EmotiCON [100wordwednesday]

"I am not my feelings."

I stumbled upon this comment as a young man and took it to be true. Of course as the philosophy manual has it, a feeling is incorrigible knowledge. If someone says, “I feel bad” we don't say, "No you don't!"

Yet, if feelings comprise our character and decisions, we are done. Discouragement, pain, anger, even laziness or apathy are very real, and very seductive. They describe, but we dare not let them prescribe. They will lead us astray. Faith is the answer: daring to believe that right choices lead to better outcomes, regardless of feelings.

Hurry! Only Ten Minutes!

It's funny to think on the merit of pushing words into time. Free writing, to my mind, is writing without thinking much, what is often called stream-of-consciousness or some such. And it seems to have value in helping to get words on page. It is a trick of writers I guess, often used in writing classes. In this case I thought I'd press such a thing into 10 minutes.

But today I am slowing down a bit. As mused before, what might happen if I took my time, wrote as the words came, but gave them time to develop? A good friend prefers to write exactly what he wants to say so he doesn't have to revisit. He has been quite successful so who am I to question? Another man I knew said the best writing is re-writing. You get nothing worth reading if you do not edit it well.

On this point I have thought for awhile that if I am to produce better value it will need help from a skilled editor. Just a second set of eyes is very valuable.

Two years ago I had the privilege of being in a reading group for an excellent writer, Nancy Pearcey. It was a real joy and I learned a great deal. Nancy has co-written the major title How Now Shall We Live and has written several other books of note. She is a gifted teacher. I was surprised to learn she had several reading groups, perhaps 8-10 and they were selected for variety so she had input from all kinds of people. I am sure it added profound value to the book.

In addition to her long years of experience, her education and gifts, her diligent work and all of these reading groups, she still relied heavily on editors and it was over a year from final submission to publishing date.

So the point I guess is that writing of great value requires extensive and strategic process. And input of others' skill and perspective is essential. This is a good lesson for me in life, and in writing!

Which Identity Matters Most? [A Monday Meander]

The discussion of values from Ivy League Seminar to Western Kansas Diner, Bristol Bay fishery to Cajun Church, San Diego to Philly is filled with hubris and bewilderment -- and some wisdom -- as vast as our geography. At bottom of it all is the most fundamental question: What is the greatest good?

The answers to this question take multiple forms and are expressed in action. Our hearts long for the good, for very goodness itself. And if you doubt that, wonder a bit about what it is you wish from everyone else. When a friend or stranger mistreats us, indignation betrays our innate awareness: “There is Good, and this is not it!”

And all through time we've tried to conceive of Goodness in transcendent and personal terms, and therein we have what is called theology: the search to see and know and describe for others what really matters most. Chesterton put it like this: “The human calling is to discover Reality and when we have found it, to share it with our friends.”

This lands us, again, trying to make sense of all we are debating, and a major piece of that is what we call DEI. This is the great push for Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion on college campus, in corporate conglomerates, in legislative bodies – everywhere! It is a sort of incarnation of the greatest good. 

And there are myriad factors in such a discussion. Is it not good to care for people regardless of their differences from you? Isn't everyone a person, after all; and do not people have value in and of themselves regardless of various markers embedded in our life together? Doesn't this mean that we should be large of soul and spirit and do all we can to appreciate and enable diversity, equity, and inclusion?

The geography of this question is shaped by its parts, and the most fundamental part – you could even say the landscape itself -- is the human person: what does it mean to be a human person? We all have answers to this, most of which we know in our bones, and most of which have a great deal in common. As I wondered about the pieces of a DEI discussion between Christopher Rufo and Yascha Mounk I came to two questions:

• Values and way of life are inseparable. But how do we determine which values and way of life get to rule the day?
• Secondly, since identity is at the center, what identity matters most, is most defining? The hierarchy question arises and we might even ask, "To which identity do we bow?"

This last question will not leave my mind and it takes us, as do all questions of ultimate value, to fundamentals. Everyone is a fundamentalist, just as everyone who wants to build a good house is a foundationalist. And to the extent those fundamentals comport with reality, we will have a good life. The difficulty is recognizing them, living accordingly, allowing that we are all wrong in some respects, and we have to learn to live together all the same. Because that is also one of the fundamentals.

But the identity question remains a major issue of our time. How does one fundamentally define themselves? By race, gender, ethnicity, religion? By job, hobby, ideology, political party? What identity marker matters most? The sociologists and activists work hard on this and the results of academia on the question are a self-perpetuating (and bewildering) sea of ideas and ideology.

Not being an academic or an activists I stumbled into a question: "What if our most fundamental identity is our family identity?"

Immediately we face that great problem of ours and any time, the desperate need for solid and happy families as the core of society. But whether one's family is a picture from Currier and Ives or is broken without shape, the identity is still this: we are daughters or sons. And in time we become, in metaphor if not reality, fathers and mothers within and throughout the human family. Such a proposal suggests a core identity that shapes everything else. And when we say family is the fundamental, we say life is good, is to be loved and cherished, and is to be prolonged.

What's so wrong about that? I wish to live that way, though faultily for that also goes with being human. But if I am first a son, my identity is tied in to the greatest fundamental -- the union of male and female and the ensuing life it gives -- and all else is defined therefrom.

Such is the nature of my wondering on this happy Monday morning. Perhaps it may help a son or daughter somewhere who, like everyone, needs a foundation.

A Saturday Verse

Wrung

Writing, wringing, wrung;
Singing, swinging, swung;
The mix of words and varied vowels
Can leave the soul undone.

Stately, stable, stunned;
Canny, comely, cunned;
Contriving words from meaning known
Can peaceful thought expunge.

So what are we to do?
Imagining we know?
Is thinking long and peering deep
A worthwhile practice – No?

Or is a wayward verse,
That makes the writer wince,
A reasoned effort, soulish breath,
That helps the inner sense?

It is, we dare to know –
and hear the Master say,
The answers sought for word by word
Are found on that Great Day!

Presuming On Loved Ones: Missing What Matters Most

Stay put long enough. Die to the next thing, the must, the urgent, the insatiable distraction-thirst.

There is no good reason for assuming, presuming, often ignoring those closest to us. Oh there are explanations, and we understand and forgive and bear with. But the reasons are not really good ones.

“Too busy.” Really?
“I'm with her all the time, or at least I live in the same house. That goes a long way.” It does?
“He understands and he's busy, too, and so this is just the way it is.” Happy with that one?

Busyness feeds on itself, addicts itself, sickens healthy thought. Busyness is necessary, or so we think. What if we avoided it in every possible way? What if we embraced the oft-heard dictum: “Ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life.”

With what do we replace this busyness, the drug of self-importance?

Presence. Faith. Quiet.

Dare to believe being is enough and learn to “turn off the comfort of noise” in it's myriad manifestations.

Be with, enjoy the person as the miracle she is, listen to what he thinks and speaks and stay put long enough to really learn from it.

Stay put long enough. Die to the next thing, the must, the urgent, the insatiable distraction-thirst.

Begin with God. He is enough. This is no religious notion or guilt-baiting as such. Just reality.

Begin with God. He is enough to capture the soul for eternity and we scarcely give Him the time of day. Begin with Him and you will begin to know what is. The dullness will begin to lift.

Begin with God and soon you will discover others – dis-cover. They have been covered to you because you have accepted all kinds of stultifying diversions as if they were reality. As being present before God begins to burn away the fog you will begin to awake.

“Who is this person, really?” you may hear yourself ask. This is halleluiah.

It is wrong for us to presume on our loved ones, and making excuse only entrenches the wrong. Leave off excuse and explanation. Practice gratitude for what is, prayers for making real what can be.

Presence. As we know Him we find we know what matters and begin to lean into it. And that makes all the difference: in our soul, in our everyday life, and, happily, with those we so dearly love but too-easily take for granted.

Loving and Doing the Good

"It is better to do a thing because God said to do it 
than because you think it is a good idea."

I've been told the above line is in the Talmud, the central work of and for Judaism, a commentary on the Jewish Bible, i.e., the Christian Old Testament. It came to mind this evening as a friend spoke of verbatim compliance. He had worked high security military projects and verbatim compliance was required. If following the book was impossible for any reason, rather than proceed according to what "made sense," the workman had to contact a supervisor to resolve the problem.

Verbatim compliance: doing exactly as the book says to do because the book says to do it. This, says the Talmud, is how we are to obey God.

This brings to mind the matter of faith seeking understanding. That is, we want to know the reasons for our faith and by direct implication, the reasons God says to do thus and so. Even then, however, it matters not why he said it and furthermore it is very likely we often will not know much of the reason. So we are safest to simply do it "because God said so."

Does it matter to know the "why" of a thing. Yes, but with God we must always obey verbatim whether we understand or not. Hesitation can be deadly and questioning Almighty God, while allowed, is not the wisest strategy.

Conclusion? We do it because God said it, not because it sounds like a good idea.

This implicates another classical discussion: Euthyphro's Dilemma. C. S. Lewis phrases the dilemma clearly: Are these things right because God commands them or does God command them because they are right?

The first option means good is by fiat, "because God says so." The second means the good is something outside of God to which He is accountable. As Lewis says, both options are intolerable. Rather, goodness is found in the very being of God and is the primary expression of His existence.

Where does this leave us?

If we know God clearly prescribes a course of action, we ignore it to our peril. Immediate, cheerful obedience is the rule. Understanding is beside the point. Verbatim compliance.

But how do we know? Scripture lights the way; and in the Person of Christ we see endless guidance. But faith is required as well, for our eyes are dimmed by frailty and failings. This means we often wonder, our faith seeks understanding, and we must trust God in the dark.

But where God clearly speaks we are safest and most faithful children when we do as he says without needing to know the reason.

One final caveat. Perhaps everyone who has sincerely tried to follow God has stepped into a ditch while thinking they were following God. I know of people who plotted to murder an abortion doctor, believing they did God's bidding. On much lesser matters I often grappled mightily with mind and heart to avoid doing what seemed right while everything of good sense said otherwise.

And so, as in all things we are at the mercy of God and, thankfully, that mercy endures forever. He will see us through if we ask, believe, and walk with Him. That is enough because He is enough.

Selah, which is being interpreted in this case, "I'm done."

Fear of Rejection

 [One Hundred Word Wednesday]

What could we do if we stop worrying about what people may think; if we lay aside concern that our work be appreciated or approved? Certainly writers would write far more than they do. Is there merit in writing without care for acceptance? Is it wrong to be reticent about rejection? If fear of rejection is obvious then readers will be tentative, knowing disapproval will hurt us. So maybe we just have to do our best, put it out without caveat, and not worry about the reception: be it good or ill, nonexistent or overwhelming, or likely, somewhere in between.

10' Tuesday

This is designated by my team of editors as Ten Minute Tuesday, wherein I redeem 600 seconds with proffered thoughts extruded through key and I/0 alchemy. It is possible a team of overpaid copyright lawyers will someday chide me for failing to copyright the idea of TMT. Another team of Patent attorneys will likewise remind me of the abject oversight which cost me millions of brand income.

I've decided to take my chances for now.

TMT is forthefunofit, an attempt to force free-writing into 10 minutes and see what may come of it. As I have less than five minutes remaining I'll see what can be said worth a reader's time.

There is good in this world. I have the idea that proposition is not held by all. That said, I do not believe a good life is possible if one truly denies the idea. All I've done there is give a tautology. Deny the good, don't achieve it.

No, I'm wrong. We are able to enjoy all kinds of things we think are not true. But I need more than 10 minutes to discover if that is true or not.

This is all I have to say. We all have premises, assumptions that order our life and help us make sense of it. There is good in this world is one such premise. I believe it is Christian. Indeed I think it is at the heart of who Christ was, and in His coming He ensured the reality of that premise.

 

Meandering (Without Losing Our Wits)

As he that denies [the Trinity] may lose his soul so he that tries to understand it may lose his wits.

One's psyche gives mystery enough for himself and all who know him. How do we know ourself? 

One of the pivotal points in my life came when a beloved teacher applied classical theology to what I always took to be a sort of basic human problem which I must solve by myself limited to human resources. I always got stuck.

I spoke to my teacher about deep and difficult life-problems, most having to do with self-awareness, certainties of self-understanding that were often negative and less than, let's say, "joy-inducing." This was a habit of mind that often expressed itself in denial of what others said. I was scared to trust others -- not sure why. It seems I either fully trusted with abandon or withheld trust no matter what. There was no reasonable middle ground of receiving love, testing the bounds of friendship, withdrawing or leaning in as was called for in plain experience.

On this matter of self-awareness, intermingled with a somewhat tortured conscious, my teacher took me to the Trinity. Trinity?

"In the Trinity you have each person of the Godhead in dynamic, real interaction with the other two divine persons. Their identity is clarified, in some sense made actual, by the relationship: Father is not Father unless there is Son; Son can't be Son if there is no Father. And the Spirit does not issue forth from Father and Son without those very persons." He said it something like that. The grounding point, as I understood it, was this: we are not an entity in and of ourselves and we never really know ourselves, much less become who we are, without others.

Theologians would take issue with my best meander on matters of Trinity, but the conclusion still seems valid, and as I said, it was pivotal for me. I am not a monad. My own self-perception is not trustworthy. This is true for many reasons but especially because I am not a person in myself. Rather, I am a person issuing forth from others and so in some sense in intrinsic reciprocal relationship with them. While not as organic as that with parents, other relationships also are vital not only to my self-perception, but to the reality of who I am and who I am becoming.

I'll close with this, the final comment from my teacher, something like: "We can never know ourself by ourself. We must have others. This is more than social science or some such. It is grounded in the way we are made. Relationality is baked into all we are and it follows we need others to know who we are and even to become who we are."

Wow. I'm not even sure what to do with the end of that meander, but it helps and I think it at least strives to find the truth. So I will leave it for now.

Kneeling

Kneeling

I wonder how the modern soul makes do without kneeling. The spirit and body instruct one another. The spirit needs to bow and the body needs to be still, acknowledge obeisance, origin, greater-than. Both do the same and kneeling is the expression.

I remember seeing my father kneel. He was off work for the day, staying at home while Mom took all of us to school. We stopped at the street so I could run back in the house to get a forgotten something. Bursting through the front door I saw my Dad kneeling there at the living room chair. He was praying.

How else does one pray? Any posture will do, to be sure. The soldier, tradesman or homemaker often prays throughout their day, kneeling or not. But kneeling gives the best expression, teaches the body and soul who is Master.

Kneeling helps us remember we are lesser than, and that is the hardest lesson. Kneeling also helps us remember someday we will go lower, lie down and be done, return to our Maker.

Kneeling now helps us be ready for then.

"Up with which I shall not put"

[for fun friday]

"Up with which I shall not put" is writer's cul-de-sac,
Overthought and overwrought with which the mind to pack;
If Churchill's quip was his or not, it's lesson has been taught,
And in this matter poet's whim is plot abiding not.

Words are ordered not or with all prepositions in,
The rightful place along the way but never at the end;
But when we strain the syntax sore by unencumbered will,
We think we'll never see much worse the end of time until.

Do Christians Participate in the very Life of God?

In II Peter 1:4 we are told the promises of God are such that they enable us to be partakers of the divine nature. This seems an almost revolutionary idea. The English word “partake” means to receive something into oneself, often expressed of food: “He partook of the desserts.” The Greek here is koinonos which is to be close with, be intertwined with, often understood with the word “communion:” to be in close fellowship. Strong's says plainly: “a sharer, partner, companion.” Perhaps the most measured interpretation would be to say we participate in the divine life.

I've always read this to mean we receive God's life into our very own in a very substantive sense, and it brings the following to mind:

• We are stamped with the image of God by virtue of creation.

• Because we are created by the divine we are connected to God as creature to Creator.

• In the incarnation Christ took on flesh – he participated with us such that he became very man of very man whilst remaining very God of very God.

• Christ became like us so that we could become like him. He re-purchased humanity so that, now made alive unto God, we can become like Him.

The question is whether anything ontological happens. This tough word is too easily tossed about, misused, certainly misunderstood. The idea goes to being – “of what is this person comprised?” Can the very being of a person be transformed or do we deal with actions only? Does God fix the behavior or does He fix the heart?

Perhaps the best Christian answer is “yes:” That is, God does both. But one flows from the other. It is worth noting the ontology of the incarnation and then, in turn, suggest something like it is made possible by it. Christ became man so man could become like Christ; as he took on flesh so we take on divinity. This is “being in” Christ, “abiding in” Christ, being “found in His righteousness alone faultless to stand before the throne.” It is more than changing behavior: it is a change of the very being of a person. In Christ we go from darkness to light.

The passage in Colossians 3 speaks to this with the language of “putting on” the new man which is being “renewed in knowledge after the image of his Creator.” If this were merely clothing, analogous to change of appearance or behavior, we'd be less than partakers. But the language Paul uses elsewhere means “putting on Christ” – we participate in the very life and person of Jesus. We are partakers of the divine nature.

Perhaps this is most properly seen in the eucharist, what my tradition calls communion. We receive the very life of God and are transformed thereby. And why would we not be? The Word of infinite potency made the world, saved the world, and offers Himself into our very life such that we become children of God. Sounds ontological to me, the ultimate identity language. Who am I (the language of being just won't go away)? I am a child of God; I participate in the divine life.

And so perhaps when we ask, "Do Christians participate in the very life of God?" the answer is another question: "Did God participate in the very life of people?" To the extent he did, He makes it possible that we can, too. That is, He made it possible that we can participate in His life.

This is Mystery. This is Alleluia.

Loving What You Do (100 words)

“We love to fly and it shows.” 

Do you remember that advertising line for Delta? Over-thinking, I wondered exactly what it meant. I finally realized it meant simply, “We love what we do so well it will be obvious to you in our performance.”

Wendell Berry makes a similar point, saying it is necessary to approach all of life with affection, no doubt very close to the idea of gratitude.

“Love what you do,” “live with genuine affection for life.” Both ideas will transform you and it will be obvious to those you encounter along the way.

Words on Words [10minutetuesday]

 

This ten minute writing run is interesting and difficult, testing the question whether anything meaningful can be said in 10 minutes. Of course the layers are more. How meaningful, and why even do it – are there not enough words in the blogosphere already? Yes, good questions and goes to much on my mind of late. The late Charles Munger is supposed to have said, “Everyone has a book in them, and for most of them that's exactly where it should stay.” I wonder if that is true. It really is the question" "Why speak, why write?" 

Some great thinker, Francis Bacon I think, said something about writing helping us to be more exact in our thinking. Surely that is true. And there is the matter of reading, a fairly modern matter in terms of scale. A great many people love to read. In fact it is a kind of drug of comfort, knowledge, the love of the story. We condition ourselves to love the printed word and the way it conveys the story, and then there is a demand for more and more books and the other myriad types of publishing.

On this matter of conditioning to read, I find I can read the most average of material and stay with it for the habit and, most of the time, because I want to get to the end. Often this is not because the writing engenders thrill, but simply because I am conditioned to read. Much as if it is like a low-level drug to which I am habitually tied.

Stepping back, I wonder if writing is not the most benefit to the writer. No doubt this is an individual question. Yet, generally it may be true that the working things out, the giving expression, the attempt to create in a way that elicits interest and help for the reader....perhaps it is true all of these draw the writer in and feed his soul.

For me, I do not know why I write except for the joy of morselling ideas and trying to work with them. That's my 10! :)

On Writer's Remorse

[Monday Meander]

The following grew from a bit of correspondence with a good friend on the topic of “writer's remorse,” that perennial battle of writing: wondering, daring to find out it isn't good enough, never really knowing, writing anyway because you love it and feel pulled into it, staying with the task until you learn, for which task there seems never enough time, so you 'publish' anyway and then feel the 'ugh' in your gut! 

“If you know, you know” and my friend, who has a remarkable gift for thinking at the core level and daring to shape it into words, knows.

On Writer's Remorse (with a bit of diversion)

I pondered elsewhere whether writing about writing is task-avoidance for a writer: anything to avoid the task at hand. Maybe the trick is to let the habitual diversion – in this case musing about the task at hand – be the actual task.

With that in mind I do indeed launch into a bit of writing about writing. I read Wendell Berry this morning and as always when reading him I catch myself saying, “I could never write like this.” And it is true. Truer still, I should not try.

I mean, of course, I'm not supposed to write like that. We have our own voice. We learn from masters but we are not supposed to be them. We are to be us, we ourselves among community, offer what we have to the world as best it can be, and be glad with the outcome such as it is.

I recently thought aloud on this, telling my son, “The main reason I do not write a lot, much less put it out for others to see, is I fear it is not really good enough to be read.”

“Bonk,” intoned my son, crossing his arms in front of his face. “That is wrong-thinking!” He didn't elaborate but I think I knew his point. We have to overcome a variety of fears if we are to do what we feel we must do.

I remember on this point one of the greatest preachers of the 20^th century, John R. Church. As a young preacher, after a particularly painful effort in the pulpit, his own father urged him to consider whether he should continue. “I can't help it, Dad,” he replied. “I have to preach.” He didn't let fear of failure hold him back, and eventually he learned his craft and blessed thousands.

It's a lesson for all of us, no matter the various expressions of our calling in life. And we all have a calling, that for which we are made, the inner voice that will not let us go and would urge us to be all we are to be.

Along the journey this has meant plenty of “writer's remorse” for me. I have been prone to toss things together in a burst of inspiration and then “publish” it in some fashion, much to my regret. One time in particular I sent something to a person who barely knew me and must have surely scratched his head at my proposed ideas. In any case he never responded.

Of course, problem is, if we wait until we are sure we have everything just right we may never share it. What a vicious cycle! Share it, regret it; don't share it, regret that!

The amazingly prolific writer, Jerry Jenkins, gives a reality check to this when he reflects on his earliest writing efforts for a sports page. The editor rejected an article without ceremony and Jerry was dismayed. “What was wrong with it?” he asked. 

“Were you happy with it?” came the reply. Jerry had to admit he was not. He went back to the typewriter, produced something with which he was happy, and the editor ran it.

Friendship can help with writer's remorse struggles, it seems. We can trust friends with something less than book-ready, and in the process get practice in overcoming our reluctance of rejection. Sometimes when I've imposed some lackluster piece on a friend, the backlash of worrying what they think will just ruin my psyche. Sometimes I've taken the ultimate plunge and shared poetry, and even when clicking "send" I felt reluctance in my gut and constructed structures of self-protection. I feared they'd see all its flaws or that I'd put them in the uncomfortable spot of feeling they must respond positively when they really think it is trash.

But true friends will often listen and read and think with us, give us that vital sounding-board, forbear the nutty stuff, and dare to know there is something worthwhile. This gives me solace in the battle with writer's remorse. Friends can help us along if we let them.

And so I continue to put things out, more and more, for love and a sort of creator's helpless desire to share. It is hard to find the right balance: put things out with caveat and explanation, or wait until it is so good and right there is no need for caveat? Ugh! I recently sent a longish piece to an online paper that has published some of my musings. I knew the piece was not optimal and yet when I re-read it I thought, “I should send this in.” What to do? What to do?? 

I sent it and haven't heard back. Now what? I am letting it go. Not worth the worry. And to the point of all this, it wouldn't surprise me if they say, when they look at it, "That works just fine, we'll run it." Or not. All good. At peace. [Update: they ran it!]

And so, as is no doubt the inclination of so very many millions in this world of easy online publishing, when I write there's something within that says, “I made something. I want to share it!” And so I do (on a non-descript blog that is seldom seen). :)

And there's a topic of rumination for another day, with love to all. Thanks for coming by! 

(And, truly, I know this piece is a bit disjointed, and I'm not exactly happy with it. But I'm not gonna linger longer this time. Out it goes! What have I heard too many times to count? "Quit pointing out the flaws. If they see them, they see them. If they don't, they don't really care, so why point it out?!" Big heart smile.)

On Splitting our World

One of my Seminary teachers, Dr. Bill Ury, once told of a graduate prof who thundered about Ockham splitting the world of thought, marking a point after which the ontological framework of Aquinas gave way to an intrusion of nominalism in all things. Essentially, the world is what we say it is, not what it is. The word is the referent, not reality.

This plays out when we talk about the Eucharist -- whether in any sense at all the presence of Christ is really there, or if it is only symbol and memory. Same with baptism or marriage -- is there a reality to which the words refer or does everything devolve to the words themselves, failing to suggest there is anything real? This goes to meaning, and meaning becomes what we say it is. Today we reap the bitter fruit.

I enjoy attempts at poetry and this is my effort to give voice to the problem in verse. I share it with appreciation for my teacher who planted seeds of truth that continue to bear fruit for heart, mind, and soul.

On Splitting Our World

One wonders what thoughts are worth thinking, if asking such even makes sense; 
If words ever marry in linking, ideas with syntax and tense;

 
If sentence faux-sentient or run-on, can ever describe all the world;

Its bellows make tepid the cauldron, of mind all contentious and surl.

One wonders if words must have meaning, or if 'tis reality speaks;

In syllable tones that are seeming, to give us the power we seek;

And then one man Ockham bequested, a world that is split right in two;

Between those who know they are bested, and those who will make their words do.

I think there is One who is more than, my thoughts and my words and my kin;

Mere shadows are those that on balance, will leave my soul shattered and thin.

Yes, this the "I am" known by Moses, is more than we ever will be; 

And yet as the Manger proposes, gives more than we ever could dream.

In owning the world by His coming, He echoed Creation aloud;

Expressed most benevolent cunning, and made the Word more than a sound.

We Cannot Live without God: Camp Meeting and Connection

“Come to the fountain there's healing in Jesus” says the old church song. 
When we find Him all else begins to fall into its place. 

When we reject Him, nothing else can ever really make sense.

Life Lessons at Camp Meeting

This camp ground is similar to the one in Miltonvale, KS in my memory.

I loved camp meeting when I was young. I love it now. The human yearning to connect is inextinguishable, a driving force that will be satisfied at any cost. That's what made camp meeting so great. People. People together. People together with a common purpose. People together whose common purpose calls them to strive for God and His goodness.

This always reminds me what I learned about human nature one summer at camp. One of my best boyhood friends was a camp meeting friend, and we had a mutual friend there who was so very eager for connection he drove people away. Even then, at age 12 or so, I could feel the compassion, dismay, and pain of watching someone who tried so hard to fill the void that he alienated the ones who could fill it.

Who knows all the reasons for this? It is complicated and simple at the same time. When we deeply lack a basic human need we will do almost anything to fill the need. Bodily appetites reveal this. Deprived of something we have long since relied upon – say, sugar -- we do whatever we can to meet the need. The body will be satisfied.

And so will the soul. But modern thinking has denied the idea of soul for so long we no longer know what to do with those deep longings. So we try to deny the need or possibility of meeting it, and only compound the problem. For example, discouraged people often can't bring themselves to get outside, work on a project, or share their needs with another. Yet those things often help the problem, and avoiding them only makes it worse. The malady causes us to avoid the cure.

It is Real Everywhere and for Everyone

This came to mind as I remembered a young college student I knew. He was talented and strong, well-loved and able to love in return. Hard worker, athletic, good-looking. He had learned well how to connect but also had a tender intensity that made him deeply vulnerable. We all have that in various measure, but he was more intense than average.

Somewhere along the way that innocent intensity and love for life and family was shattered. Perhaps it was many incidents – he never could talk of it very well. For sure it grew from misunderstandings, but just as certainly it came from being ill-treated. The more tender a soul the more deeply it can be crushed. This young college student was vulnerable. And his innocence and love and care had been smashed.

Enter the normal human response of trying to learn the stiff upper lip, the determination not to be crushed, the “I'll show you!” He began to withdraw and be fearful of love.

As I awoke in the night this was on my mind. We do not really know what to do when our deepest needs go unmet. We need other people, yet we drive them away. What's more, as important as they are, others cannot meet those deepest needs. They are merely a help to it. In some ways they help us go deeper by revealing, in their inadequacy, that there must be something – some One – we cannot live without.

Francis Thompson

This shattering truth is revealed in the poem Hound of Heaven. The author, Francis Thompson, was addicted to opium, a desperate situation in the London streets of the late 1800's. He could not get free and his famous poem pictures the pursuit of God. Thompson sought solace, connection, reality in everything, and found, in turn, that it all left him empty. Opium was simply another way of seeking the ultimate, leaving him more desperate still. And in it all he was rejecting that which he most deeply needed. 

In fact it is not a matter of degree – most versus sort of. There is nothing that can replace God. Everything else is a dim facsimile that, like fax paper, crumples in our hands, cheap and disgusting, leaving us more needy still.

My young camp meeting friend sought God in the wrong places, and with great intensity. His desire drove him to bitter disappointment while pursuing the most beautiful good. 

The young college student was in the same boat. All the substitutes – anger, relationships, long hours of satisfying work, felt good but left him empty. He needed something more but he kept driving It away. In pursuit of reality he looked everywhere where it is not, placing expectations that could never be met. Those who loved him “gave him room” and felt the pain without knowing what to do.

This is the human problem and we all are mired in it. That which we need most we refuse to believe will really satisfy. We deny the desire and we deny the answer, and we are left with ourselves in our messes, scoffing at the possible answers not least for the humility required to live into them.

Thompson finally found the answer was God, the living One who sought him without stopping, the Connection at the center of his deepest longing which he feared and loathed with intensity equal to the need. This One never quit pursuing and Francis never quit running until all options were tried and found wanting. He eventually died in his addiction, for he had trained his body well. But when he had been delivered for a time it was through the faint and dim reflection of God given by the editor and his wife who took him in and cared for him. This showed the reality of the living God, one who is connected in His very being and made us to be so as well. When they connected with Francis and he with them that love of God pursuing him had, in some sense, found him and he it. And it began to meet that insatiable longing of his soul.

God is the Only Answer

Man cannot live without God. Augustine put it, “He has made us for himself and we cannot rest until we rest in Him.” For my camp meeting friend, the young man I've worked with from time to time, my wife and friends and loved ones, for me -- we cannot live without God. The modern experiment to expunge Him from the world of reality leads to all kinds of pathological attempts to replace God, and they all leave us more empty still. Drinking salt water is no answer to thirst.

“Come to the fountain there's healing in Jesus” says the old church song, often heard at those camp meetings. That was the call and I'm glad I heard it, a claim that there was indeed Someone who could heal the human spirit and meet the human need. When we find Him all else begins to fall into its place. When we reject Him, nothing else can ever really make sense.

I am quite aware the skeptic has little time for this, the nominal believer or casual agnostic much the same. I cannot pretend certainty nor perfect practice – no one can. But I believe. And I invite the skeptic to re-consider. 

Along the way we find it is we ourselves, more than the possibility of God, of whom we should be skeptical. We may answer by saying there is no ultimate answer. Yet that answer itself would be an ultimate answer, so we have a logical conundrum. An infinite, personal God who transcends while at the same time being with, meets the life-sized conundrum necessarily and perfectly. Maybe, just maybe, He is.

Come and see. Dare the life of faith. You will not be disappointed.

Ministry Remnants: The Miracle in Jonah

If God acts with our fallen sense of "get-what-you-deserve" justice, 

we're all done for. 

He shows mercy instead and we all can feast at the table of grace if we will.

[Theology Thursday]

Yesterday I tried....

- - - - -

I interrupt this monologue to comment on the expression "I tried." Why not simply say "I....[did whatever it is I did"]? 

I used to think it was unnecessary for preachers to say "as I try to preach" or some such. It seemed superfluous, maybe even a false humility or just unnecessary. Now I say it of myself because it is true -- "I tried." Did not I also "do it"? Of course! :) 

I say "I tried" because I feel the lack. If I had some sense I had done an extraordinary job of preaching maybe I wouldn't say "I tried" because I know it implies something like "I fell short" and that would sound false if I had not. Of course, even if it seems it went well to most, many might still say, "He should have tried harder!" :) 

So when I say "I tried" I mean exactly that. Everything we do is a trial of sorts. We don't get it as right as we wish, but we give it our best. 

- - - - -

So...Sunday "I tried" to preach on Jonah, that most unusual jewel of Scripture. I read 3:10 to 4:11 and proceeded to speak of the miracles in Jonah, beginning with the fish. I listed 9, including the very miracle of God interacting with Jonah, for it is the Grandest miracle of all that God is "with us" in this sense, an expression of the Incarnation itself, God entering into our life.

But it seemed I should finish with the greatest miracle of the book which is the mercy of God. He shows mercy in giving Jonah room to run, in caring for Jonah the person more than Jonah the prophetic tool, and most remarkably in caring for Nineveh enough to relent from his plans to destroy it.

Jonah was no fan of the Ninevites. They had been cruel to his own people and their way of life was an affront to all the prophet would hold dear. This is why, it seems, he was likely fully sincere in his protest against God: "This is why I ran -- I knew you would show mercy to these awful people! I'd rather die than see this spectacle! These people don't deserve this -- not one iota!"

I paraphrase, but that's the gist.

This is Theology 101 in that it attempts to reveal God, how He makes Himself known to us. He is one who is a friend of sinners, who has no self-protecting pride, who gives blessing to the just and unjust, who loves to help the self-righteous among us find the grace of humility as we watch the undeserving find mercy.

We've all been Jonah, or at least I know I have. I'll describe it for you. One of the finest people I know, an old childhood friend, has been unusually blessed of God. He has loved God with all his heart and has thought no sacrifice too large to give. But by his own admission he worked too hard, neglected his family, was often unwittingly crass and unfeeling. 

What's the problem? His three daughters are some of the best people you will ever meet. Models of care and beauty and discipline, shapers of families in their turn who will mark the world with grace and excellence. Why is this a problem? Because, like Jonah looking on, folks know my friend doesn't deserve this mercy, this grace, this blessing beyond measure. It's even easy to say to the Lord, "What gives?"

But this is the Gospel, the unworthy servant, the man showing up at the end of the day who gets full wages like everyone else. If God acts with our fallen sense of "get-what-you-deserve" justice, we're all done for. He shows mercy instead, and we all can feast at the table of grace if we will.

But to do so we have to quit deciding who is worthy, and learn that no one is.

- - - - -

"Thank you for the lesson of Jonah, dear Lord. Save me from begrudging your goodness to those I deem unworthy. I am the unworthy one. I ask your mercy and grace in my life for it is You Yourself I need and it is I myself gets in the way. For your very presence I pray, Amen!"

Sated

 (100 Word Wednesday -- 'Short and Sweet is Hard to Beat!')

What can be said in 100 words? Literature scholars might call this a pericope, albeit not a large one. Jesus said every jot and tittle will be judged, an admonition of gravity. Words have weight and too many of us use too many of them, meaning each of them lose value.

Too many words. How do we learn simplicity? Put differently, why are we addicted to more, to most, to “never enough?” Malcolm Muggeridge helpfully broached the idea for me when he confessed, “I was never satisfied.”

Can I be satisfied with silence, with letting go the last word, with stopping?

Writer's Block

TenMinuteTuesday: Free writing with a quick deadline.
Maybe less really is more!

- - - - -

Writer's Block

Difficult chores become easier once begun. And they become harder the longer delayed.

Writer's block -- what is it? It describes what happens when someone is trying to write but can't seem to get over the hump. The reasons are often not flattering. Succumbing to any distraction is easier than writing.

I think of two examples. The amazing writer of westerns, Louis L'Amour said something like, "I don't need inspiration or 'setting' to write. I could sit in the middle of a freeway with my typewriter and turn out a couple chapters." Malcolm Muggeridge, the gifted English journalist was less sanguine: "Writing's not hard. All you do is sit down at the typewriter, slit your wrists, and bleed to death!" 

Someone said to Paul S. Rees, evangelist and author of many books, "You must really like to write," to which he replied: "No, not all. I like to have written!" And I come 'round to my high school pastor who gently prodded me with the old reminder, "Inspiration is 95% perspiration you know."

And now I've spent 6 of my ten minutes avoiding the question. Sort of. Writing is hard, L'Amour's stoicism aside. But as I face it now for a sensitive assignment that calls for more time and heart than I have to give I know I'm kicking in the dust around the reason. It is hard work, it won't come easy.

So I wait for inspiration.

I am finding, something we all know but still avoid in practice too often, that difficult chores become easier once begun. And they become harder the longer delayed.

So when my ten minutes for this project are up I am going to the task at hand and will not stop until the rough draft is done. I am almost sure a job I kicked down the road for 2 days will only take 1 hour to passably complete.

The struggle is real. :)

What is the church for?

[Meandering Monday] 

A few years ago at gym night I asked a bunch of men a curious question: curious to me at least. Seems there are ten thousands of questions and I learned early in life the pain of asking curious questions when no one is interested, not even a little. But, having learned that lesson long ago, I easily sense when the question rising in my soul can be spoken without being rejected.

We were standing around between games, chatting about church life when I tossed it out: 

“What is church for?”

Blanks stares. I must have really mis-read this. I immediately expected looks of derision and plain avoidance by changing the subject. It wasn't that bad, but no one answered. There were 4 or 5 guys there, all responsible, thinking people with whom I had mutual respect. But they had no ready answer. (I should add, none of them were from my own church.)

And maybe for good reason. What is church for? Perhaps best to define terms and see if we know what we are asking.

Church: a gathering of people, usually on Sunday morning in a context known as religious, usually indoors, usually including music, spoken word, reading of Scripture, forms of practice, and mutual relational bonding.

For: To what end? What is the purpose of church? What does church do that cannot be done in any other way?

Now it is I who do not have a made-from-scratch answer, at least not one without qualifications. But I'll give it a go.

Church is for.....connecting with God. But we said it had to be a purpose that cannot be accomplished outside the church. So the purpose must be larger.

Church is for.....corporate worship. This qualifies and explains and seems true to me. All other purposes are secondary to this and flow out of it. The kicker here is if we think it must be something that no other organization can do. And any one else who is doing corporate worship is by definition doing what a church is for.

Where does that leave us? What of the "salvation station a block from hell?" What of fellowship, Gospel teaching, moral accountability? Surely those all apply. But are they the principle purpose of the church?

This is a meander and I'll not finish it. So I will stop by asking you, welcomed occasional reader, What is the church for? (In one sentence or less.)

"Smoke" (from George MacDonald)

For my Saturday meditation I offer this poem from the incomparable George MacDonald.* If you can, take some long moments to savor the plain simplicity and life-opening prayer.

Lord, I have laid my heart upon thy altar

But cannot get the wood to burn;
It hardly flares ere it begins to falter
And to the dark return.

Old sap, or night-fallen dew, makes damp the fuel;
In vain my breath would flame provoke;
Yet see—at every poor attempt's renewal
To thee ascends the smoke!

'Tis all I have—smoke, failure, foiled endeavor,
Coldness and doubt and palsied lack:
Such as I have I send thee!—perfect Giver,
Send thou thy lightning back.

I bring this poem-prayer today as a way to express my need for everything in my life to be an offering to God. That which is unworthy will never catch fire but only give smoke. Surely my whole life must needs be the offering and just as surely is the need for the lightning of God to purge wood, hay, stubble. It seems true we too easily offer sacrifices of Cain which are not worthy of our God. 

Today I offer myself and all I am, unworthy, even in the offering, but I offer all the same. 

"May Thy good will be done, O Lord. Thank you for the sacrifice of Christ on my behalf and for the hope of your goodness which will, in your time, make good and light and holiness of the life you have given to me."

With glad hope in the goodness and truth of Christ I pray....

*MacDonald turned to writing to support his large family. His book of Poems, Diary of an Old Soul, gives a brief poem for everyday of the year. I was surprised to learn that C. S. Lewis considered him his master. "I imagine," Lewis said, "I never wrote a thing in which MacDonald was not present." His fantasy literature includes Lillith and Phantastes. His children's story are wonderful: after I read them I felt as if I had been at the altar in a camp meeting after hearing a strong and convicting sermon. His other work includes sermons and many novels.

Some Thoughts on Time for the New Year

 [Some of you are well-studied in the mystery -- and science -- of time. I have read Augustine's famous discussion in Confessions and have wondered at the mystery. These musings attempt to look into it a bit further, with realization that Lewis' famous sermon Weight of Glory pointed the way for part of it.]

“If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.” (C. S. Lewis)

Maybe the Passing of Time Hints at Eternity

“Time, flowing like a river, to the sea…till it’s gone forever, gone forever.”

In my high school years I often heard the above lyric from The Alan Parsons Project on the radio. It spoke of passing friendships, life, and of course, time. The music was alive with beauty and melancholy. Over 40 years later I can still hear and feel the wonder and mystery mixed with a hint of something like hope.

Hope?

Yes! If time means so much as to leave us devastated by its passing, then maybe it has real meaning. Why else would we be devastated? Put another way, there is something in this life, in our very existence, that is real in a way far beyond us. The fact that life and loved-ones pass leaves us deeply sad, and that may be a clue that the moments and relationships really matter.

The ancient writer of Ecclesiastes nails this to the wall over and over. “Life is full and it really, really matters,” he seems to say. “Except.” And the whole world is in that last word. “Except...everything you love and work so hard for is lost to you when you die. Someone else will use it and squander it and you will be a bare memory, if that.”

Ugh! Who wants to be reminded of that! And yet, we must if we would seek wisdom. As the author says elsewhere in so many words, “There is more to be learned in the house of mourning than in the house of glee.”

And there is still more. Ecclesiastes offers clues here and there and gives a final conclusive answer at the end. But tucked in the early chapters we are told we have “eternity in our hearts.”

We don’t do eternity well because we are too chained to the here and now. Time is a creation, a construct: if you don’t believe me, try to grab it. We place crushing significance in time when it is the thing most slippery in life. Time is so elusive we don’t even know what it is or what it means. Moderns have tried to control it, but it controls us. “Father time never stops,” we are told, and our only recourse is to surrender. Time will win.

Where does this leave us? In mystery to be sure, for the greatest verities of life are beyond our complete grasp. But I think it leaves us daring to believe there must be something more, something to which time itself is subject. As a Christian I believe this is an infinite, personal God who is himself eternal and has put that eternity in our hearts. That sense of the eternal is what makes us both despise the bounds of time and hope for the something beyond.

Parsons’ lyric of time flowing to the sea is an apt metaphor as far as it goes, but it still leaves empty. What is the sea? Void and meaningless, time lost within it. Where are we? Only material beings bound by time when alive, simply gone when not? What was it that is now gone? What is it that was?

These things always bring me ‘round to what I believe life itself suggests and what C.S. Lewis put so well: “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.” The eternity in our hearts makes us long for something beyond this world. For me this is the blessed hope at the heart of Christmas, and the grandest reason to embrace the New Year with joy.

He has set eternity in their hearts (Ecc. 3:11)