Silence of THE Lamb

 All of us, like sheep, have strayed away.
      We have left God’s paths to follow our own.
   Yet the Lord laid on him
      the sins of us all.

 He was oppressed and treated harshly,
      yet he never said a word.
   He was led like a lamb to the slaughter.
      And as a sheep is silent before the shearers,
      he did not open his mouth.  Isaiah 53:6-7 (NLT)

It is the silence involved with the whole thing I find most unsettling...

When he was accused by the chief priests and the elders, he gave no answer. When Pilate asked him, "Don't you hear the testimony they are bringing against you?" Jesus didn’t reply, even to a single charge.  Even when he faced Herod, the guy that murdered his cousin…Jesus said nothing. 

Silence in trial, long silences on the cross.  Silent in defiance of noise and words, silent and vulnerable, defiantly silent refusing to justify, refusing to explain, just bearing witness in silence, raising questions but offering no answers.

There’s an old hymn that says He could have called 10, 000 angels…silence.

You know those times when you’ve wronged someone, and instead of yelling at you…they just look at you?  That is a truly deafening silence.  When I read the story of the passion tonight, that’s what happened.  I sat here and noticed, nay – heard the silence of the Christ. What didn't he say?  Words of pain or fear?  Disgust?  I want to open my Bible and read that Jesus said…what?  SOMETHING!  God once said that his spirit would not always strive with man...Yell at me!  Tell me the wicked man I am!  But no.  I am left to pronounce that judgment on myself.  Left to meditate, or wrestle...squirm?  

Yes, yes, words will come. Some from the Cross - 'Forgive' and after more silence - words from the Tomb - 'He has Risen' - but not yet, please not yet... This is the first time I have observed Lent and already it has been a long season…but hold it still...keep the words at bay...let the silence be heavy with anticipation, painful, just a bit longer...so that when words are spoken they come finally with the power of a whisper to deafen, and ring like an incredible announcement of good news. 

It's Not (all) About Me

When Pharaoh’s horses, chariots, and charioteers rushed into the sea, the Lord brought the water crashing down on them. But the people of Israel had walked through the middle of the sea on dry ground!

Then Miriam the prophet, Aaron’s sister, took a tambourine and led all the women as they played their tambourines and danced.  And Miriam sang this song:

   “Sing to the Lord,
      for he has triumphed gloriously;
   he has hurled both horse and rider
      into the sea.”   Exodus 15:19-21 (NLT)

In this passage Miriam sings praises to God for delivering the people of Israel from the pursuing Egyptians at the Red Sea.  The song cheers the sight of Pharaoh’s army being hurled into the sea, drowned in the Red Sea, overwhelmed by the fathomless deep, sunk like stones, swallowed up, and all because of God’s love.  Most sermons I’ve heard about this passage depict this event as a celebration of deliverance from evil, metaphorically represented by Pharaoh’s army, and it doesn't trouble them.  

So this is what’s happening right now – I am a selfish person.  Now, before you start to judge too harshly – so are you.  I mean really…we all have a tendency to be selfish.  But, at least for this post, I’m talking about me (ugh!  Once again being selfish!).  Unfortunately though, it’s true.  I look out for people, I try to be a good guy, help others when I can, but really I’m quite self-centered.  This blog is about my journey into faith, it’s an honest attempt to be…well – honest.  I am exploring faith, theology, church, Jesus, God, Jesus as God and so on.  But I begin to think these exercises, these contemplations are all well-and-good, but it’s not all about me. 

It’s tough to think about sometimes.  Those really true honest looks.  It’s a difficult thing to look at one’s life and see how my own sin has affected others, and it’s usually not in a positive way.  I was reading Miriam’s Song this evening and I thought the same things I’ve always heard in the sermons:  Isn’t the love of God a beautiful thing!  And it is  - I most assuredly don’t dispute that.  But I also thought, that maybe Miriam and Moses and the Children of Israel might have done well if, in the midst of their celebration, they had thought, even if for just a moment, that it wasn’t all about them.

How many “innocent” men died in the Red Sea that day?  How many soldiers were merely doing as they were told…as is a soldier’s wont.  How much pain, agony, suffering…because of God’s love?  No, not entirely.  This tragedy happened because Israel had been taken into slavery – because of their sin!  So maybe on the eastern side of the Red Sea there should have been some introspection mingled in with the celebration. 

The Gospel was not all about them, God delivered for Israel, but others suffered because of them.  In the same way, because of my sin, God delivered and Jesus suffered on the cross, and my fellow man has often suffered because of me.  Sometimes I get so focused on my relationship with God, so focused on what God has done for us and the Body of Christ, that I forget that Christ died because of sin...my sin.  I see preachers on TV who talk about the love of God and how God wants his children to prosper, have joyful, fulfilling lives. But I often forget that He died for ALL.  That God does not rejoice in the suffering of any of his children.  
I once read a rabbinic story told in some Passover Haggadahs.  An angel standing next to God urges him to celebrate the great victory of deliverance as the sea washes over the army.  God hushes him saying: “Be quiet, my children are dying.”  

Répondez s'il vous plaît

Jesus entered Jericho and made his way through the town. There was a man there named Zacchaeus. He was the chief tax collector in the region, and he had become very rich.  He tried to get a look at Jesus, but he was too short to see over the crowd. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore-fig tree beside the road, for Jesus was going to pass that way.  When Jesus came by, he looked up at Zacchaeus and called him by name.  “Zacchaeus!” he said. “Quick, come down! I must be a guest in your home today.”  Zacchaeus quickly climbed down and took Jesus to his house in great excitement and joy.  But the people were displeased. “He has gone to be the guest of a notorious sinner,” they grumbled.  Meanwhile, Zacchaeus stood before the Lord and said, “I will give half my wealth to the poor, Lord, and if I have cheated people on their taxes, I will give them back four times as much!”  Jesus responded, “Salvation has come to this home today, for this man has shown himself to be a true son of Abraham.  For the Son of Man came to seek and save those who are lost.”  Luke 19:1-10  (NLT)

How lucky am I!  I’m rich!  No, I haven’t won the lottery, and with the exception of a portion of the Super Bowl pool, I haven’t come into any extra money as of late.  No, the fact is this – 53%, that’s 53 out of every 100 people on the face of the earth…53% earn and live on $2.00 a day.  You read it right…two dollars.  Per day.  I am a rich man.  As far as material things go, I want for nothing.  Maybe that's why I so often find it easy to live without God.  I'm not relying on him for the very basics of life.  But, every now-and-then, a rich person responds.

Just a couple chapters earlier in the book of Luke, Jesus despaired over how hard it is for the wealthy to enter the kingdom of heaven.  But in chapter 19 we read about a rich man who did!  I’ve heard dozens of sermons on this passage over my lifetime, but today it struck me at a more oblique angle. 

What caught my eye was this:  Jesus noticed this man in the tree, invited himself to dinner, and “Zacchaeus quickly climbed down and took Jesus to his house in great excitement and joy.”   The money was an afterthought.  Zacchaeus’ stuff, those things of his life came after.  Jesus wanted to have dinner with him, and he got excited about it!  Money be damned – what mattered was spending face time with the Messiah!  That’s so cool!  Zacchaeus got it.  He understood what was really important, in spite of the relative ease with which he lived his life.  

In Revelation 3:20 Jesus says, “Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends.”  Jesus wants to have dinner with this rich man!  Over the last few months and especially in the last several weeks, I have heard this rapping at my door.  In the beginning it seemed a little tapping, I wasn’t even sure I heard it; I had to keep peeping through the peephole.  Then it grew ‘til it has become this pounding!  I know we always picture Jesus as this kind and considerate guy, as he politely knocks on the door of our hearts.  (Gotta love the metaphors).  But I don’t feel like He’s being particularly meek or gentle in this case at all.  It seems as though he’s pounding with both fists, kicking at the bottom of the door, rattling the handle and yelling!  How cool is that!  Dinner with the Messiah!  Maybe hope for a rich man!  But I fear…

How far does it go?  How far do I go?  Rich young ruler?  Zacchaeus?  I know opening that door is gonna cost me, one way or another.  But I get excited at the thought of being able to say – “whatever, I want to sup with the King.”    

Help My Unbelief

And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.  Mark 9:24


I missed church today.  I hate missing church, but sometimes it can't be helped.  I missed church today because of my Uncle Harold (insists on Chinese restaurants), but as luck would have it, same Uncle Harold had sent me a recording of a sermon he had preached some time ago.  So my sermon part of Sunday was in some way fulfilled, and it's kinda funny - the sermon was timely, although I must say, I found it moving, and in some ways infuriating.  But then, that's the problem isn't it...

Here's the deal:  Today is Valentine's Day, so I spent a little time thinking about love today.  I thought about familial love, romantic love, the love of my friends and the love of God.  To be sure God's love kinda outweighs all the other loves for many and various reasons.  I guess in this forum we can simply stipulate that.  Love is nice isn't it?  I mean, even an old ogre like me gets a little love.  BUT...(you had to know that was coming)

When I saw my daughter the other day, I couldn't help but wonder...where is the love of God in this?  Ashley's one of those people who love God.  She was not one to sit around wondering about His existence, there was never that whining about what is real, what is truth - none of that.  But yet...there she is struggling with the simplest thought.  And you know what sucks?  I do.

If you look back in this blog, even just a few weeks ago, you'll see that I prayed (along with hundreds of others) that Ashley would live.  I wrote about how science and medicine were at an end, and only God remained.  And God delivered.  Ashley is alive, her body strengthens by the day, and hope remains for her mind.  But what is my first inclination?  To question God.

I still don't totally buy into that whole 'God is in control' and 'all things work together for good...' stuff, but for crying out loud!  I was shown a glimpse of faith.  I was given an opportunity to sense even a mere essence of the Christ; then the first thing I do, when I see the suffering of one so dear to me - I wonder where is God's love.  And this is not new to me.  I thought the same thing when I saw that guy sleeping on the bench down at the Corning Preserve again just last week.  I see struggling and hurt and sorrow and my first inclination is to blame God.  Can you imagine the nerve of me, to blame God?

But I do like what Uncle Harold had to say in his sermon.  After some pretty good exegesis, Harold closed his sermon with, to me, a very profound and honest statement...we may not know why bad things happen to good people, whatever the reason it's okay, it'll all make sense over there..."

To be honest, the "why" of suffering has never troubled me all that much.  The fact of suffering wounds me to the core.   Whatever the reason for Ashley's suffering, whatever the reason for the suffering of that guy at the Corning Preserve, whatever the reason for the suffering of countless millions around the world, my prayer right now is two-fold:

"Lord, may Harold be right, over there may it all be okay and in the meantime...please help my unbelief."

Attendance

Then the devil left him, and angels came and attended him.  Matthew 4:11 (NLT)

You wouldn’t believe what I just saw.  I was taking that shortcut that you showed me the other day.  It was weird man.  At first I thought I was seeing things, but I swear it was real.

Yeah, you’re right, I’ll sit over here in the shade.  No, no…it’s definitely not the heat!  Just give me a drink and shut up and I’ll tell ya.

Okay, okay, let me see.  So I left the house a couple hours ago.  I found the spot where you showed me the shortcut so I headed out, I figured I could remember the way.  So just as I was walking between those two trees, this guy came brushing by me.  I mean, he had what…15 feet that he could have gone around me but he bumped into me like he didn’t even see me.  It pissed me off a little so I grabbed his shirt.  Dude, when he spun around…when he spun around…gimme a second.  When he looked at me this chill went up my spine.  I don’t know why!  I don’t know.  I mean this guy was furious!  Man, he looked at me like he just wanted to tear me to pieces!  I know!  I don’t know…it sure wasn’t anything I did!  Anyway…no!  I’ve never seen him before and I don’t want to see him again.  Hell no!  I think I’d just cross the road or something.

Listen, listen…that guy isn’t even what this is about.  Well, give me a second.  Can I have another drink?  Whew, thanks.  Okay, so I’m walking along just thinking about work tonight and what might be for dinner, and about ten minutes later I see this guy laying there.  I don’t know!  I was about 30 feet away.  What was he wearing??  Just let me tell the story will ya!  So I see this guy.  I could tell he was alive because he was moving you know.  No, not a lot, but enough that I could tell he wasn’t dead or anything.  Look, do you want me to tell the story or not?  Then stop asking questions.  Yeah maybe some bread.  You got any meat?  Cool.

So I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into, but after that guy I saw a few minutes before and now this…I figured maybe I oughtta check this guy out.  So I go up to him and what a mess!  No there wasn’t any blood, but this guy looked like five miles of bad road.  He was sunburned so bad he had blisters all over his face and hands.  His lips were cracked, yeah I guess there was some dried blood around his mouth.  He was shaking and looked like he was wasting away to nothing.  Yeah, you know what I mean…his eyes were all sunken in and his face had that look like he had too much skin. 

Oh man!  And did he stink!  No tellin when the last time he took a bath or shaved.  I don’t know.  He didn’t seem drunk.  As a matter-of-fact, when I asked him if he was okay…I know, I know, but what else was I supposed to say?  Well, if you ever come across someone like that – you say that.  Anyway, so I asked him and in this dry, raspy voice he says that I should probably just keep moving.  I tell him that I could help him, but he just shook his head, I think he said something about tired, or tried or something.  I had to put my ear next to his mouth to hear him, but all he kept saying was “go”, “hurry”.

I don’t know!  I don’t know!  So now I’m totally creeped out right?  So I think well okay.  Dude’s gonna die out here like this, but he doesn’t want my help.  Then I think of that guy that I passed and think maybe, if he did this to this guy, maybe he’s comin’ back to finish the job.  I know!  I don’t want no trouble.  I mean, I feel bad about this guy and all, I don’t really wanna leave him, but dude, by now I’m freakin’ out!  So I figure I can send some help once I get here.  So I start heading out.  Yeah I know.  But I didn’t know what else to do.  Yeah I know where he is.  No no no.  Just wait.  I haven’t even told you the creepy part yet.

I swear!  Yes I’m telling you the truth!  I couldn’t make this up!  Okay, if you’re not gonna believe me…okay then.  So I just decided to be on my way and send help when I hear this noise.  I don’t know.  I don’t know!  I never heard a sound like this before.  Look.  I start to walk away, I hear this noise and I turn and look.  Dude.  There were these three guys sitting around this guy.  Wuddaya mean?  I’m tellin’ you!  Three.  One was sitting there and had that guy's head resting in his lap and he was wiping his face with a wet cloth.  C’mon!  Why would I make this up?  Three.  Yes, a noise and they’re there.  So one of the…I don’t know, well dressed.  Okay – very well dressed.  So one of the other guys is putting some kind of cream or medicine or something on the guy’s hands and feet, and kind of gently massaging him. 

No!  That’s just it – where we were there was no way they could have just walked up on us.  I didn’t particularly look, but I didn’t notice any, just mine coming along that shortcut.  I know!  I’m tellin’ ya’ – I’m starting to shake again just thinking about it.  So the third guy seems like he’s putting together some food.  I don’t know, I didn’t look that closely, it was food.  No, not a meal, maybe some fruit and bread, I don’t know.  Anyway he’s cutting up the food into small pieces and all three of them are praying.  Yes praying.  I don’t know, they didn’t sound local.  He seemed to.  They’d say something and he would nod and whisper something back, so I guess so. 

Here’s the weird part though.  The guy on the ground?  Well, these three guys are fixing him all up and stuff…this guy on the ground…and…I don’t know, I don’t know.  This guy on the ground looked like he was about dead, these guys come out of nowhere, and get this – they had wings or something.  Okay, okay okay.  I know it sounds crazy, but when they moved…I don’t know, they had wings or something.  They really didn’t walk and they weren’t really flying…I don’t know, but this much I do know…when the one cutting up the food walked or flew or floated or whatever he did, when he went to give it to the guy on the ground – he didn’t leave any footprints!  What?  What do you think I did?  I ran man!  I know.  I know.  It’s crazy I know.  But you shoulda seen the dude on the ground.  Man, he looked bad.  

Full of Dead Men's Bones

“Thou blind Pharisee, cleanse first that which is within the cup and platter, that the outside of them may be clean also.  Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones, and of all uncleanness…”  Matthew 23:26-28 (KJV).

Do you ever walk around with that empty feeling?  I do.  Sometimes it’s because I’m hungry…need a pizza.  Sometimes it’s because work has drained me, or I haven’t slept enough.  The last few days it’s because I’ve had that sense of being hounded.  No blood hounds, no posse.  My boss isn’t on my back, and the tax man remains at bay.  No…this time it’s different.  Scripture is bugging me.  You know how you come across something and it just sticks with you?  Wake up – it’s there.  Go to work – it’s there.  No matter what you’re doing or where you go – there it is.

Ultimately it’s a good thing, but when you’re in the midst of this kind of thing it’s rather troublesome.  Maybe I’m just one of those over-sensitive guys.  I think too much, feel too much, worry too much.  Well, for the last several days…

Here’s the problem:  I struggle sometimes with knowledge of things about Christ and knowing Jesus.  I know a bit about religion and the Bible.  I have studied philosophy, theology and even learned a little bit about house repair.  But, of late, and certainly after reading this verse the other day, I just feel like one of those big concrete sepulchers you see in pictures of a creepy looking cemetery in New Orleans.  Full of dead men’s bones.  It’s an empty feeling.

I have ventured into a life of faith (more like stuck my toe into the ocean), and it’s knocked me for a loop.  I am quickly coming to realize that I know about Jesus but I really don’t know Him.  I want to know Jesus.  I have no desire for that Joel Osteen, kind of Christianity.  I don’t want to sing hymns and spiritual songs…expressing my desire to know some sanitized, shallow, Sunday morning glad-handing Jesus.  At the same time I have absolutely no desire for a spiritual maturity measured by the number of consecutive Sundays of church attendance I can tick off the calendar, or the number of fellow-Christians I can alienate simply because they don’t match up to my understanding of theology.  I simply want to work out my own salvation, to know what it means to know Jesus. 

I want to be more than a white sepulcher, no more dead men’s bones.

Wishing I Could Just Stay Right Here

Six days later Jesus took Peter, James, and John, and led them up a high mountain to be alone. As the men watched, Jesus’ appearance was transformed, and his clothes became dazzling white, far whiter than any earthly bleach could ever make them. Then Elijah and Moses appeared and began talking with Jesus.

Peter exclaimed, “Rabbi, it’s wonderful for us to be here! Let’s make three shelters as memorials—one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He said this because he didn’t really know what else to say, for they were all terrified.

Then a cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my dearly loved Son. Listen to him.” Suddenly, when they looked around, Moses and Elijah were gone, and they saw only Jesus with them.  Mark 9:2-8 (NLT)

I’ve had a couple conversations lately about the Transfiguration.  In a passage like this there are probably hundreds of lessons, sermons…theologies.  But reading this passage again tonight, I kinda get what Peter might have been saying.  One way of reading Peter’s reaction is to see him scared and just blurting out the first thing that came to mind.  It’s almost comical to think of it (if it weren’t such a serious and treasured moment I suppose).  I mean really!  At least he didn’t say some of the things I probably would have – Oh &%#$! 

But I think I can relate to Peter in another way here.  Peter was really the first of the disciples to truly understand that Jesus was the long-waited-for Messiah.  Yeah, he was a hot-head and always getting scolded by Jesus, but He was starting to get it.  But in the back of his mind must always have been Jesus’ veiled references to His coming death.

Then, here they were on a mountain and they see these incredible things.  All the old stuff, the Law, history, Peter’s life as a fisherman, struggling to barely provide for his family, his waiting and searching for the Messiah as he had been taught in synagogue – all of this comes to an end at this moment.  Maybe he really wanted to build tabernacles right then and there as a marker, a monument if you will, to all that went before and to remember this most precious of moments.  The future was unknown, even scary.  Maybe he just wanted to stay in the world of the transfiguration instead of going back to a world of pain, sickness and death.

I think I feel a bit of the same thing.  My own transfiguration has been a precious moment.  A part of me just wants to sit here and savor the feeling of genuine closeness to Jesus.  To move forward is scary…will I always feel this way?  Will Jesus always seem so near?  Oh, I know I can’t stay here, but there’s a part of me that, like Peter, James and John, just wants to stay right here where I can “see” what I believe.  

Jesus Sighed

When the Pharisees heard that Jesus had arrived, they came and started to argue with him. Testing him, they demanded that he show them a miraculous sign from heaven to prove his authority.  When he heard this, he sighed deeply in his spirit and said, “Why do these people keep demanding a miraculous sign? I tell you the truth, I will not give this generation any such sign.”  Mark 8:11, 12 (NLT)

Now, I’m not a big one for miracles.  In my mind the vast majority of things that people today ascribe to miracles are merely and easily explained through coincidence and/or science.  Sorry, but there it is.  That’s not to say that I don’t think that Jesus performed miracles…I believe he did.  I just think that we bandy about the word miracle so often – but it just ain’t so.

But. That’s right, there’s a “but” here.  I do believe that miracles happen.  Oh we can wax romantic and get all poetic about how just the fact that we’re breathing is a miracle.  Okay, stipulated.  I’m talking about those extraordinary, unexpected-against nature type of miracles.  They happen…just not as often as we’d like to think.

But number two, and here’s the funny part – this post really isn’t about miracles.  It’s about sighing.  I remember when I was a kid we’d take a long drink of Pepsi and when we were done we’d let out this long, satisfied sigh.  I’ve heard people sigh at a puppy, a sunset or kind words spoken.  And I’ve heard people sigh in exasperation.

By the time the Pharisees came to see Jesus and bug him about doing a miracle, Jesus had already (just in the book of Mark):  cleansed a leper, healed the centurion’s servant, Peter’s mother-in-law, a paralytic, a hemorrhagic woman, a man’s withered hand, and a deaf mute.  He had raised a ruler’s daughter from the dead, sent a hundred or so demons into a herd of pigs, walked on water and calmed a storm.  On one occasion he fed about 5,000 people with some bread and a couple of fish; then did the same for 4,000 more people. 

So here in Mark chapter 8, the Pharisees approach Jesus and try to goad Him into performing a miracle to prove He was who He said He was.  You can almost sense the sarcasm, judgement and intimidation.  Then Jesus sighed.

When I read this I thought…oh the nerve of these guys!  Treating the Christ like He was some kind of phony; demanding parlor tricks!  Ahh, but then my finger (figuratively mind you) turned back to me.  How many times in my life have I called Christ a phony?  For how many years did I look at Jesus and say that yeah, he was a good guy, an interesting historical figure…but God?  Ehh – I don’t think so. 

And I wonder how often I still do that.  When I pray empty prayers.  When I think flippantly about faith.  I’m not looking at myself with loathing eyes here.  I am simply wondering how many times I have made Christ sigh.  

The Dead Tell No Tales

C.S. Lewis once wrote: "Where is God? Go to him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double-bolting on the inside. After that, silence."

Last Sunday before church, I was watching one of those magazine shows; they had this guy on that was talking about some of the more soulful or spiritual singers in the past few decades. He spoke of the stylings of people like Tracy Chapman and Sarah McLaughlin and how they seem to put their souls into their songs. Then he made a statement that went something like, “They sing to find spiritual meaning in a world in which God is silent.”

That struck me. I started thinking about the fact that for thousands of years God spoke with His creation in many ways. Walking in the garden, burning bushes, thunder in the sky, even angels. Then Jesus comes, lives among us and is eventually crucified, buried, resurrected and ascending into heaven. Before He leaves, Jesus promises to send the Holy Spirit. He doesn’t leave an intact instruction manual, and since that time God hasn’t been heard from. No more voices in the sky, or from burning bushes, prophets – nothing. Right?

My question is WHY? What’s happened, if anything, that’s caused God to become silent in the everyday lives of His allegedly most prized creation? The answer I have always been taught since childhood is that God is still active in creation; He communicates with us now via the Bible and the Holy Spirit. Of course that answer alone is rife with holes and questions. What of Oral Roberts saying that he saw a 600 foot Jesus who gave him specific instructions about something like building his college? Jim Jones? And the list goes on ad infinitum. Who is to say what is of God and what isn’t?

Then there’s the Bible. So many questions, so many pat answers. I believe the Bible to be authoritative; I believe it to be reliable – but… The problem arises that the “Bible” we hold in our hands today is a collection of works authorized by a board appointed by Constantine. Was something left out? Is there too much in there? If God wanted to communicate with us through such a document, then why didn’t He leave one for us, all neat and tidy? Again, this particular subject is one worth delving into at some length – but another time.

Maybe the problem isn’t the mode of communication. Perhaps it’s the receiver.

Frederich Nietzsche said that God is dead. Could that be why we haven’t heard from Him? I include a quote here at a bit of length, but I think it may help to understand what we are facing. This quote is from, “The Gay Science” or, Happy Wisdom.

“Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the market-place, and cried incessantly: "I am looking for God! I am looking for God!" As many of those who did not believe in God were standing together there, he excited considerable laughter. Have you lost him, then? said one. Did he lose his way like a child? said another. Or is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Has he gone on a voyage? or emigrated? Thus they shouted and laughed. The madman sprang into their midst and pierced them with his glances. "Where has God gone?" he cried. "I shall tell you. We have killed him - you and I. We are his murderers…. Do we not hear anything yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we not smell anything yet of God's decomposition? Gods too decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we, murderers of all murderers, console ourselves? That which was the holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet possessed has bled to death under our knives. Who will wipe this blood off us? …

… It has been further related that on that same day the madman entered divers churches and there sang a requiem. Led out and quietened, he is said to have retorted each time: "what are these churches now if they are not the tombs and sepulchres of God?"

What Nietzsche is concerned with in relating the above is that God is dead in the hearts of modern men - killed by rationalism and science. This same God however, before becoming dead in men's hearts and minds, had communicated with man for thousands of years.

When I think of God being silent, I am reminded of Elijah and his flight from Jezebel. Elijah was a man of God who God used to do some mighty things. However, when word reached him that Jezebel had threatened his life, he ran. Elijah prayed to the Lord and in effect complained about how he was being treated. "And he said, I have been very jealous for the LORD God of hosts: for the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down thine altars, and slain thy prophets with the sword; and I, even I only, am left; and they seek my life, to take it away" (1 Kings 19:10). God's answer to Elijah is thrilling. "And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the LORD. And, behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the LORD; but the LORD was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the LORD was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice" (1 Kings 19:11-12).

What Elijah thought was not true. Elijah thought God was silent and that he was the only one left. God was not only "not silent" but He had an army waiting in the wings so that Elijah was not alone.

I hate to think that those “not in tune” with God are left out, but I suppose in order to hear God, we at the very least have to be listening for Him. If, as Nietzsche has proposed, God is dead in our hearts, then we cannot expect to hear Him – the dead tell no tales. 

Fullers' Soap

But who may abide the day of his coming? and who shall stand when he appeareth? for he is like a refiner's fire, and like fullers' soap: Malachi 3:2 (KJV)

Sometimes Christianity isn’t fun. Not that it’s not good, it’s just that sometimes it isn’t fun. Now is one of those times.

Over the past couple weeks I’ve had a taste of what faith really is, just a taste.  That was good. It was an experience more precious than words could begin to describe. But it came with after-effects.

Of late I have come face-to-face with who I really am. Some of it isn’t very good. Okay, a lot of it isn’t very good. I won’t go into the boring, self-loathing details here…it’s bad enough that God knows what those pieces are. But I have found myself looking at my life through that sickening glass darkly and seeing things that just don’t belong.

Then on Sunday my pastor spoke about joy. That’s it! That’s what I’ve been missing! Overall I’m a pretty happy fella, but there hasn’t been much joy, especially as of late. I lie awake in bed and think of things in my life that just don’t work with a life of faith. And it’s weird – I’ve always been a bit introspective, but this time it’s different. It’s not intentional…the thoughts just come.

Then I read the first couple verses of Malachi chapter 3 and that part about fullers’ soap got me. Now, what exactly is "fuller's soap"? We don't use such a thing today, so the phrase is rather arcane, and to understand what it means we have to go back to one of God's favorite topics: sheep.

When you shear a sheep, you get fleece -- raw wool. And as you can imagine, it smells and feels like a sheep does -- which, overall, is not how you want to look and smell (no offense to sheep). So to use the raw wool for anything, the fuller would handle the wool.

The fuller is the guy who takes the filthy, dirty wool and washes it so that it gets really white and clean. He uses boiling-hot water, and soap which is extremely caustic. So what he does to the wool is not pleasant for him very much, but it is in fact much worse for the wool.  Often the wool would be beaten with rocks to really get the nasty smell, dirt, piece of farm debris, and non-wool stuff out of the fleece prior to spinning it into thread -- and then often it was done again to the thread when it was woven into fabric to make the cloth as tight and clean and presentable as possible.

So when God says that the Messiah is coming with "fuller's soap", He's not saying, "Jesus will make you wash your hands." he's saying, "you are disgusting and useless unless you are cleaned up by the Messiah."

It’s almost as though I am being scrubbed by this really, really strong cleanser…trying to agitate the dirt in me to what? …Repentance?  In my "prior Christian life", I thought I knew what things I needed to repent of.  They were the obvious things...pride, greed, etc.  But this time it's different.  Like Dante - midway in my life's journey, I had gone astray from the straight road and woke to find myself in a dark wood.  This time it's personal, real personal.  I find myself, maybe for the first time ever, looking at who I really truly am and there's a bunch I don't like.  Which, I suppose, means there's that bunch and maybe even more that God doesn't like.

But there is hope for Paul tells us "...anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun!  And all of this is a gift from God, who brought us back to himself through Christ. And God has given us this task of reconciling people to him."  2 Corinthians 5:17-18 (NLT)

Maybe that’s what repentance is: Christ and the Holy Spirit beginning the mysterious cleansing process by agitating those bits of soil deep down in the fabric of my life. That soil exposed and left for me to decide…

Bring Me To Life

I will not judge those who hear me but don’t obey me, for I have come to save the world and not to judge it.  John 12:47 (NLT)

The Gospel of John is killin’ me!  It seems like every single phrase in this book either invokes deep theological thoughts, personal spiritual insights, or just some very interesting thoughts.  So, how can you read a verse like this and not cavitate into a tailspin of all of the above?  Salvation alone is a topic that has filled thousands of volumes, caused divisions in denominations, even spurred new religions.  The very idea of what salvation is and means causes anxiety, yet soothes the soul.  It causes debate and unifies unlikely allies.

As it stands, right now I am stuck in a hotel room, have just read this passage, ruminated and feel compelled to write something.  I get to thinking about what salvation meant to me as a child…Christ saving me from hell.  I get to thinking about the idea of being saved to something.  What?  Heaven?  I suppose.  But I just don’t feel like salvation just for the sake of eternity really gets the job done for me, it seems there has to be more…something about salvation in this life.

I think of my own hours of sheer desperation in my lifetime, and how many times I screamed inside for salvation.  I think of people I see everyday who yearn for salvation.  Salvation from wrecked lives, broken bodies, spoiled marriages, famine and hunger, earthquakes, homelessness, and the list goes on until there are no more pixels.  Sometimes I almost (not literally – fret not) hear those primal screams and feel the yearnings for salvation in all the suffering I see.  In Ashley’s broken body, in the deseration of the homeless guy sleeping on a bench at the Corning Preserve and every night on the seven o’clock news.

One of those creepy moments happened this evening after reading verse 47.  Sitting thinking about what Christ did to effect salvation, the radio playing in the background, Bring Me to Life by Evanescence came on.  So there I am…thinking about what salvation means and I hear these words being sung: 

Man!  I dunno!  Maybe salvation is so many different things.  Perhaps, because of who I am, that inner personal scream in my very core for more to life, that yearning for life to have more meaning requires salvation.  For Ashley, for a moment – a very real, very serious physical salvation.  For thousands of people in Haiti, right this very moment, salvation may be a bottle of water and a plastic-sealed meal. 

Maybe it is also salvation from hell to heaven.  But along the way…

We Want to Meet Jesus

Some Greeks who had come to Jerusalem for the Passover celebration paid a visit to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee. They said, “Sir, we want to meet Jesus.”   John 12:20-21 (NLT)

We want to meet Jesus.  I was reading this passage this evening and when I read these words I stopped. I’m not really sure why.  There was something about that thought that made me, well – stop and think. 

This past couple of weeks have been hell for me (not to mention what it’s been like for Ashley, Jon, and so on…).  We have been on an emotional roller coaster and a spiritual journey that is unparalleled in my life.  I have groaned on about how tired I am.  I have related how this experience has exposed me to the base reality of faith.

Now, with the stress suddenly reduced (for me), no family around (I am currently working in the nether-regions of Upstate New York) and sitting in a hotel room, I am lonely.  Then I read those words…”we want to meet Jesus”.  I want to meet Jesus.  I think.  What would that be like?

What if I walked over to that little diner across the street from this hotel, and as I walked toward the back, in a booth – sat Jesus?  There he’d be, wearing his striped button up shirt, boot cut jeans, Sketchers and goatee.  In reality I would probably fall down in worship, after all – isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?  But maybe it wouldn’t be like that at all.  Maybe he’d invite me to sit down across from him.  He’d order me a Diet Pepsi, some meatloaf and fries.  Knowing the Jesus of the Bible, he would probably reach across the table, put his hand on mine and look at me with the same sympathetic, soulful eyes that I imagine he looked at Lazarus’ family before he wept.

Maybe he’d just remind me that he’s always right here with me just like he promised the disciples as he ate his final meal.  Or perhaps he would pray with me, and remind the Father that he had not lost one of his own.  I can imagine the flow of the conversation, from things personal to spiritual.  We’d laugh, cry, I don’t think I’d have the temerity to debate.  I’d probably have a gazillion questions, but I bet he’d continue to bring the conversation back to how much he loves me.

Every now and again I’d get to feeling guilty because I certainly have never loved Jesus nearly as much as he loves me – but he’d probably say something like…”Aww, that’s okay, don’t worry about it.” 

Eventually the time would come when Jesus would have to leave.  The waitress would come over and I’d pull out my wallet and he would stay my hand.  In a soft voice he would say something to the waitress, she’d tell me not to worry about it – it was taken care of, then she’d walk away…her step a little surer…her shoulders a little less stooped.

Jesus and I would stand and hug, he’d say that he loves me more than I’ll ever know and that he’d see me later.  Then he’d walk away.  Back in my hotel room I would sleep the best night’s sleep I have ever had.  I will be rested.

Tired

Do you not know? Have you not heard?
         The Everlasting God, the LORD, the Creator of the ends of the earth
         Does not become weary or tired
         His understanding is inscrutable.
    He gives strength to the weary,
         And to him who lacks might He increases power.
    Though youths grow weary and tired,
         And vigorous young men stumble badly,
    Yet those who wait for the LORD
         Will gain new strength;
         They will mount up with wings like eagles,
         They will run and not get tired,
         They will walk and not become weary.  Isaiah 40:28-31

I am tired.

I pretty much exist on nervous energy.  Normally, from the time I am done with my morning shower and getting dressed (before that I don’t count as actually being awake) ‘til the time I turn off my light (usually 18 to 20 hours later), I go.   I work, talk, work, read, talk, read yada yada yada.  I do this day in and day out – then I crash.  But now…I am tired.

Ashley lies in a coma.  The fear of her imminent death has somewhat subsided, but there she lies.  I cannot count how many times I have heard that God has allowed this to happen.  How many times I have been told that this is all a part of God’s greater plan.  And I want to believe this.  I want to believe that this is all a part of God’s benevolent design.  I’ve been told ever since  I was a child that God has a plan, and that we may not always understand it, and really – we’re not supposed to ask why.

Well, to be quite frank, I’m not interested in ‘why’.  It doesn’t matter to me – why.  I already know the ‘how’.  So I don’t know what other questions to ask.  I sincerely do NOT believe this has anything to do with testing my faith, or that it was a part of God’s plan to help me grow in faith.  In fact, I don’t think this was about me at all.  I believe Ashley was in an accident and as a result her life is shattered.  I am on the periphery. 

But as John Donne said, “No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;” therefore I too am effected.  I don’t believe God did this to Ashley.  I don’t believe God did this to try or build my faith, but now…I have nothing left.  You see up ‘til now I prayed that God would deliver Ashley but trusted that science would do the job.  Maybe I trusted too much in science because science has grown tired.  So now…

So now I have nothing left to turn to but God.  There is nothing more that science can do.  Perhaps my philosophical, theological whinings about faith have been exposed as the frauds that they were…simply the snivelings of a man who wished to belong to God through some esoteric desire.  Now – I lay prostrate and wrecked and experience what it truly means to desire faith.  I have no other choice.

I am tired.  And now we wait.  We wait for Ashley to wake up.  And if the Bible is true, and God does not become weary and tired, then I must, I have to, wait for the Lord. So this is what faith is.  For me, right now, faith is realizing that science cannot help my little girl.  I cannot help my little girl.  Faith – right now – is “Lord I am waiting on you, please help my little girl.”

How then shall we live?

You, son of man (human one), I have made a watchman for the house of Israel, writes the prophet Ezekiel.  Whenever you hear a word from my mouth you shall give them warning.  You have said, “our transgressions and our sins are upon us, and we waste away because of them, how then shall we live?”   Ezekiel 33

The people’s lament comes after the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 B.C. Ezekiel has been appointed a watchman, a prophet among exiles in Babylonia. His personal sorrow included the death of his wife, the “delight of his eyes.”  When the temple was destroyed, and Jerusalem brought to rubble, the foundation of the faith of Israel was dealt a death-blow.

I realize that to some of you reading this, this is going to be a bit of a shock, but my daughter is not feeling well.  No.  Ashley has been in a horrible accident and is not well.  I'm sitting in her room right now seeing the delight of my eyes clinging to the thinnest filament of life.  If that filament were visible it would be as one of those spider webs that you walk through when passing through the garden gate.  You know, the kind you feel on your face and wipe quickly cause there might be a spider there.  It was so thin - you didn't even see it.  That's what I feel like Ash is clinging to as I sit here and watch the numbers bounce around, and listen to the long slow hiss of the ventilator as it delivers another breath.  I won't go into the gory details here, but Ashley has been destroyed.

How then shall Ashley live?  I don't know.  I know machines are doing most of the physical living for her.  And, right now, that is how Ashley will live.  When she is better...how shall she then live?  Again, I don't know.  I imagine that she will live a life so incredibly deeply rooted in her faith and really true, genuine love of God - just as she always has.

How shall I then live?  I don't know.  I know this though - my own spider-web-like faith remains.  Not because it's an unshakeable faith, - just the opposite.  My faith remains because it is so thin and fragile and surface deep that I have had to lean on others.  The faith of others, Uncle Harold, Mom, Pastor Abby, T, my brother, my sister, and on-and-on!  My faith has been thus far sustained because I cling to the faith of those who truly have faith.  I dunno.  Maybe that's really what faith is.  Maybe it's a huge part of faith, that when we don't have much of it, or don't know how to have it, those around us help bolster our little smidgen of faith.

The whole thing reminds me of Aaron and Hur holding up Moses' arms so that Israel might defeat Amelek (sorry, I can't think of where that story is in the Bible, but I promise - it's there!).

So I will sit here with Ashley and rest my arms on those of you who hold me up by praying earnestly for Ashley.  And one more thing - if you don't mind - please pray that Ashley will live!  Not that "Lord's will" stuff.  I'm being selfish here but please - just ask God to let her live!

The Problem of Evil: or - Holy Crap!

I suppose it comes as no surprise to those who read this blog that I am not only attempting to work out my faith, but I am also reexamining my views of theology.  In the past my metanarrative has been almost completely shaped by my childhood teachings.  I'm not saying that I am summarily casting off everything I have ever known (insert here my little play on Descartes: cogito cogito ergo cogito sum - LOL).  Rather I am systematically (I know, I know - to some of you out there that is such a dirty word) considering my beliefs and how much of those beliefs are based on American theology vs a more global theology.  That being said...

I am not yet sure what to think of the problem of evil, and quite frankly I am not prepared to get into it in any depth at this time.  I am beginning simply with the premise that if there is good there must also be evil, and that got me to thinking about a movie I saw this fall. The other day Paranormal Activity came out on DVD and of course I had to watch it again. This is one of the best films I've seen lately. Its cinema verite style makes is both believable and extremely personal. The characters are natural, funny and identifiable. If anything, they are too human in that they make all of the mistakes young people make in not reaching out for help. The guy has a macho attitude about the nature of evil, and thinks crosses are silly symbols. If you haven't seen the film, I won't spoil it, but it's like a ghost story on film. If you don't pray now, you may after watching it. (Cue scary music.) It will haunt you for life!

And so now, in my sleepless hours, I consider evil…