Two words, actually three, for today....

Psalm 130:3-7

If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities,

O Lord, who could stand?

But with you there is forgiveness,

that you may be revered.

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,

and in his word I hope;

my soul waits for the Lord

more than watchmen for the morning,

for with the Lord there is steadfast love,

and with him is plentiful redemption.

Forgiveness is wonderful, but sweeter still is plentiful redemption.  It is one thing to be forgiven for my sin, it is even better that You, O Lord, redeem me from all my sin.

Forgiveness says, "I no longer hold it against you." Plentiful redemption says "I remove it all from you, you are made new again."  No doubt, I need plenty.  The first taken separately is a good news for me, received together they are a magnificent gift.

That is steadfast love.

Thanks be to God.

85 Acres

I was walking my prayers the other morning, as is my practice, on the 85 acres of farmland that our neighbor generously allows us to enjoy.  I was about 80% finished when suddenly I stopped…

It will be 9 years this summer that we moved to Lenoir City and I began to regularly walk “the field” as we call it.  Our kind neighbor has allowed me to mow a path (See the blog for 8/8/11, Mowing As A Form of Prayer.) around the circumference with a few cross paths to create multiple options for walking.  I have no idea how many times I have walked that path, 3-4 times per week x 52 weeks x 9 years = 1404-1872 times give or take a few, then add twice around every couple of weeks to mow, and random walks during the day, evening or night just because I can and because the field beckons.

Lets go conservative and say 1500 times around…1500 times around over 9 years and no two times have been the same. Seasons, for example, change everything, foliage, color, moisture, wild life, humidity, smells and temperature.  The stark, bare, browns of winter may be interrupted as they were this year with the peaceful white of snow or the crystal glitter of ice, then spring fades in its multiple shades of green punctuated with the brilliant color of the wild flowers.  Summer may be deep greens and dense foliage or faded green, parched leaves, and hard ground when the rains fail to come.

Whatever summer brings, as the fall temperatures cool the colors heat up with brilliant shades of red, yellow, and orange variegated by the sharp dark green spires of the cedars and pines.  Everything seems to open up and become more angular as the trees lose their leaves and all of a sudden we can see our neighbors through the trees again.  The smell of burning leaves and the crisp air tells me the days are getting short and winter is here again.

Through the seasonal cycles the fields themselves are constantly changing.  The brown grass of winter becomes the bright green of spring that turns golden as the grass grows tall and turns to seed.  Our neighbor provides an artistic touch as the grass is mowed in a pattern that follows the gentle contours of the rolling hillside and is then baled in large circular bales that decorate the fields in patterns that, though random, seem to be placed just right.  Some summers he has planted fields of giant sunflowers that open their sunny faces to the sky and force you to smile.

The old barn with the tin roof and tractor let you know that, yes, this is East Tennessee and aren’t you glad you are home?

Whether it is spring wild flowers, summer thistles, orange ironweed, and Queen Ann’s lace, blackberries lining the edge of the field or mulberries littering the path from its overhead branches, they all seem to know when it is their turn to grace the field with their particular blessings.

If I am quiet and paying attention I am amazed by the variety of wildlife that skitters across my path, flies overhead, or climbs up my leg.  Yep, there is always that tick or two and any number of insects, friendly or other wise, to swat away from your eyes and ears.  There are beautiful butterflies, and dragonflies and strange beetles that crawl out from under things.  I pass the hornets nest hanging in the tree and watch my step lest I encounter that snake that slithered under the four wheeler that time I was taking the grandkids for a ride.   I’ve seen deer, rabbits, turkeys, turtles, chipmunks, squirrels, groundhogs, snakes, all kinds of birds including a couple of hawks that regularly patrol the skies and a couple of owls almost as tall as me.   I ran across the owl sitting on its prey in the grass once, he twisted his head around at me and glared with big yellow eyes and I decided he could breakfast in solitude and I was fine with that, thank you very much.  My dog Abby and I found a deer carcass mouldering in the grass, with a cool skull and a nice rack.  I hung it in a tree at home and a varmint of some kind, two or four legged I don't know which, made off with it.  Coyotes can be heard often, and seen often enough.  I watched about four of them slink across a snowy hillside early one winter morning…it was chilling in more ways than one.  I have found splatters of blood tinged feathers in the grass and wondered if it was dinner for the hawk, breakfast for the owl, or a midnight snack for the coyote.  Spiders, lots of spiders, weave their magic in the high grass, across the path and up in the trees, all especially visible on a foggy morning when the mist hangs on their webs.  An early sun rising through the trees makes spider webs, frost covered trees, or snow turn to diamonds that are almost too beautiful to comprehend.

Yes, and don’t let me forget to mention the sunrises and sunsets, so different in every season playing on all the variations already mentioned.  They are so spectacular as to render one speechless.  Just as spectacular is the moon, rising on a fall evening, lighting the whole field late at night, or slowly fading in the West at dawn.  A full moon or any slice of it that may be given on a particular night, when it reflects off a snowy hillside will take your breath away.

So what did I hear the other morning that made me stop?  It was a particularly foggy morning, fog so dense you could only make out shapes as you looked out across the field.  Every spider web, and there were thousands of them shimmered in the early morning light, the quiet was deafening.  I had walked most of the way absorbed in my thoughts, looking mostly at my feet and as I dodged the many spider webs when suddenly I literarily stopped in my tracks, marveling at what was around me…and the One who spoke the cosmos into being whispered in my ear... “And that’s just 85 acres.”  

There was a pause and then He said..."I'm like that."

After 1500+ times around the field I have only begun to scratch the surface of its wonder and beauty, I do not know it exhaustively, but I do know it well.  I know where to avoid stepping in a hole, I know where to expect the smell of honeysuckle, or to pick blackberries, or be on the lookout for a deer or a turkey.  The field feels like home, it welcomes me in and feels familiar and good.  To tell you the truth, I don’t know much about solstices, or how coyotes take care of their young, what makes a leaf turn bright orange rather than yellow, or even what a hawk’s favorite food might be.  I don’t know how to predict the weather, build a hornets nest, or judge how much color there will be this fall.  I can’t even name most of the wild flowers like my wife can.  There is a lot about all that I see and experience as I walk that familiar path that I cannot explain, define, or adequately describe, but I know I can’t stay away for long with out missing it desperately.  I know that walking it I feel like I am at home and belong.

So it is with the One who breathes life into me every day.  I do not know Him exhaustively, there is much about Him that I cannot explain or understand.  I can't tell you how big he is,  or how He makes predestination and freewill work together.  I don't know how He keeps up with all of us and hangs out with angels at the same time.  If I were to write a text on systematic theology it would be pretty short, I am afraid.  But, I do know where some of the “holes” are I need to avoid to preserve the relationship and where to go to savor the sweet aroma of His presence early in the morning.  I do know that He has great affection for me and that when I am quiet and open I can feel His presence.  I know enough to be drawn to another lap and to miss Him desperately when I stay away to long.  I know enough to know after 1500+ times around with Him that it is just a glimpse, a beginning…its just 85 acres.

What Does That Say About Me?

A while back a dear friend staying with me in my home noticed a copy of the book, The Shack, on the shelf in my office.  He paused in the middle of our conversation and asked if I had read the book.  I acknowledged that I have read and liked the book and asked him if he had read it.  With a dismissive tone in his voice he informed me that he didn’t need to read it to know it was bad, because “it portrays God as a black woman.”   I asked him what he thought God did look like, there was a long pause, some stumbling attempts to begin, then, and this is why he is a dear friend, a smile and a humble acknowledgement that whatever the picture of God in his mind it was no closer to reality than William Young’s picture in The Shack.

The truth is that what we think God looks like probably says more about us and what we look like or at.  We are masters of creating God in our own image, it is no wonder that the decalogue begins with having no other god in His place and moves quickly to our not making any graven images…gods of our own perception.  The scary thing is that we begin by creating our own images of God to worship and then are shaped by the images we worship.  We become like what we worship the psalmist says in Psalm 115:8. 

God, in the scriptures, is likened to many things, the wind, a tower, a rock, a father, a shepherd, a lamb, a lion, in order to give us an idea of His character, His love, His desire, and His affection for us.  So why would we be offended by the image of a black woman?

Does the picture of a woman offend?  Does not the creation account tell us that women are created in His image in the same way that the man is created in His image? “God created male and female in His image,” the narrative says.  I am coming off an unpleasant battle with a stomach virus, one of those nasty things that has you going at both ends and makes you ache and feel rotten all over.  Because she did not want to share in my “joy” my wife did not want to get near me.  I will tell you that in my distress, I longed for her touch.  There is nothing to me like my wife’s touch; her arm around my neck or shoulder, her hand on my arm, her fingers touching my face, her hand holding mine, or her lips on mine.  Her touch tells me that all is well, it soothes, it says “You are loved,” it reaches deep to heal or draw near and say that all is well in ways I cannot explain.  Touch like this can only have its origin in One like that.  The touch of a woman is but one little example of the image of God displayed in one who bears His image, I could write all day about the nurture, sacrifice, provision, and so on that are feminine pictures of God.  Are these not instructive and helpful pictures of One who is beyond our comprehension, though not by His grace, beyond our experience?  If I am offended by God pictured as a woman, what does that say about my understanding of God?  What does it say about my understanding of women?  What does it say about me?  

Does the picture of God as black offend?  If we begin by looking at Jesus we at least know he wasn’t white.  When Jesus decided to become man he had to pick a color.  He had to come as something, but color did not define Him, color only defines us.  Do not our perceptions about the relative value of color once again say more about us than about God?

C.S. Lewis in probably his most beloved work, portrays God as a lion, Aslan.  No one seems to be offended that Lewis would portray God as an animal. Really, we are more offended by a human image of God than a feline one?  I am a history buff, and have been fascinated lately with World War Two, the personalities, the politics, and the war itself.  I am horrified and shamed by the depth of depravity revealed in the stories in all the theaters of the war by participants on every side.  It is burdensome to me as I read my Bible, watch the news each day, and examine my own heart and behavior, to see that mankind through history is not a very pretty picture.  It puts a whole new light on what Paul says in Philippians 2:6-7, “…who though He was in the form of God (Not just the image of God, but God.)…emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in likeness of men.”  Given our history and the likeness of what we have become, I wonder, did Jesus not for a moment at least pause and think…should I go as a man or a lion?  Which conjures up more an image of nobility in your mind…a man or a lion?  Jesus took it a step further and came not just as a man, but as a servant.  Is servant the first thing that comes to my mind when I think, “God”?  What does that say about me?

How is God described by those who have seen Him?  Ezekiel attempts to describe what he saw with images of a human likeness with a waist of gleaming metal, fire and brightness everywhere, then ends with, “the appearance of the bow that is in the cloud on the day of rain”?  Clear enough?  John in Revelation 1, describes the One he sees as a son of man with a long robe and a gold sash, white hair like wool, eyes like flames of fire, feet like burnished bronze, a voice like roaring waters, a two-edged sword coming out of his mouth and his face shining like the sun at full strength.  Try to draw that.  Moses begged God to show him his glory and God’s response was to cover him with His had as He passed and to give Moses a view of His back.  I wonder what that looked like?  The quandary for each of these men is the same…how do you describe glory?  The posture for each when they saw Glory was also the same…they fell on their faces in fear.  What is my response to Glory when I see it, am I surprised by its diversity, its awe, its power, its brightness, its otherness?  Am I overwhelmed with humility, gratefulness, and awe?  Am I on my knees in wonder or do I stand with my finger raised, my head cocked to one side and say, “I don’t think You look like that.”  What does actually bring me to my knees?  What does that say about me?

When Moses cowered in the cleft of the rock, God graciously covered him with His hand.  When John, overcome with His glory fell “as though dead,” God reached out and touched him with his right hand.  Does it then seem strange at all that my wife’s gentle touch, a woman’s hand, would give me inklings of God’s touch and be the treasure to me that it is?  If not, what would that say about me?

The words of an old hymn come to mind…”Amazing love, how can it be, that thou my God would die for me.”  A God who was willing not just to confine Himself to the image of a servant man, but to die as a despised one in order that, as Paul says in Romans 8, my marred self might be conformed again to the image of His Son. Conformed to the image of His Son, what does that say about me?

Do you recognize the voice?

What would God say to an ordinary looking guy like this?  It might surprise you.  What happens when one listens to a Psalm rather than saying it?  I tried it this morning...it's like a glass of icy cool water on a parched day.  Find a quiet place, sit down, get comfortable, relax, imagine your face in the picture above and your name below where it says, "Jim", and listen.  Do you recognize the voice...it is pretty sweet, isn't it?

Psalm 139** 

Jim, I have searched you and known you!

I know when you sit down and when you get up;

I discern your thoughts from afar.

I search out your path and your lying down

and am acquainted with all your ways.

Even before a word is on your tongue,

guess what, Jim, I know it better than you do.

I hem you in, behind and in front,

and lay my hand upon you.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for you;

it is  so high; you cannot possibly attain it.

Where will you go from my Spirit?

Or where will you flee from my presence?

  If you ascend to heaven, I am there!

 If you make your bed in hell, I am there!

 If you take the wings of the morning

and dive into the deepest parts of the sea,

even there my hand will lead you,

and my right hand will hold you.

 If you say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me

and the light about me be night,”

I will say, “even the darkness is not dark to me;

the night is bright as the day,

for darkness is as light with me.”

 For I formed your inward parts;

I knitted you together in your mother's womb.

You can praise me, Jim, because you are fearfully and wonderfully made!

My works are wonderful; your soul knows it very well.

 Your frame was not hidden from me,

when you were being made in secret,

intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

My eyes saw your unformed substance;

in my book was written every detail of it,

I listed the days that were formed for you,

when they did not yet even exist.

How precious to you are my thoughts, Jim!

How vast is the sum of them!

If you would count them, they are more than the sand.

You awake, and you  are still with me.

 Oh, I will slay the wicked, Jim!

O men of blood, depart from, Jim!

Those men speak against me with malicious intent;

my enemies take my name in vain.

 Do you align yourself against those who hate me, Jim?

And do you oppose those who rise up against me?

 You wholeheartedly choose me over them;

You count them your enemies.

 I will search you, Jim, and know you heart!

I will try you and know your thoughts!

And I will see if there is any grievous way in you,

and I will lead you in the way everlasting!

**This is the unauthorized peasant James version.

Inconsolable Things

Inconsolable Things

Do Tears Count as Prayers?

I have watched this video http://www.nbcnews.com/nightly-news/disturbing-images-come-out-syria-n31861 shown on NBC News a week or so ago, at least 25-30 times.  Each time I have watched it I have cried...no, not cried, wept.  The incredible sadness of this moment captured on Youtube and the wailing cry of the little boy have kept me awake at night.  The horror, helplessness, cruelty, sadness, loss, and grief of the moment have left me emotionally undone.

I think this is an example of what Zack Eswine, in his book, Sensing Jesus, describes as an "inconsolable thing."  "'Inconsolable things' are sins and miseries that will not be eradicated until heaven comes home, the things that only Jesus, and no one of us, can overcome." Inconsolable things expose my desire to be omniscient, (To understand why.) like God,  and to be omnipotent, (Able to fix things.) like God.  But, inconsolable things can only be dealt with by waiting, by prayer, by trust...not my strong suits I am afraid.  Chris Wright in The God I Don't Understand, notes that it is good and right for us to lament these inconsolable things.  The Psalms teach us to lament not with "why" so much as to ask" how long?"  How long must I long for Jesus to come?  The lamenting cries of "How Long?" bring healing, humility, and comfort in a way that an insistence on understanding why can never bring.  I don't understand that...How ironic is that statement?

I'd like to do something dramatic and  significant, to end the kind of suffering depicted above, but it is the inconsolable things that remind me of my impotence and sharpen the desperate longing for His return.  I will tell you, I have prayed for this little guy almost without ceasing since I first saw the video.  I weep for Him, I plead God's mercy, comfort and revelation of Himself to him and his bereaved family...I must believe that this is no little thing, not because of my "great" prayers, they are mostly tears actually, but because of the One to whom I pray.

Yes, I know, in fact I have already told myself the stock answers for the suffering we see and experience. The answers may even be true, but, the answers don't help the pain I feel or ease the desperate longing.  They do however force me to wait, to pray, and to trust...all of these make space for Presence, for the drawing near of the One who does know why, where, and even when.

In a strange way, I am more afraid of no longer hearing the wail of the little guy on the curb, than I am of feeling broken in my tears as I wait with desperate longing...

Lord have mercy! Christ have mercy!