructionism and literary theory defeats the point of shying away from legalism. That is, an excess of discourse in non-legalistic theory becomes its own brand of intellectual religion and destroys the validity of the arguments.
If I spent chapters and days deconstructing the text, or writing about Derrida's principle arguments, I would be wordsmithing, and missing the very simple tension that is directly under the surface of the text of the Bible. By prattling on about philosophical theory, I would undo my points against legalism by using a legalistic pattern of deconstruction.
So, I am torn by the process of staying shallow, but appearing repetitive. What I then must face is therefore what speaks most emotionally to me in the text, as a way of understanding it by non-legalistic approaches.
So, since I am facing baptism, a sacrament I have so far steadfastly refused for my own intellectual reasons, I feel emotionally confused by it. What does it mean when a person refuses baptism? Is it pride? That's a sin. Is it fear? Paul writes that perfect love casts out fear, and I believe him. Is it rationalization? Well, probably, but this is the problem. Does the rationalization become the same rationalization that the Pharisees used to reject baptism? And have I been nothing more that that which I desire not to be, a legalistic Pharisee, refusing baptism? Am I the rich man for whom it is harder to get into heaven than a camel getting through the eye of a needle because I cannot shed myself of my "riches," in this case, the intellect that causes me to rationalize myself away from baptism.
John taught that baptism was a change of heart, that the change was of the heart, and that our salvation was not in our lineage (a legalistic point of view) but in our attitude and relationship with God and each other. For so long, I have chosen not to seek baptism, and in the reading from 3/26, I see that I have *great* company in my decisions, the Pharisees!
But I have always shied away from it because doing it seemed so legalistic! Churches tell you that you must do it, or you are not a true Christian. Now who is Phariseeical? If Jesus is to break the stranglehold of legalism, how can legalist sacrament honor His desire?
This is a very personal topic for me as I get ready to face the waters. I have discussed this with many people, and doubtless will continue to discuss it. All I can say is that some of the best answers to this question are indirect, in Luke 6:43. Jesus touches upon the way a person or a tree is known, by the fruit it produces. Baptism, non-baptism... Does that matter as much as, do I do "good?" Is being a "Christian" making me a better person than I was before. I am much happier, but am I "good?" Do I have love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control? Or, better yet, do people that I come into contact with gain any of these from knowing me in my relationship with Christ?
I knew a wonderful woman once, who inspired me spiritually and still does. I hope some day I could have that effect on someone else, someone who was as in need as I was. I have been saved by so many people, in their relationship with Christ. If baptism can give me that chance to pass that on to another, then it is worth any temporal discomfiture that may have, unconsciously, been blocking me.
But, as a someone who is normally a routine-keeper, I am finding myself chagrined for being one of "those people" if not physically, then spiritually. That is, I wonder if I am tailing off of my discipline to stick with the program and continue to write as a way of processing the words of God, as another way of learning it, a more active way. I did well in January and February, and now find myself, similar to "those people," tailing off in March and April.
So, I am behind a couple of days. I have decided to write something personal, in the NT reading for 3/26, Luke 7:30.
"But the Pharisees and experts in religious law had rejected God's plan for them, for they had refused John's baptism."
The majority of my writing has dealt with a discourse on legalism versus deconstructionism. It has been repetitive, not because I can't go much deeper than the main points of faith, but because extension into sub-themes of deconstructionism and literary theory defeats the point of shying away from legalism. That is, an excess of discourse in non-legalistic theory becomes its own brand of intellectual religion and destroys the validity of the arguments.
If I spent chapters and days deconstructing the text, or writing about Derrida's principle arguments, I would be wordsmithing, and missing the very simple tension that is directly under the surface of the text of the Bible. By prattling on about philosophical theory, I would undo my points against legalism by using a legalistic pattern of deconstruction.
So, I am torn by the process of staying shallow, but appearing repetitive. What I then must face is therefore what speaks most emotionally to me in the text, as a way of understanding it by non-legalistic approaches.
So, since I am facing baptism, a sacrament I have so far steadfastly refused for my own intellectual reasons, I feel emotionally confused by it. What does it mean when a person refuses baptism? Is it pride? That's a sin. Is it fear? Paul writes that perfect love casts out fear, and I believe him. Is it rationalization? Well, probably, but this is the problem. Does the rationalization become the same rationalization that the Pharisees used to reject baptism? And have I been nothing more that that which I desire not to be, a legalistic Pharisee, refusing baptism? Am I the rich man for whom it is harder to get into heaven than a camel getting through the eye of a needle because I cannot shed myself of my "riches," in this case, the intellect that causes me to rationalize myself away from baptism.
John taught that baptism was a change of heart, that the change was of the heart, and that our salvation was not in our lineage (a legalistic point of view) but in our attitude and relationship with God and each other. For so long, I have chosen not to seek baptism, and in the reading from 3/26, I see that I have *great* company in my decisions, the Pharisees!
But I have always shied away from it because doing it seemed so legalistic! Churches tell you that you must do it, or you are not a true Christian. Now who is Phariseeical? If Jesus is to break the stranglehold of legalism, how can legalist sacrament honor His desire?
This is a very personal topic for me as I get ready to face the waters. I have discussed this with many people, and doubtless will continue to discuss it. All I can say is that some of the best answers to this question are indirect, in Luke 6:43. Jesus touches upon the way a person or a tree is known, by the fruit it produces. Baptism, non-baptism... Does that matter as much as, do I do "good?" Is being a "Christian" making me a better person than I was before. I am much happier, but am I "good?" Do I have love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control? Or, better yet, do people that I come into contact with gain any of these from knowing me in my relationship with Christ?
I knew a wonderful woman once, who inspired me spiritually and still does. I hope some day I could have that effect on someone else, someone who was as in need as I was. I have been saved by so many people, in their relationship with Christ. If baptism can give me that chance to pass that on to another, then it is worth any temporal discomfiture that may have, unconsciously, been blocking me.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
The Arc of Legalism
OT today, Deuteronomy 1:17-18
"When you make decisions, never favor those who are rich; be fair to lowly and great alike. Don't be afraid of how they will react, for you are judging in the place of God."
NT today, Luke 6:7
"The teachers of religious law and the Pharisees watched closely to see whether Jesus would heal the man on the Sabbath, because they were eager to find some legal charge to bring against him."
When I got to the OT section today, I was impressed. Over and over, the admonitions of God in the OT have much more to do with the advocacy of the divine and eternal rather than advocacy of the temporal. God tells the Israelites to act in faith and in love. The establishment of judges is initially designed to be an advocacy for truth over favoritism. The truth is immutable, eternal, and perfect. Disputes among people should not be judged relative to the people, but relative to the truth. When God was with the Israelites, the truth was very close. The judges were to seek this truth, and not sway from the truth, regardless of the people involved in the case.
But when God is not around, how do we seek the truth? If our hearts and spirits are not aligned to God, then we must, by default, either use tradition or human rationality. If we use tradition, we become frozen in time even though the culture moves on around us. If we use rationality, as flawed creatures, then we run the risk of our flawed rationality making mistakes, and potentially making a mockery of our pursuit of truth. And, if in our weakness of spirit and confidence, we create a situation which only tolerates weak-minded individuals who practice the "truth" we come up with in our flawed manner, then the "truth" gradually begins to lose its meaning relative to the real truth that God intended for us to seek.
When we get to this point, our "truth" becomes a self-sustaining collection of laws and arrogance. Until, one day, God Himself returns, and we are unable to recognize His truth because we are blinded by our own, possibly well-intended, "truth" that we have been practicing for generations. So, threatened by the real truth that is so far away from the "truths" we have created in our own image, we look for ways to find some legal charge to bring against Him. We have forgotten to use our heart and our spirit, relying instead on tradition and rationality.
But the heart and spirit is individual. Can I look into your heart and see what is there? No. Can you look into mine and see what is there? Of course not. Our spirituality is individual and unique. But if I write words, and you write back, then we can, by our rationality, agree on our intent and content. Without the uniqueness and irrationality of spiritual worship, we create our own legalism. But with irrational spirituality, we don't lose sight of the Truth as God intended, and our hearts remain aligned with that Truth.
It's the inevitable push/pull of the rational and irrational. A balancing act, on which one side is chaotic spirituality, and the other side is heartless rationality. The tug between the two keeps one centered, because if one strays too far from that center, one loses sight of God.
Structure is important, but so is heart. The arc of legalism is the loss of that heart. Once that heart is lost, we will crucify the Truth. But without rationality, culture can overtake a tradition and warp it so that we lose sight of God as well. Exercising both facets of our personalities, and practicing with faith, and humility in our own ignorance, seems to be the way to avoid these traps.
"When you make decisions, never favor those who are rich; be fair to lowly and great alike. Don't be afraid of how they will react, for you are judging in the place of God."
NT today, Luke 6:7
"The teachers of religious law and the Pharisees watched closely to see whether Jesus would heal the man on the Sabbath, because they were eager to find some legal charge to bring against him."
When I got to the OT section today, I was impressed. Over and over, the admonitions of God in the OT have much more to do with the advocacy of the divine and eternal rather than advocacy of the temporal. God tells the Israelites to act in faith and in love. The establishment of judges is initially designed to be an advocacy for truth over favoritism. The truth is immutable, eternal, and perfect. Disputes among people should not be judged relative to the people, but relative to the truth. When God was with the Israelites, the truth was very close. The judges were to seek this truth, and not sway from the truth, regardless of the people involved in the case.
But when God is not around, how do we seek the truth? If our hearts and spirits are not aligned to God, then we must, by default, either use tradition or human rationality. If we use tradition, we become frozen in time even though the culture moves on around us. If we use rationality, as flawed creatures, then we run the risk of our flawed rationality making mistakes, and potentially making a mockery of our pursuit of truth. And, if in our weakness of spirit and confidence, we create a situation which only tolerates weak-minded individuals who practice the "truth" we come up with in our flawed manner, then the "truth" gradually begins to lose its meaning relative to the real truth that God intended for us to seek.
When we get to this point, our "truth" becomes a self-sustaining collection of laws and arrogance. Until, one day, God Himself returns, and we are unable to recognize His truth because we are blinded by our own, possibly well-intended, "truth" that we have been practicing for generations. So, threatened by the real truth that is so far away from the "truths" we have created in our own image, we look for ways to find some legal charge to bring against Him. We have forgotten to use our heart and our spirit, relying instead on tradition and rationality.
But the heart and spirit is individual. Can I look into your heart and see what is there? No. Can you look into mine and see what is there? Of course not. Our spirituality is individual and unique. But if I write words, and you write back, then we can, by our rationality, agree on our intent and content. Without the uniqueness and irrationality of spiritual worship, we create our own legalism. But with irrational spirituality, we don't lose sight of the Truth as God intended, and our hearts remain aligned with that Truth.
It's the inevitable push/pull of the rational and irrational. A balancing act, on which one side is chaotic spirituality, and the other side is heartless rationality. The tug between the two keeps one centered, because if one strays too far from that center, one loses sight of God.
Structure is important, but so is heart. The arc of legalism is the loss of that heart. Once that heart is lost, we will crucify the Truth. But without rationality, culture can overtake a tradition and warp it so that we lose sight of God as well. Exercising both facets of our personalities, and practicing with faith, and humility in our own ignorance, seems to be the way to avoid these traps.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Human nature
Still catching up... Today, I am struck by the section in the NT reading for 3/20. This is the section in Luke where Jesus states that a prophet is never accepted in his hometown. (Luke 4:16-30). I know I have written about this before, but Luke's expanded account of the interaction gives more richness to the story and allows a greater expansion of ideas.
It's hard to imagine gathering up a man and trying to throw him off a cliff simply because he has said he is God's chosen one. I try to think of the anger that leads the mob to do such a thing, and then I try to think of the etiology of that anger. I put myself in the place of the person sitting at the synagogue, looking across the rows at the face of the "chosen one" and assess how I would feel.
Here I am, having gone to the synagogue my whole life, knowing other people in my temple, including the man who says he is the chosen one. What would I think? Would I be frightened for the purity of my faith, because suddenly someone I know, someone I have worked beside, and who cannot possibly, therefore, be the chosen one (because he is the same level as I, who am not chosen in God's eyes), suddenly slaps my faith and says that he is? Would I feel responsible for making sure that scourge of my faith does not infect other people who don't know this man personally? Would I be angry because, well, why him? Why not me? Would there be any chance at all I might believe him? Would he just simply piss me off, given his presumption?
I think it is a combination of all those things. I think that Jesus obviously knew this, which is why He realized that miracles would be to no avail. In fact, they might work exactly opposite. Refusing to work miracles, refusing to create more strife (given His knowledge of human nature), was, in fact, a loving act. The rest of the story, and how He slips away at the end, given what we know of the entirety of His life, seems somewhat comical. I can almost imagine it as an old black and white keystone cops movie. But in the end, the story gives us a glimpse not only of human nature, but how well Jesus understands it, and how well He loves despite it.
It's hard to imagine gathering up a man and trying to throw him off a cliff simply because he has said he is God's chosen one. I try to think of the anger that leads the mob to do such a thing, and then I try to think of the etiology of that anger. I put myself in the place of the person sitting at the synagogue, looking across the rows at the face of the "chosen one" and assess how I would feel.
Here I am, having gone to the synagogue my whole life, knowing other people in my temple, including the man who says he is the chosen one. What would I think? Would I be frightened for the purity of my faith, because suddenly someone I know, someone I have worked beside, and who cannot possibly, therefore, be the chosen one (because he is the same level as I, who am not chosen in God's eyes), suddenly slaps my faith and says that he is? Would I feel responsible for making sure that scourge of my faith does not infect other people who don't know this man personally? Would I be angry because, well, why him? Why not me? Would there be any chance at all I might believe him? Would he just simply piss me off, given his presumption?
I think it is a combination of all those things. I think that Jesus obviously knew this, which is why He realized that miracles would be to no avail. In fact, they might work exactly opposite. Refusing to work miracles, refusing to create more strife (given His knowledge of human nature), was, in fact, a loving act. The rest of the story, and how He slips away at the end, given what we know of the entirety of His life, seems somewhat comical. I can almost imagine it as an old black and white keystone cops movie. But in the end, the story gives us a glimpse not only of human nature, but how well Jesus understands it, and how well He loves despite it.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
...by the way you live...
It's been another hard week. I have fallen behind in my reading, and this fact reminds me that I have been allowing life's temporal issues to crowd out that which is the foundation of my life. Without repairing the foundation, how can I hope to persist? Time to get serious again.
So, I am writing in arrears, a bit. This NT discussion is from the 3/18/10 reading, Luke 3:8.
"Prove by the way you live that you have really turned from your sins and turned to God."
This is a quote concerning the teaching of John the Baptist. John goes on to say that the people of Israel should not just say they are saved because they are descendents of Abraham. In effect, John is saying that actions speak louder than words. It is by our acts that we are judged, and our salvation is therefore not assured simply because we belong to a certain genetic offshoot. Our actions are in our control, and how we control those actions affects our salvation.
This has personal ramifications in my life currently. I have finally decided to get baptized. I had held off on baptism for a long time, even though I believe in Jesus, and profess to be a Christian. I grew up in Nashville, surrounded by these odd people I knew as Christians, and often seeing very un-Christ like behavior relative to the church. All my life, I met "legalists" who behaved any way they wanted because they were "saved." I started going to a church where the pastor worshipped the non-legalism of Christ's teachings, partly because legalism breeds sectarianism, excluding people from the community of faith. As he was a non-legalist, I had a hard time reconciling the legalistic point of view of the church that one had to be baptized in order to be saved. If I wanted to discuss the wonderful non-legalism of Christ with others, as a way of bringing them to God, would I appear to be a hypocrite by teaching non-legalism, yet having done something as legalistic as baptism was described to me?
So, I felt baptized in my heart and did not want to pursue the legalistic sacrement of physical water baptism, as a way of pursuing a non-legalistic faith for myself. Following Christ has definitely changed me as a person. Praying, reading, eschewing temporal things in favor of spiritual realities, have all changed me from the horrid person I was. It has taken me a long time to consider water baptism, but now it is starting to feel right, because it will be an expression of faith rather than a response to a legalistic recipe on "how to be the right kind of Christian."
So, I went to my first baptism class, and now I am relatively worried about it again. I was told about the "reasons for baptism" coming from Acts, and Peter's instructions at the Pentecost. It was described to me in very concrete-operational, legalistic terms. And then I was instructed that if I didn't behave right after I was done, then Hell was my destination.
So, I finally come to an understanding of the process of faith, and John's perspective on right actions and non-legalism, even while he was baptizing people, and I then get instructed on baptism in a highly legalistic manner.
At this point, my desire to be baptized remains, but it remains secondary to the common sense, anti-legalist stance of the main hero of baptism in the NT, John the Baptist. His approach to baptism was an anti-legalistic stance against people who thought they were saved by genetics and following the rules. He preached that it is in the way you live that salvation arises. Similarly, Jesus quotes Hosea 6:6 to counter the Phariseeical legalism of His day. I wish that churches could extend the anti-legalist interpretation of baptism also. It would definitely have helped me.
So, I am writing in arrears, a bit. This NT discussion is from the 3/18/10 reading, Luke 3:8.
"Prove by the way you live that you have really turned from your sins and turned to God."
This is a quote concerning the teaching of John the Baptist. John goes on to say that the people of Israel should not just say they are saved because they are descendents of Abraham. In effect, John is saying that actions speak louder than words. It is by our acts that we are judged, and our salvation is therefore not assured simply because we belong to a certain genetic offshoot. Our actions are in our control, and how we control those actions affects our salvation.
This has personal ramifications in my life currently. I have finally decided to get baptized. I had held off on baptism for a long time, even though I believe in Jesus, and profess to be a Christian. I grew up in Nashville, surrounded by these odd people I knew as Christians, and often seeing very un-Christ like behavior relative to the church. All my life, I met "legalists" who behaved any way they wanted because they were "saved." I started going to a church where the pastor worshipped the non-legalism of Christ's teachings, partly because legalism breeds sectarianism, excluding people from the community of faith. As he was a non-legalist, I had a hard time reconciling the legalistic point of view of the church that one had to be baptized in order to be saved. If I wanted to discuss the wonderful non-legalism of Christ with others, as a way of bringing them to God, would I appear to be a hypocrite by teaching non-legalism, yet having done something as legalistic as baptism was described to me?
So, I felt baptized in my heart and did not want to pursue the legalistic sacrement of physical water baptism, as a way of pursuing a non-legalistic faith for myself. Following Christ has definitely changed me as a person. Praying, reading, eschewing temporal things in favor of spiritual realities, have all changed me from the horrid person I was. It has taken me a long time to consider water baptism, but now it is starting to feel right, because it will be an expression of faith rather than a response to a legalistic recipe on "how to be the right kind of Christian."
So, I went to my first baptism class, and now I am relatively worried about it again. I was told about the "reasons for baptism" coming from Acts, and Peter's instructions at the Pentecost. It was described to me in very concrete-operational, legalistic terms. And then I was instructed that if I didn't behave right after I was done, then Hell was my destination.
So, I finally come to an understanding of the process of faith, and John's perspective on right actions and non-legalism, even while he was baptizing people, and I then get instructed on baptism in a highly legalistic manner.
At this point, my desire to be baptized remains, but it remains secondary to the common sense, anti-legalist stance of the main hero of baptism in the NT, John the Baptist. His approach to baptism was an anti-legalistic stance against people who thought they were saved by genetics and following the rules. He preached that it is in the way you live that salvation arises. Similarly, Jesus quotes Hosea 6:6 to counter the Phariseeical legalism of His day. I wish that churches could extend the anti-legalist interpretation of baptism also. It would definitely have helped me.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Luke, finally
It's hard to remember exactly how much I like the Gospel of Luke until I get back into it. It has been a couple of years, and frankly, much of my memories of Luke are overshadowed by the brilliant writings of Paul. However, after not having read Luke for a couple of years, and then having just read Matthew and Mark, I remember now how wonderful is Luke's gospel. (Personally, I dread reading through John, although so much of Christianity seems to quote from this text)
Regardless of my personal preferences, though, today's NT reading (Luke 2:1-35) seems to offer a rational description of an irrational occurrence. Again, I am reminded of this theme that seems to continually present through the Bible. It's one thing to hear John's rambling, apparently semi-literate, and sometimes incoherent (to me, at least) description of God's seeming irrationality. His descriptive style seems to fit the content. But to hear Luke rationally describe the irrational acts invites one into the push/pull aspect of Christian spirituality.
Why did God, in Jesus, come to us in the most unlikely and irrational of places, a pauper in a manger? Why did the angels reveal themselves to shepherds, the lowest social order at the time? Yet here these events are, described in remarkable clarity by Luke. The jarring admixture of coherent presentation of irrational content opens one's mind to the rationality of the irrational, or the spiritual irrationality of our supposed human "rationality." It's that facet which seems to undermine all attempts at legalistic interpretation of Christianity, and give ammunition to those who would reform frozen legalistic abuse of "Church" traditionalists.
And we see this interpretation immediately after we read the OT section which describes the value of killing people who corrupt our religious purity (Numbers 25:10-13), which seemingly defends legalism up to the point of killing non-legalists who violate religious purity laws. It is this baffling dichotomy of God, "What is God up to?" that, to me, gives the Judeo-Christian religion such purchase on our world. It makes no sense, yet it makes total sense.
Well, today, I was simply struck with how much I like reading Luke. And how much I will miss reading him in a few weeks. I will enjoy it while I can.
Regardless of my personal preferences, though, today's NT reading (Luke 2:1-35) seems to offer a rational description of an irrational occurrence. Again, I am reminded of this theme that seems to continually present through the Bible. It's one thing to hear John's rambling, apparently semi-literate, and sometimes incoherent (to me, at least) description of God's seeming irrationality. His descriptive style seems to fit the content. But to hear Luke rationally describe the irrational acts invites one into the push/pull aspect of Christian spirituality.
Why did God, in Jesus, come to us in the most unlikely and irrational of places, a pauper in a manger? Why did the angels reveal themselves to shepherds, the lowest social order at the time? Yet here these events are, described in remarkable clarity by Luke. The jarring admixture of coherent presentation of irrational content opens one's mind to the rationality of the irrational, or the spiritual irrationality of our supposed human "rationality." It's that facet which seems to undermine all attempts at legalistic interpretation of Christianity, and give ammunition to those who would reform frozen legalistic abuse of "Church" traditionalists.
And we see this interpretation immediately after we read the OT section which describes the value of killing people who corrupt our religious purity (Numbers 25:10-13), which seemingly defends legalism up to the point of killing non-legalists who violate religious purity laws. It is this baffling dichotomy of God, "What is God up to?" that, to me, gives the Judeo-Christian religion such purchase on our world. It makes no sense, yet it makes total sense.
Well, today, I was simply struck with how much I like reading Luke. And how much I will miss reading him in a few weeks. I will enjoy it while I can.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Swimming upstream
It's good to be back. I have been out of town for a week at a conference, and took a short hiatus from my goal. Needed to recharge the batteries.
Today, the OT reading hit on something I often think about. On his way to see Balak, Balaam is riding his donkey through a narrow place in the road between two vineyards. (Numbers 22:21-34). An angel of the Lord is blocking the donkey's way, and the donkey shies away from crossing the area three separate times. On each of those occasions, Balaam, who cannot see the angel, beats the donkey. Finally, the donkey speaks to him and asks Balaam what he did to cause Balaam to beat him three times. Finally, Balaam's eyes are opened, and he sees the angel, and realizes his error. And not only that, but the angel reveals that if the donkey had not shied away, the angel would have killed Balaam and spared the donkey.
So, lets' put ourselves on the side of the road and watch this drama unfold. Here is a man, struggling with a donkey, and the donkey refuses to budge. We have sympathy for the man, because he is on an important errand, and the recalcitrant donkey is acting up. How often have we been in similar situations, knowing we had to get somewhere, and impatient with the tools we are using to get us to that place. So, as we don't know the entire story (just as Balaam is ignorant), we have sympathy for Balaam.
But then the rest of the story is revealed. Three times the donkey saves Balaam. From Balaam's prior perspective, the donkey is harming his intent. But when all is revealed, and a new perspective is granted, we see that his donkey's behavior is actually helping.
Once, when I was a a boy, I was travelling down a road I had only travelled once before. It was a little old country road, and I was in a hurry. I remembered that there was a 90 degree hairpin turn in it, but I did not remember where. Anyway, I had to get to the end of the road to meet someone, so I was flying down the road about 70 mph in a 1965 Volvo. I was 16 or 17. The road was empty, it was about 7 am on a Saturday morning. Suddenly, out of nowhere, this little old couple turns on the road in front of me, and proceeds to drive about 35 miles per hour. I was frustrated, cursing, and upset that out of nowhere, having seen no other car for about 20 miles, suddenly the only other two people awake in that rural county happen to pull out in front of me. So, while I am immaturely carrying on, mad at the little old people in front of me, here comes that hairpin turn, two minutes after they pull out in front of me. After the hairpin turn, about a mile later, they turn off.
Why did that happen? If they had not been there, I would not be here today. There's no way I would have survived that turn in that car. But they were there for exactly as long as it took to save me from myself. For the rest of my life, I have looked at inconveniences from that perspective. Even if no other incident had God's hands on it again, the fact that this one did makes the rest of my life, and all its occurrences, part of that miracle. Successes and failures are all learning experiences, to be dedicated to a God that has us in His hands, all the time.
So here is Balaam, swimming upstream, fighting a war in which he does not know all the sides, thinking he is doing right, when in fact, God is saving him for His purposes. All our lives are like that at some moment. I believe, if we are blessed, a donkey will speak to us someday and help reveal our place in the Kingdom. It's part of the irrationality and the dominance of faith.
It's hard to read such a story and continue to hang my hat on my own rationality and legalism. I will fall, and some donkey will be there to remind me who I am.
Today, the OT reading hit on something I often think about. On his way to see Balak, Balaam is riding his donkey through a narrow place in the road between two vineyards. (Numbers 22:21-34). An angel of the Lord is blocking the donkey's way, and the donkey shies away from crossing the area three separate times. On each of those occasions, Balaam, who cannot see the angel, beats the donkey. Finally, the donkey speaks to him and asks Balaam what he did to cause Balaam to beat him three times. Finally, Balaam's eyes are opened, and he sees the angel, and realizes his error. And not only that, but the angel reveals that if the donkey had not shied away, the angel would have killed Balaam and spared the donkey.
So, lets' put ourselves on the side of the road and watch this drama unfold. Here is a man, struggling with a donkey, and the donkey refuses to budge. We have sympathy for the man, because he is on an important errand, and the recalcitrant donkey is acting up. How often have we been in similar situations, knowing we had to get somewhere, and impatient with the tools we are using to get us to that place. So, as we don't know the entire story (just as Balaam is ignorant), we have sympathy for Balaam.
But then the rest of the story is revealed. Three times the donkey saves Balaam. From Balaam's prior perspective, the donkey is harming his intent. But when all is revealed, and a new perspective is granted, we see that his donkey's behavior is actually helping.
Once, when I was a a boy, I was travelling down a road I had only travelled once before. It was a little old country road, and I was in a hurry. I remembered that there was a 90 degree hairpin turn in it, but I did not remember where. Anyway, I had to get to the end of the road to meet someone, so I was flying down the road about 70 mph in a 1965 Volvo. I was 16 or 17. The road was empty, it was about 7 am on a Saturday morning. Suddenly, out of nowhere, this little old couple turns on the road in front of me, and proceeds to drive about 35 miles per hour. I was frustrated, cursing, and upset that out of nowhere, having seen no other car for about 20 miles, suddenly the only other two people awake in that rural county happen to pull out in front of me. So, while I am immaturely carrying on, mad at the little old people in front of me, here comes that hairpin turn, two minutes after they pull out in front of me. After the hairpin turn, about a mile later, they turn off.
Why did that happen? If they had not been there, I would not be here today. There's no way I would have survived that turn in that car. But they were there for exactly as long as it took to save me from myself. For the rest of my life, I have looked at inconveniences from that perspective. Even if no other incident had God's hands on it again, the fact that this one did makes the rest of my life, and all its occurrences, part of that miracle. Successes and failures are all learning experiences, to be dedicated to a God that has us in His hands, all the time.
So here is Balaam, swimming upstream, fighting a war in which he does not know all the sides, thinking he is doing right, when in fact, God is saving him for His purposes. All our lives are like that at some moment. I believe, if we are blessed, a donkey will speak to us someday and help reveal our place in the Kingdom. It's part of the irrationality and the dominance of faith.
It's hard to read such a story and continue to hang my hat on my own rationality and legalism. I will fall, and some donkey will be there to remind me who I am.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Rules and Mercy
It's been an incredibly long and difficult week. I hate not having the time to write, but it has been one of those weeks. I know my life is out of balance when I cannot dedicate the time to this discipline, but there it is.
This morning, in the OT, I was going through more of God's rules for His people, and I came across a question. The people, knowing that it would be common for them to be ceremonially unclean, given the difficulties of life and the multiple ways that uncleanliness could occur, asked how they could celebrate Passover if they were unclean. God's answer was to state that they could celebrate it later, when they were clean. However, He also reminded them that if there were no excuse not to celebrate Passover, then the people who didn't celebrate it would be cut off from the community. Plus, He allowed foreigners to participate in the celebration. (Numbers 9:4-15)
It seems that so many of the commandments given so far are described in ways in which a person will be cut off from the community for not following them. At least, that is one interpretation. However, the information about celebrating Passover later was not given until asked. And when it was asked, it was asked by people who *wanted* to celebrate God's mercy to them. It seems like the subtext here is that God will answer those with a penitent heart, who truly worship Him, and want to abide in Him. Not all has been revealed, yet, and God stands ready to receive the questions of those aligned in His Kingdom.
To me, this means that maybe all is not already written. Can I, with penitence and desire, yet receive instruction from God, even if He has not already written it down? And if that is the case, how should the instruction be tested? It should be interpreted in light of the structure that already exists. Once the answer was given that Passover could be celebrated later, the admonition that followed immediately was that those who could celebrate, and refuse, were cut off. This was a consistency with the previous commandments. So, a new response must be tempered in light of the structure of God's revealed path. Only then can it make sense.
It seems to branch into the NT feel of things. We can seek God, and gain inspiration, but it has to be in God's chosen structure. This once again creates the yin/yang, push/pull, of new versus old, an energy which seems to feed faith as it grows.
I believe that when people approach God the way these Israelites did, with an honest desire to celebrate Him and live in His life, He answers. The times that I have felt like I have heard Him clearest were these times in my life. I wish these times were not so few and far between.
This morning, in the OT, I was going through more of God's rules for His people, and I came across a question. The people, knowing that it would be common for them to be ceremonially unclean, given the difficulties of life and the multiple ways that uncleanliness could occur, asked how they could celebrate Passover if they were unclean. God's answer was to state that they could celebrate it later, when they were clean. However, He also reminded them that if there were no excuse not to celebrate Passover, then the people who didn't celebrate it would be cut off from the community. Plus, He allowed foreigners to participate in the celebration. (Numbers 9:4-15)
It seems that so many of the commandments given so far are described in ways in which a person will be cut off from the community for not following them. At least, that is one interpretation. However, the information about celebrating Passover later was not given until asked. And when it was asked, it was asked by people who *wanted* to celebrate God's mercy to them. It seems like the subtext here is that God will answer those with a penitent heart, who truly worship Him, and want to abide in Him. Not all has been revealed, yet, and God stands ready to receive the questions of those aligned in His Kingdom.
To me, this means that maybe all is not already written. Can I, with penitence and desire, yet receive instruction from God, even if He has not already written it down? And if that is the case, how should the instruction be tested? It should be interpreted in light of the structure that already exists. Once the answer was given that Passover could be celebrated later, the admonition that followed immediately was that those who could celebrate, and refuse, were cut off. This was a consistency with the previous commandments. So, a new response must be tempered in light of the structure of God's revealed path. Only then can it make sense.
It seems to branch into the NT feel of things. We can seek God, and gain inspiration, but it has to be in God's chosen structure. This once again creates the yin/yang, push/pull, of new versus old, an energy which seems to feed faith as it grows.
I believe that when people approach God the way these Israelites did, with an honest desire to celebrate Him and live in His life, He answers. The times that I have felt like I have heard Him clearest were these times in my life. I wish these times were not so few and far between.
Monday, March 1, 2010
This land is My land...
As I go through Leviticus and see the list of rules and proscriptions handed down to make the Israelites a moral, loving, controlled people, it's interesting to see all of the commands. The section today discussed ownership and the presence of the year of Jubilee, or the 50th year of each cycle. I am not sure if the year of Jubilee was ever officially celebrated, or if all the actions of the year of Jubilee were ever performed, but there was one command that stood out today.
"And remember, the land must never be sold on a permanent basis because it really belongs to me. You are only foreigners and tenants living with me." Lev 25:23
In all of the Lord's rules made to set the Israelites aside, or to make them different, He also gave them this rule to equate them with their neighbors. So, while the Israelites are expected to behave morally, with control, and with love toward their neighbors, they are also expected to remember that they, too, are foreigners. Guests in this world. The yin/yang of spirituality comes into play here also. They are different, but the same...
We are all guests in this world. The concept of ownership is pretty fresh in my mind. I "purchased" a house that was far to big for me. And it was far too expensive for me. I have been living in it for two years, and barely scraping out payments as I fight to control my debt. I have come to the conclusion that the house is the bank's. At this point, even if I pay it off, I will never feel like I "own" it. I have felt like a poser, a renter, in a house for too long for it ever to feel like my own. My car, even though it is paid for, is simply an asset that could be tied to a foreclosure process, and so I have lost "ownership" of that as well. We don't really "own" anything, but all our lives we struggle for the illusory concept of "ownership" as though owning something will give us some semblance of control. With control of a thing comes pride of mastery, and with pride comes selfishness and the death of one's spirituality. The fall is inevitable.
By reminding the Israelites that there is no such thing as ownership, God reminds them (and us) of our actual temporal status, and the joy of life that we have been granted, so far. By not owning something we are using every day (life), we recognize that this thing, life, in our hands, is a wonderful gift, something not to be squandered, but to be cherished and adored, and for which we are thankful. The first step toward pride (the concept of ownership) was removed in this section, keeping us ever penitent and thankful for that which we do have, today. We don't own anything. We don't have a right to expect "tomorrow" but when it comes, we can be thankful. We are foreigners living among God, in His land.
It would be such an amazing world if this were a central feature of the Bible. If the concept of a lack of "ownership" of anything were taken to heart by everyone in the world, what a world that would make.
What would you do if you knew you owned absolutely nothing? How would you feel? If you accept that God's words apply to you, take a second and apply these words. Then look around you and do what's next.
"And remember, the land must never be sold on a permanent basis because it really belongs to me. You are only foreigners and tenants living with me." Lev 25:23
In all of the Lord's rules made to set the Israelites aside, or to make them different, He also gave them this rule to equate them with their neighbors. So, while the Israelites are expected to behave morally, with control, and with love toward their neighbors, they are also expected to remember that they, too, are foreigners. Guests in this world. The yin/yang of spirituality comes into play here also. They are different, but the same...
We are all guests in this world. The concept of ownership is pretty fresh in my mind. I "purchased" a house that was far to big for me. And it was far too expensive for me. I have been living in it for two years, and barely scraping out payments as I fight to control my debt. I have come to the conclusion that the house is the bank's. At this point, even if I pay it off, I will never feel like I "own" it. I have felt like a poser, a renter, in a house for too long for it ever to feel like my own. My car, even though it is paid for, is simply an asset that could be tied to a foreclosure process, and so I have lost "ownership" of that as well. We don't really "own" anything, but all our lives we struggle for the illusory concept of "ownership" as though owning something will give us some semblance of control. With control of a thing comes pride of mastery, and with pride comes selfishness and the death of one's spirituality. The fall is inevitable.
By reminding the Israelites that there is no such thing as ownership, God reminds them (and us) of our actual temporal status, and the joy of life that we have been granted, so far. By not owning something we are using every day (life), we recognize that this thing, life, in our hands, is a wonderful gift, something not to be squandered, but to be cherished and adored, and for which we are thankful. The first step toward pride (the concept of ownership) was removed in this section, keeping us ever penitent and thankful for that which we do have, today. We don't own anything. We don't have a right to expect "tomorrow" but when it comes, we can be thankful. We are foreigners living among God, in His land.
It would be such an amazing world if this were a central feature of the Bible. If the concept of a lack of "ownership" of anything were taken to heart by everyone in the world, what a world that would make.
What would you do if you knew you owned absolutely nothing? How would you feel? If you accept that God's words apply to you, take a second and apply these words. Then look around you and do what's next.
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