I wrote the following in my prayer journal this summer and I was reminded of it this past week when we attended homeschool day at the Cal Academy of Science, where we watched Journey to the Stars (links to the 27 minute video) in the planetarium. "Watched" is an understatement; experienced is more like it. My 5 yr-old captured it best "I feel like I went on a rocket ship through space!"
Father, are you still creating? You rested on the seventh day, not because you needed to, but because it was an example for us, whom you made in your image and likeness, and so we, too, are compelled to create. With you, Lord, a thousand years is like a day, so does a day, or a millenium or more go by without you creating? Is our universe one of many? Or is every "new" thing here a work of your creativity? From the sun setting to a birth of a child? It seems like you finished creation, and I know you will one day restore it to its original glory...in fact, even more glorious...but what about now? You designed this world so perfectly that even in its fallen state, so many things are regenerated, and it seems to happen through the scientific processes you put in motion, so that it appears you are no longer creating in this universe, but I wonder if it just appears that way to us because we are constrained by our five senses - that we cannot perceive your transcendent "hand" maintaining and creating. Or have you willfully confined your creativity in our rebellious world to the spiritual realm? And so there is decay outwardly, but inwardly, you create life. Your common grace sustains your creation and your redemptive grace makes souls into new beings, a work that is not finished until you restore all of your creation. You don't operate in time as we do - you always were and always will be - so is everything really happening simultaneously in the spiritual realm? I am groaning with your creation, longing for everything to be made right and to see you make all things new. Amen. You are the Lord, you alone. You have made heaven, the heaven of heavens, with all their host, the earth and all that is on it, the seas and all that is in them; and you preserve all of them; and the host of heaven worships you." ~Nehemiah 9:6 (this whole chapter I read today blew me away).
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By my 7 yr-old (click pic for whole art poem) I was tempted to title this "Surprised by Grace" but didn't want it be confused with the new book of the same title, (which I am curious to read). "Changing Churches" sounded too flat, but this is also the story of that. We spent the past school year immersed in the Middle Ages and I didn't think history could get any better, but then we entered the Renaissance, which literally means "rebirth". It was spring (my favorite season) and we were on the verge of Pentecost, which marks the birth of the first church. Without my realizing it, in his infinite creativity, God was setting the stage for my own rebirth. Something had been growing inside me for a long time and it wasn't another baby. It was my conception (pun intended) of grace. I had experienced grace from a very young age, but my understanding of it was incomplete. God's grace had always been a form of protection against other people, but not from myself. It took becoming a wife and a mother for me to recognize how inherently selfish and need of grace I was, both to help me accept myself and to give it to others, especially those closest to me - my husband and children. In the spring of 2009 I re-read Grace-Based Parenting by Tim Kimmel. I went through it with a group of women and it invoked a desire in me to grow in the knowledge of grace, so that I could more fully receive and impart it. I pulled every book off our shelves that had the word "grace" in the title. I started to read several of them and liked them, but like so many other ambitious reading projects, this one fell to the wayside. Still, I wanted to "get" grace and I sensed that my desire alone was a prayer that God was answering. He wanted me to get it also, even more than I did. Which is exactly how God's grace works. And so this spring, as I witnessed rebirths in nature, history, and the church, I too, was born again...again. Like any birth, there was struggle, pain, and fear. But what had been growing inside me needed to come out. I could no longer be part of a church which did not fully illuminate grace, and even muddied it with traces of legalism. Works and service were emphasized and explained more than the person of Jesus and intimacy with him. Fear-based (albeit subtle) turn or burn) invitations to say the "magic prayer" (of salvation) and an authoritarian interpretation of Scripture that refused to consider any other theological position had turned Sunday mornings into cringe sessions for me. Not every week, but increasingly more often. I had long ago lost any desire to invite anyone there, but it had gotten to the point that I didn't want to be there either. Later, when I finally hashed it all out on paper (much more than I've included in this paragraph), the writing was on the wall. We had been there six years, since we were practically newlyweds and new parents as well. Our previous church had folded and our young unstable family craved security...or at least I did. That church had been the right place for us during those early unsteady years. They had welcomed us and fed us the Word and given us opportunities to serve and be served. And yet as we got to know the church more, and to shape our identity as a family and individuals, I began to sense we were less and less compatible. I started to feel trapped in what felt like an unhealthy relationship. I had defended "us" for a long time, even against older, wiser people who loved me and saw what I wasn't willing to look at for fear of hurting my family. I thought that if only I was struggling, it wouldn't be fair to rip them from our church home, so for several years I was determined to make it work. The tension was growing inside me, right alongside the grace, and one of them had to go. It was a thistle threatening to strangle the rosebush about to be birthed. The labor of pulling weeds began with communicating with my husband. His resistance was admirable (loyalty, friendship, optimism) until it turned ugly on both our parts (shouting match), but God's grace got us through it and out the other side, though with loss and grief that was more profound for him than for me. It was in this morose and disillusioned state that we visited a new church - not just new to us but to the area - a church plant of five years (which I had researched online over the previous months), which just happened to have "grace" in its name. As it turned out, it wasn't in name only. Our entire family was captivated that first Sunday. It was like coming home to some place we had never been. It seemingly effortlessly harmonized these paradoxes: reverence and relevance, beauty and grit, tradition and variety, grace and truth (a number of Sundays later, that is still true - I'll share details of the service in another post). We knew we had to end things the right way at our former church. We met with the pastors and both the angst and understanding of that conversation were confirmation that our time there was over - the associate pastor didn't say a word but he prayed a beautiful and grace-filled blessing for us that felt like God releasing us into a new season. A few days later, we met with the pastor of the new church and spent a couple hours getting to know each other over Comforts chinese chicken salad, as well as learning all about the church. The phrase "gospel-centered" was a recurring theme, as well as grace, restoration of creation, humans as God's image bearers, C.S. Lewis, Tim Keller, and baseball (I'll save that evidence of God's sense of humor for another post). We talked theology and community and doing away with things like Christian vernacular and an "us vs. them" mentality when it comes to interacting with the culture. His heart was clearly for the people of Marin, and both of us having grown up here, that resonated with us. An unexpected bonus of this meeting was my husband dispensing with a pre-tribulation post-millenial (a.k.a. Left Behind) eschatology and adopting an amillennial view. Now that he isn't always waiting to cash in his rapture ticket, he can more fully be here, laying down his life to spread God's grace around (and that goes for me too). I'm sure he'll still like John MacArthur but lately he's been more interested in Francis Chan, and we both like that our new pastor calls himself a "winsome Calvinist." Oh, and I apologize for the evangelical-speak - it won't happen again, or if it does, I'll be sure to define the terms, but I'm running out of room here. And so as we read about the Reformation in our homeschool, entered the season of Pentecost, and watched the first roses bloom in our patio garden, each epiphany of winters past culminated into the spring of my enlightenment. The new things happening in my mind (studying history), my heart (learning grace), my body (experiencing the renewal of God's creation), and my spirit (meditating on seasons of the church year--in part thanks to the Mosaic Bible) all helped to make me grow and step out in faith. As I closed one door, and God opened another, I felt freedom and joy like never before, as though a weight had been lifted from me. Starting new has its own set of challenges and I'm not naive about that, nor overly idealistic, but I am hopeful, and already encouraged by the vision of our new church home, including what role my giftings can play in realizing it, in harmony with the other members of the church as well as the larger body of Christ (Jesus followers) in our area and beyond. I remember the first time I was served an amuse bouche. Just when I was trying not to reach for another piece of bread, a tiny plate of fuschia and golden beets sprinkled with smoked sea salt was set in front of me (see picture). Not only was I unaware that beets came in more than one color, but that restaurants (really good ones) sometimes serve a complimentary pre-meal morsel called an "amuse bouche." Literally, it means "mouth pleaser." I'm not big on beets, so my mouth was indeed surprisingly pleased by the delicate and satisfying flavor of this amuse bouche. It also encouraged me that more good things were to come. I like the quote in the wikipedia entry "The amuse-bouche is the best way for a great chef to express his ideas in small bites." Spiritually speaking, what if God was the great chef, the gospel was his idea, and your words were the small bites? Before most people encounter Jesus in a personal way, they will meet his followers - not just in person, but in books and blogs by believers. The old saying "you're the only Bible someone will ever read" could be more hopefully phrased as "you're the first Bible someone will ever read" Christians are obviously not perfect representations of who God is or flawless interpreters of his written revelation of himself to us, but that is precisely how he will use us to reach others. His power is made perfect in our weakness. He has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise. And at the same time, God made each person in his image. He loves us and reveals himself to us and through us. Our words--spoken and written--can illuminate God's truth. Let us then be a living fragrance, so that when people breathe in our words--either aloud or through our pens--it will provoke an irresistible urge to taste and and see that the Lord is good. May his Holy Spirit in us awaken their spiritual senses and pique their palates like an amouse-bouche, making them hungry for Jesus and thirsty for the water that only he can give, beckoning them to the holy banquet where they can be satisfied with the richness of his grace, in the presence of their Creator who has a unique purpose for each human being in bringing glory to himself. I think I've come up with a manageable solution to stuffing the archives with the highlights of my blogging life. I'm going to try to post one oldie per day (and hopefully some newbies in between). Since I'm fairly obsessed with chronological order - be it studying history, organizing our library of spiritual classics, or sorting photos - I will start at the beginning.
Here's what started it all, almost seven years ago, when I ventured on to the internet late one Saturday night and self-consciously poked my head out into the unknown but not yet vast blogosphere. Funny how my rambling monologue would later prove to be intuitively insightful. When I feel clueless, I often know more than I realize. The voice of inexperience sometimes has an objectivity that's obscured once you're immersed in something. It's all good, though :) My husband has a passion for prayer. He is reading everything by E.M. Bounds (I ordered him the full collection of his works). I stumbled on to an old copy of What Happens When Women Pray by Evelyn Christenson. I started it last night and just read another chapter during my quiet time today. I am intrigued. I am hopeful. I am praying. This is totally not like me. I was thinking my husband could be Prayer Warrior and I could stick with Bible Girl. Except that lately that hasn't felt like enough. Oh sure, I pray throughout the day, and with our children before bed, but often they are like stale, repetitive, comfort prayers. I feel too tired to be passionate. Yet I suspect that if I became a passionate pray-er, I would be less tired. So what if I fall asleep sometimes while I'm praying? Next time I'll get on my knees instead of laying on the couch. I might even pray aloud. A friend told me she won't say (or write) certain things since she thinks the devil will only know about them that way (that he can't read minds but can hear words). Sounds like a trick of the devil to me - to gag us with fear that keeps us from praying fervently, and also from connecting with others - the Bible tells us to confess and pray aloud. The enemy's knowledge of our weaknesses (which I believe he knows whether we say them or not) cannot match God's power over us through prayer. Maybe my husband and I will both get into this so much that we'll actually pray together. We have a great marriage and family but I'm wondering what God would do if we more intentional about seeking Him together. I wonder if there's a way we could work in exercise and prayer at the same time...definitely possible on our family hikes (that's what we recently decided would be our "thing", like some families have biking or camping or the Wii or whatever - we want to be a hiking family and we live in the perfect area for that). I also want to do this with other women. Pray, that is. Thinking of starting a bi-weekly prayer meeting, following the example in the book I'm reading. Might do this for the new year... Do you ever feel like you're just a bunch of holes? Seeing out your eyes, inhaling air through your nose, ingesting sustenance in your mouth, absorbing sounds with your ears, eliminating waste, and so on. Things go in and out of our holes. Without them, we wouldn't exist, but with them, I sometimes feel like I don't anyway. Like I'm trapped in my body, peering out peepholes that don't let me fully live. It's a strange awareness that first hit me erratically, but that I now induce at times, though I only let myself experience it fleetingly or else I'd freak out. Engaging in sensory activities helps it subside, as does talking (especially in conversation with someone else who is physically present). The more I feel and interact, the more real life seems.
What if spirituality is like that? Could our inner sense of emptiness or yearning exist to show us our need for God? Imagine the soul as a hole, through which we receive from and give to Him who made us and knows us even better than we know ourselves. The one who keeps his soul closed cannot ever satisfy the longings that transcend his physical existence. The one who opens her soul allows it to be filled with faith and released of fear. And that is only the first course in a spiritual feast that continues on for a lifetime of emptying and being nourished. What comes out of our souls is pain, selfishness, remorse, gratitude, and worship and what comes into them is grace, forgiveness, healing, peace, love, truth, strength and the intimate presence of our Heavenly Father who is also our creator, savior and friend. Maybe this body feels like a bunch of holes because we are meant for another existence - one that continues on beyond this material world. Perhaps the sensation of being more than our bodies (and our brains), of desiring meaning and purpose and permanence occurs because there is more, a reality that we can start living now if we seek to fill our spiritual hole as earnestly and often as we do our bodily orifices. When we pay attention to our soul - first by seeking God, and later by continually practicing his presence (through the spiritual disciplines which empty and fill us) - we become whole and holy, instead of just feeling holey. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. 1 Corinthians 13:12 It's getting old, people. I'm tired of hearing everyone gripe about "organized religion." What's so wrong with organization? I mean would you like to go to a disorganized hospital (and a church is supposed to be a hospital for the soul, even though I agree that many are a far cry) or have a disorganized government (maybe we already do)? Do you see where I am going with this? Organized or messy, let's at least be consistent...or perhaps we could start by being clear and staying away from hackneyed cliches such as this one.
Structure doesn't have to be bad--after all, whether you believe in God or not, whoever made this universe did it in a very orderly fashion (thus the "laws of science"). Certainly God can't be contained in a building, but would he scoff simply because the ones he created gathered together under one roof to worship him corporately? That sounds about as likely as someone condemning a group of friends who threw a party their honor. (I'm not talking about every party, but simply the idea of the party, i.e. not every church honors God, but many do) You know what I have a problem with? Organized education. Organized entertainment. Organized media. When people get organized, they become powerful influences on the culture. Did you know that the very first media organization in the U.S. was the church? Sunday mornings were the only times people gathered together in one place, so they got their weekly news from the pulpit. Newspapers were started by religious people also. I wrote a research paper on this for Christopher Hitchens' class during journalism grad school--interesting to see the press has moved so far from its original heritage. Did I defeat my own argument? No. I just qualified it. Organization in itself is not a bad thing. It all depends on what or who is being organized. Obviously organized crime is bad, but so is crime without rhyme or reason. Random acts of kindess are good, but organizations which help the needy are more efficient. Chaos and order each have their place, so let us not throw out the baby with the baptismal. As I was washing the dishes tonight, I realized something profound. I'd like to call it a "God moment." I try to do a lot of things in my own effort, by sheer willpower you might say. Sometimes that works temporarily but ultimately I'm inconsistent and resentful. That's why I want to practice self-control instead.
So what's the difference? Willpower is not eating anything. Self-control is eating a little. Willpower is holding in my emotions. Self-control is holding back my emotions. Willpower is deprivation. Self-control is moderation. Willpower is an oxymoron. I am inherently selfish (we are all born into sin), so there is no power in my will. My will is exactly that. Mine. me, me, me. My will is the very thing I must yield. I must give myself to God's control in order to be self-controlled. If I try to get by on willpower, I won't grow. Instead, I'll shrivel up as my strength is sapped. I'll become hard and prideful...and eventually disillusioned and full of despair. Self-control doesn't originate with me. It comes from the source of life. My creator. When I cast all my cares on him, he cares for me (2 Peter 5:7) and his spirit living in me, which entered when I invited Jesus into my heart, will enable me to exercise self-control. But it is a daily practice--even hourly, and sometimes moment by moment. It is not a making up of my mind or of whipping myself into shape or of duct-taping my mouth. It is a letting go and a resting and an obedience rooted in love. It hurts but only for a moment and then it passes and is replaced by a gentle yet exhilarating sense of wonder and peace. It is losing the battle to win the war. Doing those dishes was a minor act of self-control. I felt like putting it off until the morning but if I had, this wouldn't have dawned on me, because it was only by submitting myself to a menial task not requiring the use of my intellect that my mind was uncluttered enough for just one moment to hear that still, small voice of the maker of the universe. |
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