I'm going to Gamala

“ How old are you Eliza?”

“I’m going to be fwee on my birthday.”

“When is your birthday?”

“When I go to Gamala”

“When are you going to Guatemala?”

“When I’m fwee.”  When I come back I’ll be dwiving.”

“No you won’t you’ll just be four.”

“Oh.”

Last Thursday morning early I put my son, his pretty wife and four of my five grandchildren on a plane to Guatemala, it was Eliza’s birthday.  They were quite a sight lined up at the security check just before they moved out of sight headed for the gate, each with their backpack, and carryon.  They are headed to Guatemala for a year to help design a water system to bring clean water to 16 villages in in the Ulpan valley, coordinate work teams to install the systems, train some of the local men to maintain the systems, and be molded by God in whatever way He sees fit.

Sixty-four years ago my grandparents watched their children pack everything on a boat and set out for Honduras, experiencing, I am sure, the same pride, anxiety, loss, unknowing, and joy that we feel.  When my Mom questioned my son about the whole idea of taking his family to live with no indoor plumbing or electricity for a year he just laughed and said, “Lala, you started all this.”  She was expressing to me her anxiety about where they we going and I pointed out to her, like Mark did, that she had done the same thing and for twenty years, not one.  There was a long pause, and then she said, “You’re right, actually where we lived was worse, but I’m still going to miss them.”

The past five months since they decided to go have been a blur of packing, selling their house, getting supplies, transitioning work,and raising support.  The last two and a half weeks they moved in with us quickly turning our house into a zoo, full of suitcases, piles of clothes, toys, supplies being sorted for here or there, and four grandkids caught up in the swirl of unknowing.  Guatemala to them just a word and a place hard to imagine.  For a couple of empty nesters used to our decidedly slower pace and routines it has been a wild, wooly, and wonderful couple of weeks of intense “quality” time before they left.  

It has been five months full of questions, doubts, fears, excitement, planning, intense activity, prayer, and more emotion than we know what to do with.  All this enveloped with a deep sense of the presence of God, the rightness of what is coming to be and an anticipation of something new. They and we have been surrounded by a wonderful community of folks who have loved and supported us beyond reason.  For this we are humbled and deeply grateful.

Their van is still in our driveway and when I saw it out the window yesterday I found myself listening expectantly for one of my favorite sounds, “Papa!”  Yep, I miss them already.  I’m looking forward to Christmas when they will invade the house again.

Until then, Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy!

He Speaks and the Sound of His Voice...

I attended the memorial service last week of a good friend, Mertie.  She had requested for her funeral a number of the old hymns that I recall from childhood but don’t get to sing much anymore because they are not in the Presbyterian hymnal.  The memorial service led off with a song I used to play on a 45rpm record almost every night as I drifted off to sleep as a child.  I found great comfort in these words as George Beverly Shea would sing them in his deep baritone voice:

I come to the garden alone,

while the dew is still on the roses,

and the voice I hear, falling on my ear,

the Son of God discloses.

And, He walks with me, and He talks with me,

and He tells me I am His own.

And the joy we share as we tarry there,

none other has ever known.

I believe that we come into this world with an ear far more attuned to His voice than we remember as we get older.  My grandson Drew, when he was very young (3ish) was fearful when going to bed one evening.  His Dad, my son Mark, told him that if he was afraid he should talk to Jesus.  Drew soon went quietly to sleep.  Mark asked him the next morning if he had talked to Jesus about His fears, to which Drew responded, “Yes.”  “What did he say?” Mark asked.  “He told me He loved me,” said Drew.

As I grew older and no longer went to sleep listening to my 45 recordings, I was influenced by some who doubt the simplicity of the words of this song and frowned at the thought that God might actually speak directly to me or that I might actually recognize His voice.  A pastor friend once even made fun of the words and scoffed that one could expect to hear His voice.  “God only speaks through His written word,” I was told, and the implication that follows is that what He says will follow a particular theological construct.  I’m afraid that I bought in to this line of thinking for a season and as a result began losing the ability to hear.  Thankfully, the One who speaks was  not intimidated by that assertion and was not inclined to discontinue the conversation or limit Himself to written words and a particular theology, but continued to pursue and to quietly whisper His words in my ear.

I was nearly forty before the hollowness of pure theology and my inadequate attempts to be a good Christian man were intercepted by the persistence of the One who speaks.  I began to learn with and through others (Robert, Jim, Buddy, Harold, Eugene, Phil, Lee, John, I love you guys.) the importance and the joy of silence, solitude, the prayers, Sabbath, and other disciplines for hearing.  I am a slow learner but I am rediscovering the sound of His voice...

He speaks and the sound of His voice,

is so sweet the birds hush their singing.

And the melody, that He gave to me,

within my heart is ringing.

Hardness of hearing does not go away easily and I find that the One who speaks seldom shouts or raises His voice.  Noise and business will invariably drown out any chance of hearing the whisper of His voice.  He is persistent, but He is not intrusive.  He is always present, even when I am not.  He speaks into desire not obligation.

I don’t have a garden like the song describes, but my neighbor has 85 acres of field and woods across the way. (See 8/8/11 post)  He has been gracious to allow me to mow a path around the field where I walk regularly, usually in the cool of the morning. It is quiet except for the birds, the flowers blooming and the mist of the early morning which makes the rays of the rising sun streak as they wind through the trees...

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,

and He tells me I am His own.

And the joy we share as we walk out there,

is as sweet as I have ever known.

The Euro Cup and Worship

The Euro Cup and Worship

I have been watching some of the Euro Cup of late and the TV promo caught my attention.  The clip highlights the passion of the fans for various teams. To pulsating background music images of the costumes, body paint, anthems, cheers, banners, dancing in the streets for the winners, and unashamed tears for the losers, flash across the screen.  A gripping chronicle of people at worship.

We are wondrously and dangerously made because we will worship that which holds our deepest passions.  I have no quarrel with the fans devotion to their teams, I’ve been known to wear orange, scream out of character, and react with joy or depression depending on the outcome of the struggle. But watching the video clip raises the question in my mind...do I worship my Creator with that much passion and abandon. Why or why not?  What does my answer say about my deepest passion?  What would happen to me if I did worship Him that way?

I wonder...?

Alive or Dead?

For the word of God is living and active... Hebrews 4:12

The Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, He will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you. John 14:26

What does it mean that the word of God is living and active?  To say that His word is living sounds like He is present to us in the moment.  If He is active, that He engages us through His word and that He directly interacts with us.  

If they are static words given in another time to another person then it is right for me to analyze, objectivize, characterize, memorize, and devise any way possible to understand what was said. If however, they are the living, present word of His Spirit in me, teaching me what He wants me to know in the moment, I need to listen to what is being  said.  How well do  I listen?  Do I even know how to listen?  What will I do with what I hear? Is my Father more interested in my understanding Him or obeying Him?  Does God expect us to ever really understand Him or is He more concerned about us trusting and following Him?  Is that not what faith means, to trust and follow?

We debate about what constitutes a high or low view of scripture?  Maybe the discussion is actually quite simple...do I listen or not?  Maybe the real question is not about scripture at all, the Bible assumes it is alive and active, maybe the question is not whether I have a high or low view of scripture, but a question of life...it is alive, is it alive in me?  James tells us to be doers of the word and not only hearers. (James 1:22)  Are the words dead in me until they are lived out by me?

I believe it was Mark Twain that said, "It is not the things in the Bible that I don't understand that bother me, it is the things that I do understand".  Am I more intent on explaining God than obeying Him?   I do know that when I understand something or someone it gives me a feeling of control.  Do I do feel that way with God too?

It might just be easier to debate how literal is literal and then do business as usual...but would that be living?

 Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy!

On Having

I was standing at the urinal the other day one slot away from my friend Charles. (Pardon  the graphic details) Charles bemoaned the fact that his coffee habit was requiring frequent stops at the aforementioned cubicle.  He laughed when I repeated the old  line, "You can't really have a cup of coffee, you can only borrow if for a short time."

As Charles walked away I began to think about the universal truth of that little punch line.  I began to think about all the areas of life in which we live in the illusion of ownership.  Our language betrays us.  Let me illustrate...

"I think I'll have a cigarette."  Really?  Actually all or most of the cigarette goes up in smoke except for the butt which you throw away.  Even the nicotine which remains in your system to work it's magic for a while will go the way of the coffee.

"I wish I had a life."

"I have a wife."

" How many children do you have?"

We "have" a house, property, or stuff of all kinds.  Wealth is defined by what we own.

"Have a great day."

"Try to have a good time."

"Everyone should have community."

Silly illustrations.  Maybe, but does it say something about us that our language speaks repeatedly about possessing.  Is our engagement/experience of so many things to want  or try to possess or control it?

Does our language betray a view of life that involves taking from others or our environment?  How does that square with, "Losing your life to gain it"?  Or, being stewards of someone else's property, not owners.  Is "my" stuff really mine?  The writer of Ecclesiastes for example laments that he will gather all his stuff only to die  and have it enjoyed by those who follow him.  

The home that I live in, it is "mine" not the banks, and sits on "my" property.  Three hundred years ago some native Americans viewed it as their property and another two hundred years from now someone else who will have no knowledge of me will consider it theirs.  So what does "mine" mean in the context of time or to the property itself?  My legacy to this piece of real estate will depend less on my "ownership" and more on my interaction with it, how I steward what I have been given to use.  Will I leave something beautiful and useful or a toxic waste dump?

Do I have a wife?  When the Pharisees asked Jesus about the woman married to the seven brothers, "to which brother would she belong?"  Jesus responded that in heaven wives are not "given" in marriage.  Wives are not property, they are a relationship.

How about having children?  Are they an asset or am I given a responsibility to raise them in the "nurture and admonition" of the Lord?  Is this ownership or stewardship?  Would we parent differently if we viewed our children as Gods not ours?  Yikes!

Should I really "have" community, is it something I possess or should I be communal in the way I live?  Should I instead be community?  Would life look different if I were not possessive, grasping of those around me, and gave community instead?  Is this what 1 Corinthians 13 is talking about?

The Bible warns often about not being possessed by our possession.  Note the paradox here, when we have much we are in grave danger of being had by them.  Is there a connection to that warning and the first commandment, "You shall have no other God before me"?  Is possible that the only thing/One we are designed to "have" is God, Himself?  What does it mean to belong to Him?

Is the essence of life defined by what we have or by who has us?  What if this life we have been given is like a cup of coffee, we can't really have it we can just borrow it for a while?  I wonder...

Reading and Reflecting

Let me confess at the start that I am a reader.  I usually have two to three books going at a time; a real live book, one in the Kindle, one or two on my iPad,  plus an audiobook playing in my car CD player. I will typically read somewhere between forty to fifty books in a given year. I read the paper most days and a magazine or two as time allows.  I love to read, so this is not a slam on readers.

I was standing in a friends library looking at all his books the other day and it set me to wondering...well ok, to wondering again...this has actually been on my mind for a while.  What I am wondering is, how much impact does all this reading (See above) have on me?  For all my reading, am I more wise, do I better understand how the universe works?  Do I live life in the manner that my heart truly desires to live, much less how God would have me live?  I guess what I am wondering is, from where does real wisdom and a transformed life come?

I have been reading Paul's letters to the Thessalonians, a small church plant, and his letters to Timothy, a young man he had mentored for some time.  I have seen whole shelves of commentaries on these letters, all those books again, and have been struck by how little Paul actually has to say.  He in fact commends the Thessalonians on their love for one another at the beginning of the letter and then later acknowledges that he has very little to write to them about  loving one another, because, God's Spirit is telling them all they need to know.  In both cases it would seem that Paul would have much to say, all kinds of instructions, theology to explain, and practical application to practice, but he is remarkably brief.  Does he believe, really, that God's Spirit is teaching them all they need to know.

In her book Team of  Rivals, Doris  Goodwin contrasts the education of Abraham Lincoln  to that of his rival for the presidential nomination, William Seward.  Seward grew up in a wealthy home with a library of books and received an Ivy League education.  Lincoln grew up with about five books, one being his Bible, and was largely self educated.  Goodwin notes that Lincoln seemed to be able to take his few books and with deep reflection on the few come away with more wisdom than garnered from the many books available to his rival.

We live in the information age. With the touch of a key we can have a plethora of information on any topic imaginable.  We have a data overload, but have difficulty knowing what data is relevant  or how it is all connected.  Our teaching institutions are more and more geared toward transferring information to the student rather than teaching or allowing them to process information.  We are bombarded with information from every conceivable source, yet most of us seldom take the time to reflect or deeply process its relavance, its meaning, or where it fits in this story we live.

Processing, sorting out what is relevant and how things are connected, takes time and takes place in the context of the world view or the story we live in. As Francis Schaeffer says, most of us get our world view the same way we get the measles, we catch it from those around us.  What is my "world view"?  Where did I get it, really?

Jesus says in John 14:26 that His Spirit would teach us all things and bring to remembrance the thinks He has taught us.  In Colossians 1 Paul tell us that , “All things come together in Christ,”  Does "all things" include, all things?  Is God's Spirit available to give us insight on science, politics, raising kids, or the Pythagorean theorem.  Even more important, does He give us insight on how those all connect?  Or does He just do "spiritual" stuff?  What is "spiritual" stuff?  Is it a different category or compartment of life unrelated to the rest or is it possibly the matrix that gives context and connection to life itself?  Is Spirit that which connects all things?

How does one hear the Spirit speak?  I wish I could say I was an expert at this, but I'm not very good at hearing Him speak most of the time.  There are some things that do seem evident and therefore instructive.  One, He is a person and speaks when He wants to speak or deems it time to speak.  Two, the Psalms tell us over and over to wait on Him.  Waiting leads to presence, He comes when the time is right.  We will never hear Him if we are not present to Him and to one another.  Three, He speaks with a quiet voice most of the time.  Quiet voices are drowned out by noise and activity.

Waiting, reflection, quiet, presence, rock solid trust in the One who teaches, brings to mind what I need to remember.  Do these things characterize my practice of life?  Without them can I reasonably expect to gain wisdom or experience transformation in my life?  The Pickles cartoon in today's paper says that, "Aging is the cost of maturity."  Am I getting my money's worth?  I wonder.

Well, as I said, it has been on my mind for a while...now it is "out of my mind"...that could be dangerous.