Timeline:
Preaches repent
Invites disciples
Explains the kingdom of heaven
Speaks of cost to follow
Compares world to kingdom
Demonstrates justice, mercy & humility
Dies
Resurrects
Installs Holy Spirit
Opens eyes
Instigates church
Commissions us…
The Kingdom of Heaven is real. Jesus has invited us to it for now and later, not just later. It requires a complete change of approach to existence. This internal alteration with external evidence is possible only through trusting and relying on Jesus. It’s why so many people come to Christ or see their relationship with him redefined through impossibly tragic circumstances they cannot handle. The change effects every aspect of life: relationships, money, possessions, defining success, interpretation of all circumstances, what gets celebrated, how and where we live, everything.
I cannot hope to make this change without healing of my brokenness (instantly or over time). In fact, the healing and the change are the same process. This is not a matter of perspective, of figuring things out and thinking rightly. That is again sacrifice and burnt offering, rather than true mercy (Hosea 6:6) (loving God, others and myself), which can only come from the only pure source – He who created love. The healing is a death. As I let go of that which is damaged in me, my spirit comes alive by the entrance of the Spirit into those places I had been protecting. The new me comes more alive, the old me gets deader. I cannot follow a formula to make this happen. I cannot speed it up or control it in any way. Jesus alone is in charge of this process and he uses it for his kingdom as he sees fit. This is what my life on earth is for; for him, for coming fully alive. Becoming a full realization of his artwork in me. Reflecting the glory of God and taking unimaginable joy in knowing his love for me. Participating in the story he has written in the critical role he has made me for.
Jesus says, just as John did before him (Matt 3:2): “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near.” (Matt 4:17) In essence, change the way you have been living your life because there is a new way, and this one works. He goes on to describe, illustrate, allegorize, exemplify and discuss this new Way with and for everyone who has eyes to see and ears to hear, including me and you. He in fact is The Way (John 14:6). He says the new way is not about what you do any more, but about what you are. This refers to statements made by prophets and is one of the themes Christ returns to repeatedly. He wants mercy and not sacrifice, acknowledgement of God rather than burnt offerings (Hosea 6:6). If we knew what that meant, we would understand what God wants for us and from us (Matt 9:13, 12:7,). For example, “You have heard it said, do not murder and do not commit adultery, but what really matters is that you do not hate or lust in your heart (Matt 5: 21-30). This is either a lot harder or a lot easier. As the story of the Old Testament illustrates well, if one could not successfully fulfill the law and thereby receive personal connection to God and eternal reward, then how is one supposed to not only fulfill the law but keep our heart and mind pure as well? This can only be possible if the new way is made possible by the Way. Jesus does it. He fulfills the law (Matt 5: 17).
After beginning to preach repentance and Kingdom of Heaven dynamics, he invited men to follow him (Matt 4: 19-22) and have the focus of their lives changed from seeking gain from the world to seeking gain for the kingdom. He says he will change them from fishermen to fishers of men. They follow and listen as he explains the new kind of kingdom to anyone who will listen.
5: 1 – 12 The Kingdom of Heaven is for the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek and those who yearn for righteousness. I suspect he spoke of those who not only wanted to be righteous but who wanted to see righteousness in the world. The kingdom of God is for the merciful, the pure in heart and the peacemakers and for those persecuted for being righteous. He, conspicuously, does not mention those who have big houses, triple humped camels, positions of authority, college degrees, successful businesses, lots of resources, chiseled and tanned features, obedient children and great marriages, ministries with large numbers, titles, or significant influence on important people. He speaks of the unnoticed and non-glorious. He does not say rich, successful, powerful, attractive people are bad (more on that later), he just does not use them as examples of the beneficiaries of his kingdom. The blessing belongs to those who do not receive blessing from this world. Even further, if I am one of the blessed in the Kingdom of Heaven and the world treats me bad, I should rejoice and be glad because my reward is even greater! So – bad in the world, is good in heaven, and the worse it is here, the better it is there.
13 – 16 Along with this paradigm shift comes Jesus’ specific instruction to be what he has made us to be. We are salt – so be flavorful. We are the light of the world – so we need to position ourselves where we can eliminate as much darkness as possible. This is not some great effort on our part, it is just being what God has made us to be by his design. There really is no room for twisting this into a suggestion to be applied in unusual or infrequent circumstances. He is saying that the difference between the world and us IS so significant that it is impossible not to notice. The only way it can be hidden is by our own intention. We actually have to try to be bland. We have to hold back our light. Unfortunately, the ingenious, insidious nature of fallen man, with great effort and much help from the enemy, has succeeded in this undertaking with enormous and tragic results. Even those of us who are the light mostly walk in darkness.
It is in the true meaning of all the known commandments; in a new understanding of them that this kingdom is described. It is a kingdom that is established in our hearts and has no boundaries except those we set up by holding back from God. Our participation in this kingdom changes the way we think of others and how we act in relationship to them. It no longer matters what is fair and just according to the world. We relate according to what is fair and just according to God. Since he is just, he asks that we trust him for fairness rather than seeking it out for ourselves. We are to make ourselves vulnerable to pain from this world, emulating his example. The sacrifice of ourselves, by the power of his love, according to true justice, is what draws the world to Jesus. Those whose hearts are soft towards God will recognize him in us and their desire for him will be unquenchable. The opportunity to participate in the process of drawing people into the kingdom is a fundamental reason for our existence. It is in the mundane, daily encounters, repeated over and over to make relationships, that this glory reveals itself. It cannot be reduced or packaged into a system or a strategy with time lines and boundaries. It comes from and is empowered and completed by God
Apparently, the kingdom he is ruling is not visible to the eyes in our head, audible to our ears, or noticeable to our noses, our tongues or the tips of our fingers. It is an invitation extended to that part of us which is eternal, our spirit, the most authentic and holy part of ourselves. He is inviting us to allow him to separate us from that which separates us from God, our flesh. All that has been ruined and broken is to be left behind.
It’s what he quotes from Isaiah 61 the first time he speaks in the temple (Luke 4: 18), “The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion- to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning and a garment of praise instead of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.”
He sits down. Everyone is staring at him, expectantly… “Today, this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”
Do we suppose that he only meant the people in that room? Was he not speaking to all creation; time and space irrelevant?
He sends his disciples out with the same message “The kingdom of heaven is near” (Matt 10:7).
He preaches it in the Sermon on the Mount (Matt 5:3-12). It is as if we have finally been given a chance, an opportunity we can take hold of. Since the departure from the Garden of Eden, there has been no way to come close to God, no way to return to where we were before the error of distrust and self-reliance.
The greatest commandment – Mark 12:28 – 34s
The kingdom of heaven and the kingdom of God are interchangeable. He allowed us our effort. He let us try it our own way. We followed the liar and lived in his kingdom, foolishly. We trusted in ourselves because the enemy told us we could. He neglected to tell us that just because we could didn’t mean we should. We have destroyed the creation, ruined it beyond our capacity to fix – including ourselves. God grew weary of our pain and our separateness from him because he wanted us as his bride. So he brought us back to his love by humbling himself and paying the just price (Micah 6:8) with his own pure, glorious, eternal life. He has now established his rule in our hearts. We can receive all that he has for us and be all he wants us to be by resisting no more. Giving up the fruit of this world, the rotten fruit, we can now pick up the ripe, satisfying, jewel like fruit of heaven.
There is more. There is and will always be, so much more…
Friday, February 18, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Penny Rescue
Fuzzy black edges of his field of vision switched places back and forth. The diminutive, darting winged critters flew too fast through confusing scenes of toys, tools and topiary, blending and blurring past reflections of trees and vertical lines of window frames.
“Damn bird,” said he, “find a branch and sit.”
Muttering and sighing absently, Arthur moved uselessly to another window and pushed between the curtains. The yellow rumped warbler is a little rare in town but bayberry bushes in the thin soil of the park drew these adventurous few from the woods outside town. Hoping that fleeting glances would turn into a moment of study, he watched to see if a tiny twerp would just-sit-still on his bitty little butter butt. Losing it again for the umpteenth time, he scanned the sidewalk in front of the drug store on Main Street. From his third floor apartment windows, he could see every storefront, shrub, bench, tree and crack in the sidewalk from Fourth to Sixth Avenue and through the park to First Street.
Distracted scratching and odors of oldness marked dreary days endlessly repeating themselves while he watched out the window for… birds. Not rare necessarily but real, alive and out rather than in. Notes and sketches in bent cornered hardbound journals marked the adventures of his birds. Songs he whistled while he waited minded the musings he kept shallow, avoiding too much contemplation.
Through the ovalized view from his bird watching Bushnell’s, an unfolding scene on the street below distracted him from his aviary pursuit. On the sidewalk bench in front of Jersey’s Drug Store sat a sweet and scruffy little girl in a wrinkled yellow cotton dress and a left-footed cast. All of five years old, she watched intently as a slightly larger red headed boy in jean cut offs and a dirty white tee shirt scrabbled around the sewer grate by the curb. What was he doing?
The red-headed boy focused intently on his mission. So intent, he did not notice the fire truck that parked in the street a mere two blocks East. The little lame girl watched with a matching but hopeful intensity; not talking, just watching with a slight forward lean – trusting, worried, hoping.
Hopping around on all fours, he looked like a little monkey; quick, urgent movements and searching un-expectant glances at passers by. Even the cacophony of the siren blast from up the street could not deter his efforts for more than a glance. He flopped down on his front side in the street over the grill and reached between the steel bars of the grating in the curb. His feet stretched and twitched and his arm and shoulder disappeared into the hole.
Captivated and warbler rump fully forgotten, Arthur’s breathing slowed while he watched. Much more alive than birds, this boy and his mission deserved some attention. Why was he wallowing in the street? The girl called out something, a question, but the boy’s answer was lost in the dark. Finally, he squeezed out and propped himself on skinny knees. He then fell to vigorously scratching his head with both hands. Hands clasped behind his head, chin on his chest, he stilled in a prayer like posture.
He raised his head, looked at the girl and began to slowly lift his shoulders and arms in defeat. In mid shrug, he suddenly jumped up and scampered across the sidewalk, nearly crashing with a brisk woman in a matching plum colored skirt, jacket and hat. Fashion lady reached out and steadied her tippy high-heeled ensemble but continued on, just like all the other adults, oblivious through their drama. Waving arms animatedly, the boy gestured back toward the sewer grate while he explained a new strategy. She watched him, spoke quietly and reached up to untie the ribbon in her hair. Next she leaned forward and spit her gum into his outstretched, grimy hand. Jittery on his feet, he took both and turned back to his battlefield. He froze mid turn as he saw and realized the catastrophe happing up the street.
Arthur swung his binoculars and took in the impending disaster. A fire cadet held up traffic as a slow holder while his partners opened the fire hydrant in front of the consignment shop. Surrounding kids hopped up and down in anticipation of cold water as relief on a hot August day. A look of terror transformed the boy’s freckled face into wide eyes and clenched teeth. He rushed to the grate and bent to his task. Knotting the end of the ribbon, he stuck the sticky gum to it and tested its adherence by bouncing it a bit, away from the sewer grate. It stuck tight.
Fireman wrestled with the hydrant while Arthur wrestled with his hesitation. Finally, consumed by curiosity and compassion, he hustled determinedly to the hall closet, grabbed an armload of towels and headed out the door. Down two flights of stairs on wobbly joints, he emerged on the scene from across the street.
Walking gingerly to the boys side, he asked, “Did you lose something important down there?”
Intensely focused, the boy said without looking up, “Ain’t lost, just dropped.”
“What’s dropped?” Arthur asked.
“Penny” said the boy.
“A penny?” Arthur repeated with a hint of incredulity.
“Mhmm.” Says the boy with his forehead pressed against the steel bars.
“Hmm.” Says Arthur standing there with an armload of towels.
Not knowing quite what to do, Arthur turns toward the firemen and jerks like he’d been shocked. Just at that moment, they had successfully uncorked the hydrant. Water and children were streaming into the street accompanied by spraying mist and gleeful screams. In moments, water would be rushing down the street to the site of the dropped penny.
“Hurry up boy!” Arthur bellowed too loudly, “hurry up, it’s comin’!
“I got it, I got it!” Chirped the boy as he started to push himself up with one hand.
The messy haired girl in the cast clapped and squealed, “Yay Jimmy, yay, yay, yay! Jimmy’s the best bruver in the worl…”
Cut off, mid-sentence, Arthur saw her crestfallen face and turned to a horrified Jimmy holding the end of a ribbon attached to a dirty piece of gum and no penny.
“It fell off.” Jimmy said in a flat, clenched voice.
He turned and looked up the street. Water was cresting at the outskirts of the gushing, splashing torrent and moving toward the edges of the road. He looked up at Arthur and his towels and dove back to the sewer grate with his ribbon.
The girl bounced on her bench and Arthur bent to the task of dam building. He stacked the towels against the curb a few feet from the sewer grate, right behind Jimmy’s feet. A tenuous blockade against hundreds of gallons; the towels alone would not provide enough resistance to the weight of rushing water.
“This’ll never work,” he muttered with his hands on his hips.
Arthur watched it come. He stared it down as it gained on the helpless situation. The girl leaned forward and Jimmy was silent with concentration as his effort took on a strained panic.
Standing on the sidewalk, Arthur knew his towels would be swept away. The water was less than fifty feet. Jimmy was still face down with his cheek pressed to the grate and his right hand repeating a careful, methodical raising, then lowering of his gum and ribbon crane. Looking back and forth, Arthur sat down in the street on the other side of the towels with his back against the curb. He looked at the wide-eyed girl. They stared meaningfully at each other. He stared at Jimmy. Jimmy paused and turned his head just a little to see Arthur and his towels in defensive positions. A grim look of determination crept quickly into his eyes as he turned them again to his task.
Time slowed. Noise quieted. An intense stillness overtook Arthur and the girl as they watch Jimmy. He stiffened and paused imperceptibly, ribbon slack. He wiggled it gently and then lifted. His whole body tensed with controlled effort as, slowly, slowly he drew the ribbon up through the steel grate. A low wall of water crashed against Arthur’s hips and outstretched legs. He bent to hold the outermost towels down against the asphalt while water surrounded him. The torrent splashed against, over and around him, instantly saturating the towels. Drops and spray hung suspended in the hot air. Only moments and the resistance would be overcome. The ribbon grew longer as it emerged from the sewer. At the confluence of hydrant water and storm sewer, Jimmy stilled for just a minute, eternal moment, then, right arm extended up over his head, he grabbed gum and penny with his left hand and rolled away from the grate. Water erupted around Jimmy and Arthur, both laying in the street, thrashing about in four legged, four armed exuberance.
“Yeeehoooo,” Jimmy yelled shrilly at the top of his lungs, “I got it, I got it, I got it!”
“Yay Jimmy, yippee, yay, yay, yay!” Squealed the girl again and again, waving her arms and wriggling on her bench.
Arthur laughed and sputtered mirthfully, “Good work Jimmy. Well done, very well done!”
Jimmy and Arthur hauled themselves out of the street. Authur retrieved his sodden towels before they were swept down the drain. Jimmy clutched the rescued penny and gave the ribbon back to the girl. For a moment, they stood in shocked, happy disbelief.
Jimmy looked up at Arthur, “Thanks mister,” he said. Then he turned and walked into the drug store.
Arthur, dripping heavily, walked slowly and stiffly over to the bench and looked down at the little happy girl. “Hi, I’m Arthur, what’s your name?”
“Claudia,” said the girl with a shy smile while she twisted the ribbon.
“What happened to your leg, Claudia?” Arthur asked.
“I hurt it trying to ride Jimmy’s bike,” said Claudia with a pouty frown and an adorably impertinent drop of her chin to her chest.
“What was so important about that penny?” Arthur asked.
Before she could answer, Jimmy emerged from the store with a YooHoo and two straws in his hand. “Claud loves YooHoos,” he said proudly, “and we didn’t have enough without that penny.”
Arthur smiled with his eyes and shook his head slowly. “Every little bit counts,” he said.
“Damn bird,” said he, “find a branch and sit.”
Muttering and sighing absently, Arthur moved uselessly to another window and pushed between the curtains. The yellow rumped warbler is a little rare in town but bayberry bushes in the thin soil of the park drew these adventurous few from the woods outside town. Hoping that fleeting glances would turn into a moment of study, he watched to see if a tiny twerp would just-sit-still on his bitty little butter butt. Losing it again for the umpteenth time, he scanned the sidewalk in front of the drug store on Main Street. From his third floor apartment windows, he could see every storefront, shrub, bench, tree and crack in the sidewalk from Fourth to Sixth Avenue and through the park to First Street.
Distracted scratching and odors of oldness marked dreary days endlessly repeating themselves while he watched out the window for… birds. Not rare necessarily but real, alive and out rather than in. Notes and sketches in bent cornered hardbound journals marked the adventures of his birds. Songs he whistled while he waited minded the musings he kept shallow, avoiding too much contemplation.
Through the ovalized view from his bird watching Bushnell’s, an unfolding scene on the street below distracted him from his aviary pursuit. On the sidewalk bench in front of Jersey’s Drug Store sat a sweet and scruffy little girl in a wrinkled yellow cotton dress and a left-footed cast. All of five years old, she watched intently as a slightly larger red headed boy in jean cut offs and a dirty white tee shirt scrabbled around the sewer grate by the curb. What was he doing?
The red-headed boy focused intently on his mission. So intent, he did not notice the fire truck that parked in the street a mere two blocks East. The little lame girl watched with a matching but hopeful intensity; not talking, just watching with a slight forward lean – trusting, worried, hoping.
Hopping around on all fours, he looked like a little monkey; quick, urgent movements and searching un-expectant glances at passers by. Even the cacophony of the siren blast from up the street could not deter his efforts for more than a glance. He flopped down on his front side in the street over the grill and reached between the steel bars of the grating in the curb. His feet stretched and twitched and his arm and shoulder disappeared into the hole.
Captivated and warbler rump fully forgotten, Arthur’s breathing slowed while he watched. Much more alive than birds, this boy and his mission deserved some attention. Why was he wallowing in the street? The girl called out something, a question, but the boy’s answer was lost in the dark. Finally, he squeezed out and propped himself on skinny knees. He then fell to vigorously scratching his head with both hands. Hands clasped behind his head, chin on his chest, he stilled in a prayer like posture.
He raised his head, looked at the girl and began to slowly lift his shoulders and arms in defeat. In mid shrug, he suddenly jumped up and scampered across the sidewalk, nearly crashing with a brisk woman in a matching plum colored skirt, jacket and hat. Fashion lady reached out and steadied her tippy high-heeled ensemble but continued on, just like all the other adults, oblivious through their drama. Waving arms animatedly, the boy gestured back toward the sewer grate while he explained a new strategy. She watched him, spoke quietly and reached up to untie the ribbon in her hair. Next she leaned forward and spit her gum into his outstretched, grimy hand. Jittery on his feet, he took both and turned back to his battlefield. He froze mid turn as he saw and realized the catastrophe happing up the street.
Arthur swung his binoculars and took in the impending disaster. A fire cadet held up traffic as a slow holder while his partners opened the fire hydrant in front of the consignment shop. Surrounding kids hopped up and down in anticipation of cold water as relief on a hot August day. A look of terror transformed the boy’s freckled face into wide eyes and clenched teeth. He rushed to the grate and bent to his task. Knotting the end of the ribbon, he stuck the sticky gum to it and tested its adherence by bouncing it a bit, away from the sewer grate. It stuck tight.
Fireman wrestled with the hydrant while Arthur wrestled with his hesitation. Finally, consumed by curiosity and compassion, he hustled determinedly to the hall closet, grabbed an armload of towels and headed out the door. Down two flights of stairs on wobbly joints, he emerged on the scene from across the street.
Walking gingerly to the boys side, he asked, “Did you lose something important down there?”
Intensely focused, the boy said without looking up, “Ain’t lost, just dropped.”
“What’s dropped?” Arthur asked.
“Penny” said the boy.
“A penny?” Arthur repeated with a hint of incredulity.
“Mhmm.” Says the boy with his forehead pressed against the steel bars.
“Hmm.” Says Arthur standing there with an armload of towels.
Not knowing quite what to do, Arthur turns toward the firemen and jerks like he’d been shocked. Just at that moment, they had successfully uncorked the hydrant. Water and children were streaming into the street accompanied by spraying mist and gleeful screams. In moments, water would be rushing down the street to the site of the dropped penny.
“Hurry up boy!” Arthur bellowed too loudly, “hurry up, it’s comin’!
“I got it, I got it!” Chirped the boy as he started to push himself up with one hand.
The messy haired girl in the cast clapped and squealed, “Yay Jimmy, yay, yay, yay! Jimmy’s the best bruver in the worl…”
Cut off, mid-sentence, Arthur saw her crestfallen face and turned to a horrified Jimmy holding the end of a ribbon attached to a dirty piece of gum and no penny.
“It fell off.” Jimmy said in a flat, clenched voice.
He turned and looked up the street. Water was cresting at the outskirts of the gushing, splashing torrent and moving toward the edges of the road. He looked up at Arthur and his towels and dove back to the sewer grate with his ribbon.
The girl bounced on her bench and Arthur bent to the task of dam building. He stacked the towels against the curb a few feet from the sewer grate, right behind Jimmy’s feet. A tenuous blockade against hundreds of gallons; the towels alone would not provide enough resistance to the weight of rushing water.
“This’ll never work,” he muttered with his hands on his hips.
Arthur watched it come. He stared it down as it gained on the helpless situation. The girl leaned forward and Jimmy was silent with concentration as his effort took on a strained panic.
Standing on the sidewalk, Arthur knew his towels would be swept away. The water was less than fifty feet. Jimmy was still face down with his cheek pressed to the grate and his right hand repeating a careful, methodical raising, then lowering of his gum and ribbon crane. Looking back and forth, Arthur sat down in the street on the other side of the towels with his back against the curb. He looked at the wide-eyed girl. They stared meaningfully at each other. He stared at Jimmy. Jimmy paused and turned his head just a little to see Arthur and his towels in defensive positions. A grim look of determination crept quickly into his eyes as he turned them again to his task.
Time slowed. Noise quieted. An intense stillness overtook Arthur and the girl as they watch Jimmy. He stiffened and paused imperceptibly, ribbon slack. He wiggled it gently and then lifted. His whole body tensed with controlled effort as, slowly, slowly he drew the ribbon up through the steel grate. A low wall of water crashed against Arthur’s hips and outstretched legs. He bent to hold the outermost towels down against the asphalt while water surrounded him. The torrent splashed against, over and around him, instantly saturating the towels. Drops and spray hung suspended in the hot air. Only moments and the resistance would be overcome. The ribbon grew longer as it emerged from the sewer. At the confluence of hydrant water and storm sewer, Jimmy stilled for just a minute, eternal moment, then, right arm extended up over his head, he grabbed gum and penny with his left hand and rolled away from the grate. Water erupted around Jimmy and Arthur, both laying in the street, thrashing about in four legged, four armed exuberance.
“Yeeehoooo,” Jimmy yelled shrilly at the top of his lungs, “I got it, I got it, I got it!”
“Yay Jimmy, yippee, yay, yay, yay!” Squealed the girl again and again, waving her arms and wriggling on her bench.
Arthur laughed and sputtered mirthfully, “Good work Jimmy. Well done, very well done!”
Jimmy and Arthur hauled themselves out of the street. Authur retrieved his sodden towels before they were swept down the drain. Jimmy clutched the rescued penny and gave the ribbon back to the girl. For a moment, they stood in shocked, happy disbelief.
Jimmy looked up at Arthur, “Thanks mister,” he said. Then he turned and walked into the drug store.
Arthur, dripping heavily, walked slowly and stiffly over to the bench and looked down at the little happy girl. “Hi, I’m Arthur, what’s your name?”
“Claudia,” said the girl with a shy smile while she twisted the ribbon.
“What happened to your leg, Claudia?” Arthur asked.
“I hurt it trying to ride Jimmy’s bike,” said Claudia with a pouty frown and an adorably impertinent drop of her chin to her chest.
“What was so important about that penny?” Arthur asked.
Before she could answer, Jimmy emerged from the store with a YooHoo and two straws in his hand. “Claud loves YooHoos,” he said proudly, “and we didn’t have enough without that penny.”
Arthur smiled with his eyes and shook his head slowly. “Every little bit counts,” he said.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Why I Like to Make Good Coffee - Mutterings about Art and the Journey
On occasion, I have been called a coffee snob. I expect, I would be snubbed by most “true” coffee snobs, but I cannot deny the appropriateness of teasing me about my persnickitiness. I don’t mind the moniker, true or not. Honestly, those who opinionatedly believe that putting time and effort into the minute details of a warm, dark and aromatic cup of coffee is kooky, are just missing a bit of perspective. A slight tilt of the head and things look much different. You may not like the kind of coffee I like but to say that trying to make good coffee is too much work just can’t be an absolute truth.
Preparing great coffee is like art or music, woodworking, quilting, fishing, flying, four wheeling or gardening. Anything that produces and end result considered worth the effort begs attention to the process. So the first real question is, is it worth the effort? And that is a totally subjective question. For example, if your only measurement is Taco Bell, don’t tell me you don’t like tacos. It would be a mistake to make a unilateral decision about the enjoyment of flying if all you ever tried was flapping your arms. You can’t appreciate the full impact of art by going to a pre-school open house. To judge something, you have to experience it in a way that honors the intention behind it.
It’s been often said, though rarely followed that, it’s not the destination, but the journey that counts. Perhaps both matter equally, even if you don’t know what the end is or exactly where you are in the journey. Limited as broken people without a clear view of the future, how can we expect to fully understand the implications of any of our circumstances or what is coming? What remains is the security of trusting that there is hope for both the past and the future. We are to live in the present in the most authentic way possible, as creatures who owe the glory we have. We owe it to the farmers, harvesters, mucilage strippers and roasters who came before and the fellow aficionados who will come after (metaphorically speaking).
If the journey and the end both matter and we are not in control of either, then it follows that the fullest enjoyment of every moment is really, really important. It is each moment that the rest are built on. This, in the back of my mind, is why the art and ritual of coffee making brings so much satisfaction. It is why a successful attempt introduced happily to lips, tongue and throat makes me want to share. I have, for a moment, connected with beauty, power, joy…even, eternity.
Taking an extra couple of minutes to put forth a prize deserving effort really isn’t much compared to the years Michelangelo spent on his back in chapel or covered with David’s dust. But it is a little, tiny bit like it. I wish it were more. I wish I could see the significance of each action of my life as the part of eternity that it actually is. Until then, I will try with all that I imagine to be as much of what I was made to be for every moment. Forgive me for my failure. Grace to all of us. Glory is coming.
Preparing great coffee is like art or music, woodworking, quilting, fishing, flying, four wheeling or gardening. Anything that produces and end result considered worth the effort begs attention to the process. So the first real question is, is it worth the effort? And that is a totally subjective question. For example, if your only measurement is Taco Bell, don’t tell me you don’t like tacos. It would be a mistake to make a unilateral decision about the enjoyment of flying if all you ever tried was flapping your arms. You can’t appreciate the full impact of art by going to a pre-school open house. To judge something, you have to experience it in a way that honors the intention behind it.
It’s been often said, though rarely followed that, it’s not the destination, but the journey that counts. Perhaps both matter equally, even if you don’t know what the end is or exactly where you are in the journey. Limited as broken people without a clear view of the future, how can we expect to fully understand the implications of any of our circumstances or what is coming? What remains is the security of trusting that there is hope for both the past and the future. We are to live in the present in the most authentic way possible, as creatures who owe the glory we have. We owe it to the farmers, harvesters, mucilage strippers and roasters who came before and the fellow aficionados who will come after (metaphorically speaking).
If the journey and the end both matter and we are not in control of either, then it follows that the fullest enjoyment of every moment is really, really important. It is each moment that the rest are built on. This, in the back of my mind, is why the art and ritual of coffee making brings so much satisfaction. It is why a successful attempt introduced happily to lips, tongue and throat makes me want to share. I have, for a moment, connected with beauty, power, joy…even, eternity.
Taking an extra couple of minutes to put forth a prize deserving effort really isn’t much compared to the years Michelangelo spent on his back in chapel or covered with David’s dust. But it is a little, tiny bit like it. I wish it were more. I wish I could see the significance of each action of my life as the part of eternity that it actually is. Until then, I will try with all that I imagine to be as much of what I was made to be for every moment. Forgive me for my failure. Grace to all of us. Glory is coming.
Monday, December 27, 2010
The Power of Need
I think needing may be better than giving. It’s just a suspicion I have been twiddling with, but I can’t shake it. The response to need and weakness is very powerful. It draws forth a power that changes lives. It seems often, to bring more pleasure to the giver than the receiver. The position of need is modeled by Christ in two of the most powerful moments of history and he talks about it a great deal in all four gospels. It seems to me that the response to need is an evidence of how the universe works. Maybe it’s different than we thought?
I have seen a version of this response lately in the actions of many of my friends and neighbors. They have offered to cook and bring food and help serve neighbors for a Christmas Dinner on Christmas Day. They have delighted to take tags off the Giving Tree and bring gifts for people they do not know and do not expect to meet. I know they have smiled inwardly and felt a deeper, more pervasive sense of enjoyment than when they do these same things for their own personal benefit. There is something powerful about the gift of need.
We have undervalued it. I suspect that, in this Kingdom of Heaven we have been invited to, the value of need may be just as significant as any other gift, perhaps even more valuable. It may even be possible that being in need is the greatest gift that has ever been given. For, if we were not in need, we could not be in relationship. Without relationship, our eternity would be forfeit or at least void of meaning, joy, hope, love, discovery, beauty and awestruck wonder.
Soon after Jesus introduced this invitation to the Kingdom of Heaven, he describes the residents and property owners of his Kingdom. They are poor in spirit, mourning and meek. They hunger and thirst after righteousness, they are merciful, pure in heart, peacemaking and persecuted. This new realm is designed as the home to return to for originally perfect humans. They were cast out of the garden, ruined. His kingdom is made for the broken. The new residents of the Spiritual Realm where love, faith and hope bring restoration are those whose need is clearly evident and submitted to. And they are blessed.
Jesus spends his days reaching into the lives of the people he touches. He touches them with power and changes them. One real interaction with the power of his love and they are free, shouting for joy, smiling through tears and telling everyone they meet. Can you imagine his satisfied chuckle as he watches a running, skipping, hollering former leper he has just told to “tell no one”? I can just see him muttering sarcastically to Peter without a trace of annoyance, “They never listen…”
When questioned and challenged by the super-religious who thought it was unbecoming that he spend so much time with the unruly, unclean and unrepentant, he said, “It is not the healthy that need a doctor.” Isn’t it the greatest feeling in the world to go to the doctor, worried about some ailment’ you’re sure is deadly (maybe that’s just me) and find out that it’s just a common issue and a couple helpings of little pills will make it go away? Or better yet, go see the magic chiropractor, Dr. Allen. Show up in pain and leave breathing deeply.
In my life over the last few years, I have experienced the pain and fear of subtraction. Much of that which I have relied upon for life and security is gone. I relate to people who have seen heaven open and received job loss, debilitating illness and broken relationship. Things that can’t be fixed. Funny thing, crazy idea… I’m not sure I want to go back. When people have said to me, “Don’t worry Curtis, you’ll figure it out and before you know it, you’ll be right back where you were,” I shudder and my mouth tastes sour.
I caught myself in the middle of a conversation with Jesus about how cool it would be if he gave me a million bucks. We were running along (maybe he was floating…) and the conversation just fell flat. After awhile, he said, “really…?” in that thought provoking way that implied his awareness of my wisdom juxtaposed with curiosity about my stupidity. A few steps later the light slowly came on. It’s on a dimmer switch like the one in my dining room. It’s a pretty cool set up called a three way switch which is nice in the dining room since it’s nearly nine feet from one end to the other and it keeps me from having to walk all that way to turn the light on or off. We can do it from either end of the room. In this case though, one of the switches has both the switch and the slider thingy for dimming. So, if the dimmer slider is in the down position, you can furiously flick either switch to your hearts dismay and nothing will come on. You can even run back and forth, muttering foully under your breath, growing in volume switching one up and down and the other back and forth and … nothing. If the dimmer is not quite all the way down and you flip the switch, the light will come on dimly and accompanied by a undulating high frequency squeal that will eventually cause the grey matter cells in your to head vibrate and explode. We lost a few hamsters in this unfortunate scenario. So, you gotta move the dimmer switch all the way up if you want the light to be useful and not just create tripping hazards. That is very much the story of the light that Jesus has to work with in my head. He is very patient and when he mutters, it is mostly gentle teasing (as far as I can tell).
So, when the light came on, I got this lop-sided Charlie brown grin on my face and realized that I didn’t really want a million bucks. I want to see Jesus come through. He is so cool that way, when he shows up, comes through. Those moments that I realize that God is actually involved in my life in both the intimate, mundane details and the glorious, stadium shaking pinnacle moments; those are the moments where life is most real and most breathtaking. It is when I need that I find the ecstasy of rescue and the joy of salvation.
I’m trying to take Jesus at his word. When he says that the poor are blessed along with those who mourn and hunger and thirst and make peace, I’m trying to believe that. Most of the time it is an unsubstantiated choice for trust. But here and there (certainly not everywhere) the light shines and I can see some evidence. Funny that most of the time, I have believed for a while before I see evidence. In this particular case, the idea of the undervalued position of need has been sloshing around in my head for a couple days. I suppose, precipitated somewhat by the Christmas season.
I propose, taking his word for it, that need is just as valuable, maybe more valuable than gift. It may in fact be a gift. Here is my logic. If it is better to give than receive (no one really argues with that), then isn’t the receiver giving the “better” gift? What is harder to offer, humble need or generous giving? Who is looked down on, the needy or the self-reliant?
What about the body illustration? If I am a liver, it is true that I am vital to the body. Due to my vital-ness, I have an important gift to give – I am so important. But I cannot survive, function or provide any benefit at all unless I am in constant fulfilled need from the rest of the body. Without the supply of blood from heart and vein, the removal of waste by kidney, bladder and bowel , the processing of oxygen by lungs or the protection of muscle and bone, I would be a lump of meat. What I have to offer is in tension with my need. The true glory of the other parts of the body comes into play when I am broken and they work together to bring healing. That is where deep connectedness grows from dependence and gratitude.
Back to Christmas - when the time had come for the final battle, the fulfillment of promise, while the Israelites were watching for the invasion of a conqueror and his mighty army, an embryo was formed by the miraculous interaction between the Holy Spirit and an egg in the womb of an unmarried teen-age girl. A baby was born in a cave with a bunch of smelly livestock. Dirty, outcast shepherds were the first to know. He grew up poor and hard working and lived his public life jobless and relying on the generosity of his friends for food and shelter. The most incomprehensible demonstrations of the power of the creator were the invasion by a helpless baby and the culmination of his ministry in his death on the cross. He needed. He was alone with our need. He cried, wracked by the pain, sorrow and hopelessness of my lost-ness and yours – our need.
Jesus has been present at every point of my brokenness, the causes and the outworking. He has heard and felt the messages that I have received and known the doubt and sense of powerlessness. He has been betrayed, left out, overlooked and unheard. He has been accused, forsaken and cast aside. For you and I, he bore every pain, hurt and sin we have ever or will ever interact with and at that point he needed. Somehow, in his great power, he needed and somehow, out of his need he has given the gift of life – restored life. Clearly, this is a great mystery.
And so, those that seem less honorable, we treat with greater honor. Those who are in need are blessed. Not the got-everything-figured-out’s but the oh-crap-what-do-I-do-now’s have been invited to repentance and participation in the Kingdom. The guy who rescued us did not come galloping up to Bethlehem with chariots and swords drawn (at least not in this realm). In our world he came crying, needing his mother and he ended up dying, needing his Father.
This mystery is a mystery. It cannot be solved, it can only be wondered at and trusted…or not. It’s intent is to reveal, through the saints, the manifold wisdom of our Father to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly realms - the realm of the Kingdom of Heaven that, here and now, we have been invited to. It is the gift of needing that he introduced with power that first Christmas. And it is very much worth celebrating.
For more on this, check out Matthew 9, Ephesians 3 and 1 Corinthians 12.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Watching Momentum
It’s all about the shoes. At least for me, this time, the shoes were the X-factor. You know that feeling of freedom and joy that comes when you were broken and now you’re not? The day you realize your back doesn’t hurt anymore, your head isn’t filled with mucus or the results came back saying your were healthy; that is a good day… if only we could remember.
I am a runner. I am not a fair weather runner. I am not a competitive runner. I run to be outside, to pray, to live well, to think clearly and to know that I can run. I catch myself, sometimes, watching my feet change places rhythmically. It’s wonderful to see forward momentum. I love country roads and the frogs croaking, crickets chirping while the trees turn dark against the wide colored sky. It makes me chuckle and holler with unbridled, happy energy.
Four months ago, I got a new pair of the wrong shoes. I ran less than 60 miles before my knee got all disconnected from itself. I discovered this disconnectedness when I bent down to put a tire on a trailer and it popped. My eyes popped wide from the realization that I had just inadvertently quit running for some indeterminate length of time. “Oh Shucks!,” I thought, “well, maybe it will get better really fast…” I didn’t really think “oh shucks,” but this is a PG story. So, I bent down over and over that day, putting on trailer tires. My knee didn’t get better really fast. I let it rest for a couple days, then went running in those shiny new shoes; just a couple slow miles. Then a few days later four miles; ouch. So I let it rest a whole week then ran a 10k. I had to get the shirt. The bummer about that 10k, the Pints to Pasta, was the parking. It was a 10-minute walk for a healthy person and a 30-minute walk for a pretending-to-be-thoughtful-while-I-try-not-to-cry-because-my-knee-oh-my-knee-hurts-so-bad. And yes, I do drive a little truck with a clutch.
I let it rest even longer, this time because I could barely walk. I studied and determined it was the little band (MCL) that connected the top bone to the bottom bone on the inside of my left knee. My symptoms indicated only a level one sprain. Then I ran again, just a tiny bit. No good, I could tell it wasn’t going to work. So I went to see my magical, mystical, only $45.00 per session chiropractor. He pressed, pulled and popped and said it was fixed. I could run two days later on Friday and he would be in on the weekend if I needed it. I waited. Aren’t I disciplined? A full week later I strapped on the shoes and went for a short, achingly slow run. It still hurt. By now, my nice guy patience was transparent in most places and see through in all the others.
I started riding and swimming. My sitter ached, my hair turned to burnt broom strands but it didn’t hurt my knee. I didn’t even try to run. Like I said – discipline. I even tried hot yoga. It was hot. I would have quit that but I was in a room full of small women and my wife was right next to me. That wasn’t discipline; I just didn’t want the humiliation. All this time, I feel sad, I feel lost and empty. I’m irritated by everything. My mind goes too fast and I’m unpleasant to be around. I’m considering either becoming a monkish or just giving myself over to junk food and B movies on late night TV… and infomercials.
Then, here is where the story turns; I got my Somnio Line Up Device. See, for the last several months, I have been considering being a “Somniac”. This is the moniker for a person who represents Somnio Shoe Company and helps people solve their running problems. Somnio is a new company that created a customizable running shoe. Using different inserts and cushioning options, a Somniac can create a shoe that perfectly matches the biomechanical needs of each foot and leg of a runner. So it is possible, with 650 different options, to create a different shoe for each foot. The Line Up Device uses lasers to determine a runner’s angle of pronation. I am “supposedly” an over-pronator.
So, I got my Line Up Device. I watched the video. I tried it out on myself. It said I’m not an over-pronator. I scowled in consternation and tried it again. Same thing. I scowl some more and pull on my beard (it helps me think). I look at my old running shoes and watch a couple more videos. Suspicion starts brewing and I walk around aimlessly for awhile, muttering to myself and postulating to my kids and my wife. They look and me and roll their eyes. I have my daughter run the line up device and tell me what my knees are doing. She confirms my suspicions. I call Somnio and run my theory by them. They confirm it to.
I have been wearing the wrong shoes. I am the opposite of an over-pronator. I had essentially, with those shiny new shoes, strapped a brick to the inside of my foot. What is called medial posting, intended to halt foot motion, was banging the crap out of the joints in my right leg. So, every time things started feeling better, I put those shoes on and went for a little run… Yeah, kind of like trying to heal a scab by rubbing it with 36 grit sand paper. Or like fixing a cavity by holding 300 gummy bears in your mouth for 12 hours. It’s just not going to work.
Somnio sent me a new pair of shoes (for free). I had ordered a motion control version back when I was an over pronator. While I waited, I started running just a little in my old shoes. And…nothing. Nothing hurt. I iced, just to be safe and to prove to my daughter that I was tough enough to do for five minutes what she did every day for 20. I ran again and again, even in shoes with over 750 miles on them. I got my new Somios and ran a 5k with my wife. I’m ok. My knees don’t hurt. I ran this morning in the rain and cold with my soggy running dog getting my leg wet. Splashing through puddles, I smiled really wide in the gray morning.
The lesson here – I did not know who I was. I wore armor that did not fit and it broke me. I could not be me in the wrong shoes. I am a certain kind of person. I can’t be another kind. If I know who I am, it tells me what I should do. When I then try to do that thing – it works. Even if it doesn’t look like it at first. Even if it feels awkward. If I be me, it works. The whole wide world is ready for me. I’m ready for it, but only in the right shoes.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Too Tired
I woke up this morning, or sort of. My eyes opened to the darkness and my body started doing things. I’m pretty sure I was not really awake. The alarm on the septic system screamed again from outside the fence… in the rain. Three hours later, I’m still not awake. The alarm went off again. I looked in the hole. Nothing there worth getting excited about. I’ve listlessly cleaned my little writing space up in the bonus room and put stuff away. Nothing on my list today fills me with energy and drive. It’s not that there isn’t great stuff on the list. Even yesterday, some of my plans for today were invigorating. There is something wrong.
I think… I’m tired…. of waiting… No, I’m sure of it. I am desperately tired of waiting.
There is plenty in my life worth getting excited about. I have an amazing wife. I have fantastic children. I even have nifty pets. I spend time with interesting people that I really care about. I often smile inwardly at how blessed I am. God loves me ever more than I can imagine. I expect to do incomprehensible things as I walk with my friend Jesus.
Even so, this happens often. I wake up and my flannel sheets call insistently to my hurting soul. My desire is gasping for breath. My heart only murmurs unintelligibly. I desperately want to stay in the dark and the warmth and not try – at all. Don’t talk, don’t ask, I have no answer, nothing valuable to share. I am not who I was meant to be and the world is even worse than I am. I am waiting to be put back together in a place that is not intent on my death. The struggle to experience what I long for is a frequent battle.
Today is one of those days.
I can feel my enemy trying to trick me. He lies and offers compelling evidence. The world is all f**ked up. Look at it. Look at your life. Nothing is working right. You’ve screwed it all up. It’s never going to be what you wanted. The horrifying truth is, I can’t deny it. I have made mistakes, big ones. I’ve made them that I knew better than to make. The consequences of my mistakes have altered my life and the lives of many around me. What I wanted never is going to happen.
Quietly, distantly I begin to remember that the enemy is ignorant. He can only remind me of what I wanted. But really, I don’t want it anymore. More in checking than I need, that ultra cool restored 79 F-350, prestige, position, a big house and multiple levels of assured security have lost their allure. My hunger pangs have been met. I have been dabbling in Jesus because he asked me and I’ve finally concluded that nothing else seems to work. My suspicions are being confirmed. It is as he has been saying. He has invited me to something better. So much better it cannot be described by comparison.
This new man that I am becoming is impossible for my enemy to understand. My old self has shrunk and is replaced with a man who is humiliated but glorious, broken but unconquerable, I am poor, I hunger now, I weep now, I am excluded and rejected now but I rejoice and laugh because I am great in the Kingdom. I am a friend to the King and his heart toward me is more than I can even wish. I fight by his side for the kingdom and he hands me weapons he has invented that my enemy cannot defend against. I love, I forgive, I extend grace, I am patient, I am kind, I am slow to speak and quick to listen. I share and walk the extra mile. All my enemy can do against these weapons is stamp his feet, whine and try to trick me into wanting what my old life offered. But I do not want it. On the days and in the hours and minutes I forget what I want, Jesus call to me. He will come and rescue me again and again because I am his. I am safe. I am good and it will always be thus.
I will be ok today. It will pass. The fog and the sorrow and the aching frustration of waiting will fade and I will awaken. Probably my wife will pray and hug and kiss me. My friends, unknowingly, will be themselves and it will heal me as I am reminded how wonderful they are. Coffee will help a little. I will come to the end of the shadow and light will find me again. I will withstand in the evil day and having done all I will stand. I will begin to feel encouraged and it will grow and grow. I will do incompressible things because Jesus does not depend on me to stay with him. I depend on him to keep me.
It is good to remember that waiting is better than being lost forever. The Kingdom of Heaven is near. I can wait a little longer.
I think… I’m tired…. of waiting… No, I’m sure of it. I am desperately tired of waiting.
There is plenty in my life worth getting excited about. I have an amazing wife. I have fantastic children. I even have nifty pets. I spend time with interesting people that I really care about. I often smile inwardly at how blessed I am. God loves me ever more than I can imagine. I expect to do incomprehensible things as I walk with my friend Jesus.
Even so, this happens often. I wake up and my flannel sheets call insistently to my hurting soul. My desire is gasping for breath. My heart only murmurs unintelligibly. I desperately want to stay in the dark and the warmth and not try – at all. Don’t talk, don’t ask, I have no answer, nothing valuable to share. I am not who I was meant to be and the world is even worse than I am. I am waiting to be put back together in a place that is not intent on my death. The struggle to experience what I long for is a frequent battle.
Today is one of those days.
I can feel my enemy trying to trick me. He lies and offers compelling evidence. The world is all f**ked up. Look at it. Look at your life. Nothing is working right. You’ve screwed it all up. It’s never going to be what you wanted. The horrifying truth is, I can’t deny it. I have made mistakes, big ones. I’ve made them that I knew better than to make. The consequences of my mistakes have altered my life and the lives of many around me. What I wanted never is going to happen.
Quietly, distantly I begin to remember that the enemy is ignorant. He can only remind me of what I wanted. But really, I don’t want it anymore. More in checking than I need, that ultra cool restored 79 F-350, prestige, position, a big house and multiple levels of assured security have lost their allure. My hunger pangs have been met. I have been dabbling in Jesus because he asked me and I’ve finally concluded that nothing else seems to work. My suspicions are being confirmed. It is as he has been saying. He has invited me to something better. So much better it cannot be described by comparison.
This new man that I am becoming is impossible for my enemy to understand. My old self has shrunk and is replaced with a man who is humiliated but glorious, broken but unconquerable, I am poor, I hunger now, I weep now, I am excluded and rejected now but I rejoice and laugh because I am great in the Kingdom. I am a friend to the King and his heart toward me is more than I can even wish. I fight by his side for the kingdom and he hands me weapons he has invented that my enemy cannot defend against. I love, I forgive, I extend grace, I am patient, I am kind, I am slow to speak and quick to listen. I share and walk the extra mile. All my enemy can do against these weapons is stamp his feet, whine and try to trick me into wanting what my old life offered. But I do not want it. On the days and in the hours and minutes I forget what I want, Jesus call to me. He will come and rescue me again and again because I am his. I am safe. I am good and it will always be thus.
I will be ok today. It will pass. The fog and the sorrow and the aching frustration of waiting will fade and I will awaken. Probably my wife will pray and hug and kiss me. My friends, unknowingly, will be themselves and it will heal me as I am reminded how wonderful they are. Coffee will help a little. I will come to the end of the shadow and light will find me again. I will withstand in the evil day and having done all I will stand. I will begin to feel encouraged and it will grow and grow. I will do incompressible things because Jesus does not depend on me to stay with him. I depend on him to keep me.
It is good to remember that waiting is better than being lost forever. The Kingdom of Heaven is near. I can wait a little longer.
Pick Right
PICK RIGHT – Acts 17
The other morning a guy asked me if I believed in other gods. He was a new Craig’s list friend that had interrupted my morning to take the weight of some left over cardboard off my shoulders. When he got out of his little blue faded Chevy pickup with the mismatched canopy, I asked him how he was. I remind myself again, dangerous, unpredictable question. It’s like bending over to pick up the mail right in the middle of a sneeze. Doesn’t seem like it would require a big effort, or even any attention, but if you aren’t prepared, you could find yourself in traction. Yes, you can actually blow up the finely constructed discs in your back if you are bent funny when you sneeze. It’s the same with the “how ya doin’?” question. If you ask and you are unprepared, not paying attention, you may find yourself in the midst of a three-hour conversation with a former stranger as God puppeteers you while he alters a life right before your eyes.
This guy, Uncle Paul he told me, was the kind of guy I tend to like immediately. Unassuming, confident, on the hairy side, worn out work clothes, calluses, a bit gimpy and a bit grumpy; he projected an air of not needing to prove anything. When he answered me, he hesitated a long slow moment, preparing to lie. Then in a sighing drawl, “Oh, doin’ alright.” The inflection at the end halfway between question and statement – he knew that if I was paying attention, I would know he was lying. But he was looking to get some weight off his shoulders to. In this case, I knew I should hold still and listen; I really wanted to hear whatever he had to say. I told him he wasn’t very convincing and he quit lying.
We started talking. We loaded up the cardboard, tied it down, shut the tailgate and then stood there trading stories and sizing each other up. My suspicions were right. He was the kind of guy I liked. A craftsman of fiberglass motorcycle, boat and NASCAR parts and anything else he could get paid for. Business was slowing down, kids were not what he had hoped and his overworked joints took too long to drag out of bed every morning. Eventually we got to the meaning of life; or maybe that’s where we had started. Like I said, he asked me if I believed in other Gods.
The string between God and my Styrofoam cup was vibrating while he was asking me the question. During the seven nanoseconds from when I knew what he was asking and before he reached the question mark, I un-forgot an old epiphany. He mentioned, for example, an old Indian lady who genuinely believed in Buddha. How could I know that she was wrong and I was right? That question is slightly off target and I think most of the time, through defensiveness, I/we miss the point. It’s not that there are not other gods. Of course there are, they are referred to repeatedly all through scripture. Often they are called idols. There are lots of gods. Pick any one you want. There are gods who will be your boyfriend, make you rich, “supposedly” control the weather, fertility, health, peace on earth, protection from evil spirits and any other kind of influence you want or are worried about. In varying and unpredictable degrees of effectiveness, you can pick your god by what services and benefits they provide. Some gods offer harmony with the rest of the world, some offer multiple virgin wives in eternity (how long can that last?), some offer the ultimate state of nothingness (nirvana) and some offer reincarnation. Nearly all suggest that if you behave correctly, things will work out, you will be blessed. So, the harder you try, the more or better you get it both now and forever.
In my mind, the question of how do I know I’m right and someone else who has chosen a different god is wrong is not focused on whether their god exists or not. It’s much more focused on how cool he is. I say, lots of gods exist, so pick the best one. Pick the super duper, tougher than all the rest, knows everything, all powerful, everywhere at once, defies comprehension, knows me personally and cares about my life God. Pick the God of all Gods. The one who is in charge of all the rest. The one who wrote the story. The central figure in the story. The one who chooses all the characters and puts them in the roles he designed them for. Pick the one who has both this temporal world and all of eternity under his creative control and he is doing a great job so far.
But there is another reason. It may be the main one as far as I am concerned. All other gods and religions require my behavior as a prerequisite for the benefits they offer. This concerns me. It’s not that I’m not a pretty good guy. My wife, my kids, my parents and my friends like me (as far as I know). I’m not overly irresponsible. I am sincere (mostly). I smell ok most of the time – I do falter in this area if there is an opportunity for Mongolian Grill – I love that stuff. I’m not all that disciplined or organized or attentive. All of my “pretty nice guy” status is added, subtracted defined and measured according to the culture I live in. I have some insight into the selfish nature that drives me, the weakness I struggle with and my tendency to take the easy route. I am concerned.
Frankly, I do not look forward to an eternity I had to work for on earth. My earning capacity it way too limited and the time frame is too short. It will be lame, I am sure of it. If, according to all those other gods, I have a bunch of stuff I have to do right in order to get the benefits of their program, then they are lame gods. Why would I want them if I have to do all the work (or any of the work for that matter)? I think, if you are going to set yourself up as a god, then you should be badass! You should take all the responsibility, do all the work and not rely on a bunch of weak, whiny, stupid people who can’t remember the lesson from the last painful mistake they made for more than a couple days (at best). If you are going to be god, you should get credit for making everything, being in charge of it, keeping it going, having a purpose for every single minute aspect of it and you should both be in it and bigger than it. You ought to know literally everything and be beyond the understanding of squeaky Cindy Lou Who and all the rest of us in Who Ville.
Bottom line, if you claim to be god, then by my definition and any logical, satisfying definition of god – you should be totally in charge of making everything and everyone that is cool, cool! If you have to rely on anyone or anything else to accomplish this, then as a god, you suck!
So, in conclusion, I don’t say that the devout Buddha worshipper is worshipping nothing. I believe in their god. I just don’t have any faith in their god or his motives. I say it’s the wrong god and not actually worthy of worship. It does not love them. It cannot save them. It is actually intent on their destruction. Even if all it said were true, what it offers is less than I want. I want and need and recommend the God who loves me, died to prove it and offers life apart from my ability for eternity. Anything less is a lot less.
The other morning a guy asked me if I believed in other gods. He was a new Craig’s list friend that had interrupted my morning to take the weight of some left over cardboard off my shoulders. When he got out of his little blue faded Chevy pickup with the mismatched canopy, I asked him how he was. I remind myself again, dangerous, unpredictable question. It’s like bending over to pick up the mail right in the middle of a sneeze. Doesn’t seem like it would require a big effort, or even any attention, but if you aren’t prepared, you could find yourself in traction. Yes, you can actually blow up the finely constructed discs in your back if you are bent funny when you sneeze. It’s the same with the “how ya doin’?” question. If you ask and you are unprepared, not paying attention, you may find yourself in the midst of a three-hour conversation with a former stranger as God puppeteers you while he alters a life right before your eyes.
This guy, Uncle Paul he told me, was the kind of guy I tend to like immediately. Unassuming, confident, on the hairy side, worn out work clothes, calluses, a bit gimpy and a bit grumpy; he projected an air of not needing to prove anything. When he answered me, he hesitated a long slow moment, preparing to lie. Then in a sighing drawl, “Oh, doin’ alright.” The inflection at the end halfway between question and statement – he knew that if I was paying attention, I would know he was lying. But he was looking to get some weight off his shoulders to. In this case, I knew I should hold still and listen; I really wanted to hear whatever he had to say. I told him he wasn’t very convincing and he quit lying.
We started talking. We loaded up the cardboard, tied it down, shut the tailgate and then stood there trading stories and sizing each other up. My suspicions were right. He was the kind of guy I liked. A craftsman of fiberglass motorcycle, boat and NASCAR parts and anything else he could get paid for. Business was slowing down, kids were not what he had hoped and his overworked joints took too long to drag out of bed every morning. Eventually we got to the meaning of life; or maybe that’s where we had started. Like I said, he asked me if I believed in other Gods.
The string between God and my Styrofoam cup was vibrating while he was asking me the question. During the seven nanoseconds from when I knew what he was asking and before he reached the question mark, I un-forgot an old epiphany. He mentioned, for example, an old Indian lady who genuinely believed in Buddha. How could I know that she was wrong and I was right? That question is slightly off target and I think most of the time, through defensiveness, I/we miss the point. It’s not that there are not other gods. Of course there are, they are referred to repeatedly all through scripture. Often they are called idols. There are lots of gods. Pick any one you want. There are gods who will be your boyfriend, make you rich, “supposedly” control the weather, fertility, health, peace on earth, protection from evil spirits and any other kind of influence you want or are worried about. In varying and unpredictable degrees of effectiveness, you can pick your god by what services and benefits they provide. Some gods offer harmony with the rest of the world, some offer multiple virgin wives in eternity (how long can that last?), some offer the ultimate state of nothingness (nirvana) and some offer reincarnation. Nearly all suggest that if you behave correctly, things will work out, you will be blessed. So, the harder you try, the more or better you get it both now and forever.
In my mind, the question of how do I know I’m right and someone else who has chosen a different god is wrong is not focused on whether their god exists or not. It’s much more focused on how cool he is. I say, lots of gods exist, so pick the best one. Pick the super duper, tougher than all the rest, knows everything, all powerful, everywhere at once, defies comprehension, knows me personally and cares about my life God. Pick the God of all Gods. The one who is in charge of all the rest. The one who wrote the story. The central figure in the story. The one who chooses all the characters and puts them in the roles he designed them for. Pick the one who has both this temporal world and all of eternity under his creative control and he is doing a great job so far.
But there is another reason. It may be the main one as far as I am concerned. All other gods and religions require my behavior as a prerequisite for the benefits they offer. This concerns me. It’s not that I’m not a pretty good guy. My wife, my kids, my parents and my friends like me (as far as I know). I’m not overly irresponsible. I am sincere (mostly). I smell ok most of the time – I do falter in this area if there is an opportunity for Mongolian Grill – I love that stuff. I’m not all that disciplined or organized or attentive. All of my “pretty nice guy” status is added, subtracted defined and measured according to the culture I live in. I have some insight into the selfish nature that drives me, the weakness I struggle with and my tendency to take the easy route. I am concerned.
Frankly, I do not look forward to an eternity I had to work for on earth. My earning capacity it way too limited and the time frame is too short. It will be lame, I am sure of it. If, according to all those other gods, I have a bunch of stuff I have to do right in order to get the benefits of their program, then they are lame gods. Why would I want them if I have to do all the work (or any of the work for that matter)? I think, if you are going to set yourself up as a god, then you should be badass! You should take all the responsibility, do all the work and not rely on a bunch of weak, whiny, stupid people who can’t remember the lesson from the last painful mistake they made for more than a couple days (at best). If you are going to be god, you should get credit for making everything, being in charge of it, keeping it going, having a purpose for every single minute aspect of it and you should both be in it and bigger than it. You ought to know literally everything and be beyond the understanding of squeaky Cindy Lou Who and all the rest of us in Who Ville.
Bottom line, if you claim to be god, then by my definition and any logical, satisfying definition of god – you should be totally in charge of making everything and everyone that is cool, cool! If you have to rely on anyone or anything else to accomplish this, then as a god, you suck!
So, in conclusion, I don’t say that the devout Buddha worshipper is worshipping nothing. I believe in their god. I just don’t have any faith in their god or his motives. I say it’s the wrong god and not actually worthy of worship. It does not love them. It cannot save them. It is actually intent on their destruction. Even if all it said were true, what it offers is less than I want. I want and need and recommend the God who loves me, died to prove it and offers life apart from my ability for eternity. Anything less is a lot less.
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