Monday, November 22, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
God With Us
Matthew 1:22-23
All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel” (which means “God with us”).
God with us. Divinity coexisting with humanity. Unfathomable.
God. The perfect, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent Creator of all things deigned to walk with and in His own creation. For what purpose? Ebenezer Scrooge asked that very question of the Ghost of Christmas Past. The answer Scrooge received is God’s answer to us: “Your welfare...Your reclamation, then. Take heed!”
Take heed, then. If God came to His creation as part of that creation, our need for reclamation must be great. No human can dwell in the presence of His holiness because in our own stubborn willfulness we choose our own way. Even when we recognize our need for redemption (as Scrooge finally did) we are incapable of our own salvation. Only Jesus, the perfect and pure Lamb of God, Immanuel, can redeem us. Only by trusting in His salvation can we rest in the hope of one day being ourselves with God.
God with us. And one day, we with God.
Dickens, Charles, A Christmas Carol, 1843
All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel” (which means “God with us”).
God with us. Divinity coexisting with humanity. Unfathomable.
God. The perfect, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent Creator of all things deigned to walk with and in His own creation. For what purpose? Ebenezer Scrooge asked that very question of the Ghost of Christmas Past. The answer Scrooge received is God’s answer to us: “Your welfare...Your reclamation, then. Take heed!”
Take heed, then. If God came to His creation as part of that creation, our need for reclamation must be great. No human can dwell in the presence of His holiness because in our own stubborn willfulness we choose our own way. Even when we recognize our need for redemption (as Scrooge finally did) we are incapable of our own salvation. Only Jesus, the perfect and pure Lamb of God, Immanuel, can redeem us. Only by trusting in His salvation can we rest in the hope of one day being ourselves with God.
God with us. And one day, we with God.
Dickens, Charles, A Christmas Carol, 1843
Monday, November 15, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Knowing as He is Known
One of my first students at Independent Studies was a senior named John Evans. I was told that he had a rare form of incurable cancer and had already outlived his prognosis. At the time, John's primary interests were outdoor, hunting, fishing, hiking--anything but reading Shakespeare and Dickens. He loved the wilds of Montana and fly fishing in frigid water. Camouflage was his favorite color, and his truck his prize possession. Pain was his constant companion, and he eventually became addicted to the narcotics designed to ease his agony as tumors surrounded his spine.
After graduation (and earning his Eagle Scout rank), John went to rehab to kick the addiction. About that same time, John got serious about his faith. Really serious. Profoundly serious.
For the next two years, John studied his Bible with the same passion he once took hunting and fishing. He started seminary courses, and spoke to everyone he could about the purpose of praise and of life as a believer in Jesus. His pain didn't lessen; it intensified. His bones became brittle, and he withered away as flesh dissolved.
As his body broke down, John's spirit grew. He became a mighty warrior in prayer and praise. Early morning musings led him closer to God, and he tottered between earth and heaven. He told his parents that his greatest longing was to wash up on the shores of heaven, unrecognizable to even the angels, but known to Jesus still.
In daily life, John saw angels as easily as humans, and grew frustrated that no one else did. He led worship services from his bed, and remarked, "Church is not about where we meet or who plays the instrument or who speaks- it is about meeting God in His holy place."
One of his Facebook statuses in early November was, "Rounding third, focused on home." He told his family to be prepared. And he praised God.
This morning, John knelt to pray, as was his habit. He called for his mother and told her, "I get to go." The phrase that usually means a trip or vacation or event, John called up to announce his time in this world would end. Within just a couple of hours, with his family with him, John went to be with Jesus.
1 Corinthians 13:12 says, "For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." Today, John moved from the shadowy realm of this mirrored world to full understanding and true living.
For several days I have had an old song by Billy Sprague running in and out of my conscious mind. The chorus says,
Tender hearts,
Bow your heads for those who weep
But be glad for the one who sleeps
In the Lord.
He's been rescued from the deep
Like Ishmael upon the sea....
Only "Time's brief masquerade
Stands between the living
And the ones who wait...at Heaven's gate.
John is no longer torn between two worlds, but he has joined that great cloud of witnessess of Hebrews 12. His life is part of the great hall of faith, and his joy is complete.
Well done, my friend. Well Done.
For the One Who Sleeps, Words and Music by Billy Luz Sprague from the recording Torn Between Two Worlds, 1989
After graduation (and earning his Eagle Scout rank), John went to rehab to kick the addiction. About that same time, John got serious about his faith. Really serious. Profoundly serious.
For the next two years, John studied his Bible with the same passion he once took hunting and fishing. He started seminary courses, and spoke to everyone he could about the purpose of praise and of life as a believer in Jesus. His pain didn't lessen; it intensified. His bones became brittle, and he withered away as flesh dissolved.
As his body broke down, John's spirit grew. He became a mighty warrior in prayer and praise. Early morning musings led him closer to God, and he tottered between earth and heaven. He told his parents that his greatest longing was to wash up on the shores of heaven, unrecognizable to even the angels, but known to Jesus still.
In daily life, John saw angels as easily as humans, and grew frustrated that no one else did. He led worship services from his bed, and remarked, "Church is not about where we meet or who plays the instrument or who speaks- it is about meeting God in His holy place."
One of his Facebook statuses in early November was, "Rounding third, focused on home." He told his family to be prepared. And he praised God.
This morning, John knelt to pray, as was his habit. He called for his mother and told her, "I get to go." The phrase that usually means a trip or vacation or event, John called up to announce his time in this world would end. Within just a couple of hours, with his family with him, John went to be with Jesus.
1 Corinthians 13:12 says, "For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." Today, John moved from the shadowy realm of this mirrored world to full understanding and true living.
For several days I have had an old song by Billy Sprague running in and out of my conscious mind. The chorus says,
Tender hearts,
Bow your heads for those who weep
But be glad for the one who sleeps
In the Lord.
He's been rescued from the deep
Like Ishmael upon the sea....
Only "Time's brief masquerade
Stands between the living
And the ones who wait...at Heaven's gate.
John is no longer torn between two worlds, but he has joined that great cloud of witnessess of Hebrews 12. His life is part of the great hall of faith, and his joy is complete.
Well done, my friend. Well Done.
For the One Who Sleeps, Words and Music by Billy Luz Sprague from the recording Torn Between Two Worlds, 1989
Monday, November 08, 2010
Sunday, November 07, 2010
World Run Day
Could not have asked for better weather today. 58 degrees, sunny, beautiful. Perfect day to run 8 miles (or run/walk) along the Chattahoochie River with a friend in honor of World Run Day.
Could have used a better camera, but this little one was easier to carry! Friday, October 29, 2010
Rounding third...focused on Home
Grief is a strange and horrible thing. To watch someone you love suffer well makes it worse. A young man I know is dying of cancer. He was diagnosed as a boy, and has grown into a man with an uncertain future. Yet, now, as the pain becomes unbearable and the cancer takes over his body, he remains fixated on Heaven and on praising God in ALL things.
His sister knows that his time on this earth grows shorter with every moment. She wonders every time she speaks with him if it will be the last time. She hates to leave the house for fear he will be gone when she returns. Yet, she is confused why God allows him to continue suffering. Why, if he has finished his earthly work, is he allowed to linger in unspeakable pain?
His mother has watched his progress from diagnosis through treatments to testimony and now to dying. Her faith is evident, and she chooses praise and trust in God's perfect will, but at the same time her heart is shredded by the suffering of her son. She knows intellectually that God loves him even more than she can. She understands that God knows the pain of watching a child suffer unto death. She recognizes that God loves each of us more than we can imagine. But she is a human mother who wants to make the path smooth for her child, and she is helpless to ease his physical pain.
How does one justify the love of God with the seemingly unnecessary suffering of a believer and his family?
C.S. Lewis learned about suffering and grief and pain watching his beloved wife die of bone cancer. He wrote of that misery,
Lewis never lost his faith in a loving God, but he, in all his intellectual genius, couldn't answer the "why" question either. He compared grief to fear, and scorned those who tried to put a "religious" face on suffering. There really is nothing worse than the mindless cliches' about a "better place" or a "reason for everything." They may be accurate cliches' but they don't ease the heartache of the sufferer--or those who suffer around and with him.
I don't understand the mind of God--how could I? I can't make sense of this kind of suffering, either--for the young man physically and for his family emotionally. I can't see the good God promises to work out for those who love Him, as this family truly does. All I can do is be inspired and motivated by their stubborn praise, knowing that God is sovereign and that HE knows the reasons.
His sister knows that his time on this earth grows shorter with every moment. She wonders every time she speaks with him if it will be the last time. She hates to leave the house for fear he will be gone when she returns. Yet, she is confused why God allows him to continue suffering. Why, if he has finished his earthly work, is he allowed to linger in unspeakable pain?
His mother has watched his progress from diagnosis through treatments to testimony and now to dying. Her faith is evident, and she chooses praise and trust in God's perfect will, but at the same time her heart is shredded by the suffering of her son. She knows intellectually that God loves him even more than she can. She understands that God knows the pain of watching a child suffer unto death. She recognizes that God loves each of us more than we can imagine. But she is a human mother who wants to make the path smooth for her child, and she is helpless to ease his physical pain.
How does one justify the love of God with the seemingly unnecessary suffering of a believer and his family?
C.S. Lewis learned about suffering and grief and pain watching his beloved wife die of bone cancer. He wrote of that misery,
"Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery's shadow or reflection: the fact that you don't merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief." (Lewis, A Grief Observed)
Lewis never lost his faith in a loving God, but he, in all his intellectual genius, couldn't answer the "why" question either. He compared grief to fear, and scorned those who tried to put a "religious" face on suffering. There really is nothing worse than the mindless cliches' about a "better place" or a "reason for everything." They may be accurate cliches' but they don't ease the heartache of the sufferer--or those who suffer around and with him.
I don't understand the mind of God--how could I? I can't make sense of this kind of suffering, either--for the young man physically and for his family emotionally. I can't see the good God promises to work out for those who love Him, as this family truly does. All I can do is be inspired and motivated by their stubborn praise, knowing that God is sovereign and that HE knows the reasons.
"Where, except in the present, can the Eternal be met?"
(Lewis, Christian Reflections)
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Coffee
I am teaching a creative writing class, so I decided to participate in this assignment with them. The assignment is to write for ten minutes about coffee. Go.
My tongue recoils at the earthiness of the brew, but my nose is so enraptured by the fragrance that I cannot put down the cup. It smells of mysterious mountains in far away lands, shrouded in fingerling mists of grey. It invokes a vision of rich red earth and low green foilage, heavy with deep red berries.
The first taste is always a surprise of heat and bitterness, but the resulting vision takes me back to Kishwa Tembo and the Mount Kenya Safari Club, where two college girls saw first hand the land of coffee and elephants. Funny how those are the two strongest memories I have of that adventure. Coffee, poured strong and fresh, and elephants,, who seemed to be in hiding until one day when we could hardly escape them.
The second swallow is less sentimental. The brew is now tempered and the flavor turns from bitter to bold. The boldness touches my mind and tells it to wake up and get moving, for the challenges of the day require undivided attention. It is the second swallow that cues my mental list-maker to sort and filter all the information stacked in my brain from the night hours.
By the third gulp, my attention moves to the list, anad less to the coffee. By the time the cup is 3/4 empty, I forget the mountains and the mist and lock into the mundane. The second cup is pure habit, with no romance about it.
Funny how quickly the mind moves from majesty to mundane. There must be a way to capture the magic of those first moments and use that energy to make even the dullest task seem special.
My list beckons...I'll have to consider that thought with tomorrow's first cup.
My tongue recoils at the earthiness of the brew, but my nose is so enraptured by the fragrance that I cannot put down the cup. It smells of mysterious mountains in far away lands, shrouded in fingerling mists of grey. It invokes a vision of rich red earth and low green foilage, heavy with deep red berries.
The first taste is always a surprise of heat and bitterness, but the resulting vision takes me back to Kishwa Tembo and the Mount Kenya Safari Club, where two college girls saw first hand the land of coffee and elephants. Funny how those are the two strongest memories I have of that adventure. Coffee, poured strong and fresh, and elephants,, who seemed to be in hiding until one day when we could hardly escape them.
The second swallow is less sentimental. The brew is now tempered and the flavor turns from bitter to bold. The boldness touches my mind and tells it to wake up and get moving, for the challenges of the day require undivided attention. It is the second swallow that cues my mental list-maker to sort and filter all the information stacked in my brain from the night hours.
By the third gulp, my attention moves to the list, anad less to the coffee. By the time the cup is 3/4 empty, I forget the mountains and the mist and lock into the mundane. The second cup is pure habit, with no romance about it.
Funny how quickly the mind moves from majesty to mundane. There must be a way to capture the magic of those first moments and use that energy to make even the dullest task seem special.
My list beckons...I'll have to consider that thought with tomorrow's first cup.
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