Ann Lamott on baptism

I really liked this quote from "Traveling Mercies" by Ann Lamott. (p.231-232) A very very funny, honest and quotable book. Hilarious and yet she's a beautiful writer and has some really interesting reflections. She gets on this topic of baptism when she is complaining about how she fears the weather because it messes up the hair she spends so much time perfecting.

Can you imagine the hopelessness of trying to live a spiritual life whne you're secretly looking up at the skies not for illumination or direction but to gauge, miserably, the odds of rain?...Because Christianity is about water: "Everyone that thirsteth, come ye to the waters." It's about baptism, for God's sake. It's about full immersion, about falling into something elemental and wet. Most of what we do in wordly life is geared toward our staying dry, looking good, not going under. But in baptism, in lakes and rain and tanks and fonts, you agree to do something that's a little sloppy because at the same time it's also holy, and absurd. It's about surrender, giving in to all those things we can't control; it's a willingness to let go of balance and decorum and get drenched.

There's something so tender about this to me, about being willing to hav eyour makeup wash off, your eyes tear up, your nose start to run. It's tender partly because it harkens back to infancy, to your mother washing your face with love and lots of water, tending to you, making you clean all over again. And in the Christian experience of baptism, the hope is that when you go under you come out, maybe a little disoriented, you haven't dragged the old day along behind you. The hope, the belief, is that a new days i upon you now. A day when you are emboldened to take God at God's word about cleanness and protection: "When though passeth through the water, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee."

a year later

This time last year I was stressing and freaking out about the reality that I would be heading over to Mongolia—a place foreign in both culture and the inconceivability of the climate. There was a sense of adventure stirred in with this fear of the unknown as well as just trusting that this is what I was supposed to be doing.
A lot has transpired in a year and yet here I am in the same physical place at the same job. Strange to think that I went all the way across the world to find out what I should be doing, to find God, to find myself and then I came back to familiarity.
I remember thinking about how cold I felt here even though I had hand warmer packets in my pockets and a thick coat over my body. I remember when I got off the plane in Mongolia and it was so cold it hurt, it was a strange sensation. It was an intense shock after being in Thailand for a solid month, contrasting snow with tropical sands. I recall feeling lost in Thailand, not knowing how to prepare myself for what was coming. I felt a little like I was closing myself off.
I have seen a lot, learned a lot but I do not feel much farther from where I was a year ago. Part of going on that trip was self discovery, learning how to lean on God and find what I can do to be pleasing him by helping people. If anything, I feel even more lost because I do not have this to look forward to. I need to see a way out, rather than assuming this sinking is inevitable. I have always counted on something to rescue me by giving me purpose. What do you do when you look ahead but cannot see or even imagine the future?
This Christmas I will not be with my nuclear family as I always have been, but get to spend time with my love and relatives. Although things feel and seem familiar, I can taste something different in the air. Opportunity, to travel and get quality time with my girl, to fight and laugh on the long open road. These are enough to ignite hope and excitement for what is to come when it is so overwhelmingly the same.

prints

The clouds have descended
Layering the earth
I wonder if this is what it is like
To live in the sky
I see a flurry of prints pressed in
Going this way and that
The marks, in single file
Forging new paths with each crossing
To feign the presence of more
Each step, a longing sigh
For that day
When two prints at a time
Replace the one

Anywhere

The car is parked
You are shivering
So I hand you my jacket
And you hide beneath
I sit on my hands
Not sure what to do
Looking out the driver’s side
I swear we have been here before
Maybe that is just it
This road we know so well
Seems so right, so familiar

I don’t care
if we take the long way there.
I don’t care
if we take the long way there
If you are with me

You ask me
But I say I’m not cold
Right now
I just want you to stay
We’ve taken a wrong turn or two
But unveiled new things
Along the way
Remember that old tree we climbed,
worn and off the common path,
with a view only for two?

Though a sigh lends to questions
Though a silence stands between
You are still here
And I don’t want to be anywhere
But here, with you

I don’t care
If we take the long way there
If you are with me

Abraham

Patriarch of the stars
Father of the sands
Won’t you hear my plea
To intercede for your descendents
For the smell of sulfur in the air
Is beginning to remind me of Sodom
The injustice
The gluttony
The idle hands
The poor ignored
Is beginning to look like Gomorrah
The ash, I can taste it in my mouth
We distance ourselves from these fabled cities
For we were founded on freedom and truth
Our ignominy tells no tales
Is there a righteous man
Even one?
Patriarch, oh that you were here
To plead on our behalf
That the righteous might rise up
And be heard before it is too late
For our transgressions
Are the catalyst
In which we’ve been dousing ourselves
Before the city is lit ablaze
Patriarch of the stars
Won’t you forgive us
For treating your children
As grains filtered one by one
As the sand of time
Falling
As we watch
With able hands, each life
Waste away

Righteous man, rise up
Save your city from destruction
For the cry of the forgotten
The rumble of the empty stomachs
The voicelessness of the downtrodden
Is beginning to sound like the haunting chant
The chant of justice, of judgment

Father of many
Righteousness was credited to you
For faith in an unseen covenant
As fools we have disgraced your blessing
Ascribed to us
For our “sin so grievous”*
I fear, is a piercing outcry
That will not be ignored
Father of many
Won’t you rescue us
So that the righteous
Will not be swept away with the wicked? *


*Genesis 18:20
**Genesis 18:23
Concept impetus: Ezekiel 16:49

greatest fear

I’m sorry things have been so unclear
So unpredictable, so overcast
So sorry that who I am
So often affected by the forecast
But I’m beginning to learn
And see things anew
That when the sun is hidden
And the moon vacant
When clouds make us hold our breath
That the dark night is actually brighter

I want you to know
That every drop of ink
Every stroke of the pen
Is a tear shed for you
In joy, in pain, in suffering, in solace, in peace—-
In silence
I don’t have the words
But I’ve been trying to find them
Because our existence is so fragile
My greatest fear
Is that those I love the most
Know it the least

I want you to know
That every drop of ink
Every stroke of the pen
Are tears shed for you
In laughter, in loss, in doubt, in comfort, in rest—-
In silence
Overflowing from a heart
That fears
That those I love the most
Know it the least

quote

I so connect with this:
Jon Foreman (at www.myspace.com/jonforeman)
"...Lately music has been my compass: it's neither the map, nor the road but a steady constant that can help me make sense of the both.

Most of the time, the songs that I write are more honest than I am. Sometimes I don't play certain songs for people because I'm not ready for that sort of honesty.

I don't write many happy songs, at least not lately. Which is odd because I'm a fairly upbeat guy. So I've got a few theories as to why this might be the case

It might be because life wears down on you. And you lose that part of yourself.

Or it could be because the songs are the only place where these types of ideas can find a release- like a dream where your subconscious is trying to tell you something.

Or perhaps I don't write songs when I'm happy. You know, a celebration requires a few friends and depression requires solitude.

Either way songs have become my way of finding beauty in the midst of chaos and the pain. It's a way of finding redemption for mistakes and regrets that I have.

In this way I feel like the creative process brings me closer to God. As a creator of a song I get to take all these broken fragments of failure and chaos and weave together something beautiful and meaningful. Decay. Death. Pain. Fall. And if God is a songwriter then these fallen leaves of mine can be redeemed. "

advent conspiracy

A few blogs back, I posed the question as to why we need to distract ourselves from reality with these guilty pleasures. In some form, we are all subject to this. Unless you are St. Francis, you probably spend some of your time surfing the web, watching movies, reading the latest New York bestseller or whatever as an escape. We also organize these kinds of activities into bigger things like professional sports which have enough viewers where people are actually paid to be physically fit and compete.
Then we have holidays and celebrations, which really have some good intentions where families gather and enjoy each other, united in whatever it is that has drawn them there for that moment. Oh how we have commercialized such things. I have heard professors say that the calendar is structured in such a way that it has some sort of rhythm, to constantly be refreshing us and reminding us of the gospel. Christmas, Easter, Pentecost, Advent, All-saints Eve, etc. Despite the best intentions of our forefathers, it has evolved into a maelstrom of constant consumerism. Think about it, we are always gearing up for the next big holiday so we can eat excessively, blow things up, and buy extravagantly for one another. As soon as Fall hits, the Halloween candy pops out, way in advance. Before you know it, the turkeys are everywhere and we eat so much we blame our lethargy on tryptophan (when scientists say it is actually just because our stomachs are so full). Then Christmas, oh Christmas. This brings me to what I want to get at.
Last year in church I heard about a brilliant movement, called the Advent Conspiracy. I love it, it’s bringing back the scandal of the gospel, tearing back the garish colors of Christmas and going anti-tradition by reminding ourselves that we lost the point somewhere. This movement says that we try something different. It talks about relational giving. To give something that really means something to those that are important to you, to make something or to offer up your time or skills. We tend to buy each other things that get hidden somewhere in the garage, or passed on to someone else. The fact that we have enough to give meaninglessly says that there is a perfidious imbalance of wealth. Why are we giving to those that do not really need anything? Because of love. There are other ways to show love that actually mean more. This is tough and it goes against everything that we have been doing our whole lives.
The reason I want to bring this up (other than that the pastor talked about it again this year) is that the whole world thinks it is in economic crisis. I know that I am going to hear things about how Christmas spending is down and how people can’t afford to have Christmas. Whatever. I would not be surprised if these new economic stimulus packages come out, with hopes that we’ll spend it on ourselves at Christmas or another holiday.
For more info go to http://www.adventconspiracy.org. They have more stuff and statistics, about how much America goes into debt each year to bring this season into our homes.
Some of the ideas I have heard are awesome. Like families volunteering their time to serve the poor during the holidays and spending their gift money instead on building wells through Living Water in places that do not have access to potable sources. A lot of churches are doing this together, and I think this is a neat way to see a little bit of sacrifice draw people together.
Or you can go to http://www.kiva.org and take part in the revolution of microfinance. Giving small loans to people who do not have money so that they can turn around and start a small business with it or think of it as sponsoring entrepreneurs that would never have a chance on their own. You get to hear the stories and progress of the people using your “loan.” This is the whole idea of teaching a man to fish rather than just giving a fish.
Or go to http://www.heifer.org and look at a gift catalog and buy someone livestock for their farm to make it a little more sustainable.
Or go to http://donate.worldvision.org and buy someone a goat, a shelter, or pay for a kid’s education for a year.
Another gift catalog… http://giving.samaritanspurse.org.
Even my Peace Corps buddy is into this, in a way, without even knowing it. He told me about kiva.org and how he requests that instead of receiving gifts for his birthday or Christmas that people support this organization with that money. In that way, he is spreading the word about these kinds of organizations and opening their minds up to it as well.
Personally, I think it would be awesome to buy a family a ger in lieu of my time in Mongolia. The winter is brutal, having a shelter is the minimum anyone should have.
What are your thoughts? I do not want to be hyper-critical of society and holidays. Holidays are great; let us draw together and instead look beyond our little worlds and instead of trying to forget reality, make a change. Doing this together, as families, as friends has a longer last impact. The website for Advent Conspiracy has some ideas for relational giving and other stuff, so check it out.
Oh, and let me know if you want to help buy someone a ger.

reverie

What would you say
If I told you
Last night
I felt like going for a drive
Windows down, the cold wind
Sweeping through
Eyes closed
Yet seeing so clearly
Soaring, free
Breathing breath not my own
Maybe then I’d remember
And wake up to your eyes
Shake me awake if that’s what it takes
In reverie everything is so clear
And yet my vision is blurred
So real but beyond my grasp
In reverie revelry
Looking out the passenger window
Watching it all go by
Driving as fast as I can
To get there
The scenes so busy, so illusory
They all fail to stain my memory
In reverie
Wake me up to your eyes

souliloquy

Haven’t talked to you
In a little while
It’s been wrong, all wrong
I kind of thought
That I could get by with just listening
After all,
What could you possibly want from me
When your eyes are the truth
They penetrate through
All our formalities, structures and isms
Your heart is the scent of purity
A blossom of love
And mine reeks
Devoured by its own insularity
I have to admit
That it is hard to give of yourself
When you are used to receiving
For this gift, this gift of pain
Looms, ever growing, overbearing
Entropy for the soul
How can I understand
That you carry these for me
That this weight
Is a mere haunting shadow
That feels so real
Your light is so much lighter
Oh, deliver me
Deliver me from this inertia in my spirit
No more soliloquies
I’m crawling back to you
One word at a time
So that I can continue to listen
For your whispers

paths

Am I lost
Or just waiting to be found
I never thought
I wandered that far
I don’t even remember
When it all started
All I know is
That I can’t see home from here
And I’m unsure which way is back
I thought, I just thought
That I heard your voice in the distance
So I ran after you
Until the air was thin
And my lungs burned
As hot coals
And my sinews could muster no strength
I thought, I just thought
That I might see you
That I might hear you
That you might urge me on
Or send me home
I don’t even know
Am I lost
Or just waiting to be found

visions of the sea

This is one from Mongolia. Never got around to posting it while there; was feeling some of the same things and so I remembered I had this written somewhere. Strange, I never knew what it felt like to be landlocked, always having the ocean within a few hours drive. It manifest itself in the longing for the sea; in this time I couldn't shake thoughts of Noah, Odysseus, and Jonah...for some reason I kept dreaming of the sea.

Landlocked
Yet visions
Of the open sea
Are more vivid
Than the sight
Of water
To the parched throat
Trapped without
The ocean near
Surrounded
Free to roam
The open plains
To climb unclaimed land
Worn and winded
Its peaks
Sanded and stolen
By the desert
As it drinks life
From the land
Creeping, rushing
Like a flood
Oh, drowning
Cast a line
Before these waters
Strand hope
Clench
The horse’s mane
As the sun
Magnifies the grace
Of this wild beast
There is no solace
Across the steppe
Landlocked
Trapped at sea
As a sailor
Desperate
For the sight of land
Landlocked
Oh, drowning
Cast a line
Before these waters
Strand hope

go get drenched

It is unpleasant and inconvenient when you are in it, but nice to watch enveloped in the arms of shelter. It hides the sun with its sender and yet it gives off that magical smell when it is done.
Rain.
We do what we can to avoid it. We have umbrellas, raincoats, ponchos, cars with windshield wipers. We cover our heads with jackets when running from the house to the car. We stay inside when it pours.
I never really cared for rain because it always hindered me from doing what I wanted to do. Or it would just make things tougher to deal with. It made me feel trapped. In Thailand if I wanted to anywhere, I had to walk down the street and find some public transportation which would mean getting wet along the way. Most Taxis reject soaking wet people and it isn’t a good idea anyway because it seems that the air-conditioning in vehicles only chooses to work when its not hot, creating a shiverfest and leaving the driver with a wonderful set of odors to mask with cheap perfumes. Then there is the crowding in a bus, huddling close, but not too close to the other passengers. Funny, there are different rules for personal space, I find that people do not want to be pressed close to a soaking stranger—who knows what kinds of stuff is dripping from their frame?
Acid rain aside, I think rain has purifying elements for the soul and mind. What is about a storm that gets one thinking—is it the moodiness of the torrent that resonates with something in us? When I think back to all of the times I have been drenched it has led to some good soul searching. I remember the times when I used to walk to the university in the rain, it wasn’t a real rain, a mere drizzle by tropical standards, but the short walk was somehow cleansing. Maybe it is breathing in that wet, cold air when it has been so dry and hot for months.
I forgot about this feeling, this something, that is stirred when walking in the rain until I decided to brave the cold and wet to go pay rent because I refuse to drive a distance so short. It felt so good, so familiar, like something I had missed out on for so long.
So, I propose this. At least once in the rainy season, leave the umbrella at home. Let the elements drench your skin and let the beauty or whatever it is that strikes you, sink deeper and permeate into your being. I think we lose something when we separate ourselves from nature with our shelter and man-made things. I think that for a moment we are finally letting ourselves be vulnerable to God when we quit hiding behind the inferior things we make and let our parched souls soak up his wonder.

train tracks

Oh, we’re in trouble
Not sure where to go
Can’t we just leave it all behind
Board the next train
With no set destination
As we nervously triumph
With the blare of its horn

You are for me
And I am yours
What more
Do we need?

The great beast fights inertia
as it pulls at the tracks
begging it to let it go
who thought this could be so freeing
when its path is determined
we’ll get off in some small town
maybe make new names
or we’ll head along some unmarked trail

You are for me
And I am yours
What more
Do we need?

Like a fish tangled in a net
Our lives twisted and caught
In a cobweb of wires and excess
Keeping us together
Or suffocating our deepest longings?
Oh we have to get out
You are not here alone
Take my hand,
Together we’re stronger

You are for me
And I am yours
What more
Do we need?

flags and Nascar

I have been thinking about symbolism and the American flag. There is an entire set of etiquette in dealing with it such as it cannot touch the ground or it needs to be burned and it is always to have a light on it otherwise it is to be only flown between dawn and dusk. Most people know these things and they never really mattered to me until I was given the duty of hoisting them each day. I actually hate this responsibility because of the fear of the flag touching the ground as I attempt to attach it to the halyard.

A few weeks ago, a certain person on duty failed to fold the flags neatly after taking them down. I for one, am no patriot. I am the kind that grimaces on the fourth of July when we have to sing "Proud to be an American". Travel overseas and see the conduct of Americans or the way we are viewed and it makes you not so proud. Anyhow, I at least have the sense of respect for my country to do things right and not wad up the flag.

Just last week I was having trouble hoisting the flag due to the fact that the California flag had not been removed at night. The California flag sits below the American flag when raised, thus it was a tough task trying to put on the American flag while trying to keep the other flag from touching the ground. It was as if I needed another set of arms and hands. After a few close calls, I succeeded, very clumsily.

Later that morning a student participating in ROTC told me that while they were doing their PT, one of the officers, in a moment of pride for his country exclaimed, "Who the f*** is putting up the flag?!" This made me cringe in a moment of fear and embarassment at my feeble attempt to do things right. I guess I had not demonstrated enough pride and respect in the process to the point of offending someone proud to serve our country.

Does this seem a little extreme to you? Maybe I've just gotten a little defensive, but I think that this represents a misplacement of values. It is just a flag. Yes, it is a symbol for everything that America stands for. But it is just a flag. All of these federal regulations and the intensity of one's reaction to clumsiness says that things are out of order. Is the flag sacred? In my eyes we can fringe upon borderline idolatry. Yes, we need respect but still...

Think about it. Do we treat God's word with the same kind of respect? I see us putting it on the ground all the time. God's words...that seems pretty sacred to me, and to be putting it on the ground, what kind of disrespect is that? Not to mention for all of the people that died and fought for it to get to where it is today--in the hands of the common man in language that we can understand.

On another line of thought...what's the deal with Nascar anyway? One of my roommates was flipping through the channels and stopped there for a second. It just seems ludicrous to me in this time where there is a supposed "oil crisis" or the need for more fuels, that we sit amused watching it being guzzled up where nothing good comes of it. Black gold, just being used as cars circle for hours around a track. Waste?

All for the sake of entertainment, we waste. It occurred to me the other day that the wealthier a country, the more absurd the entertainment. I was thinking about how the US has so many t.v. shows and reality shows and game shows. Then I was thinking about how Japan is known for having random game shows that entertain us here. Why is it that we have to distract ourselves with such absurdity when the rest of the world is dealing with reality? Why the need to suspend reality?

confessions

I confess that I sometimes just do not care because it feels like a burden no one can shoulder. Or is it that I care too much but just do not know what to do and so I choose to shut my mind off because there is a direct correlation between knowledge and responsibility.
I confess that sometimes I do not want to know what is going on. I confess that I choose to settle into this ever narrowing Americana tunnel-vision. So then I distract myself with things that really do not matter. When I open up the newspaper it is easier for me to turn to the comics or the sports or the healthy living but it is almost too painful to look at what is going on in the world—even when the newspaper you read arbitrarily filters out the WORLD section into a quarter of a page.
I confess that when I pick up a TIME magazine it is much easier to read about crazy new inventions or new movies or an up and coming writer or trend rather than a war that is ravaging the lives that number greater than the entire city I live in.
I confess that when I turn on the television it is a struggle to make myself turn to a news channel when I could lose myself in laughter of Cosby or Home Improvement re-runs. I confess that I rather read the running line of updates across the bottom of news channels and have it as quickly leave my mind as it races across the screen than watch a report on it.
I confess that it is easier not to care until someone brings it up in conversation and then to become passionate for a moment. I confess that these moments are disturbing and you hope no one will bring them up, stirring my heart that has felt overwhelmed for so long.
I confess that I want to cry when I see beggars and want to give them money even though I have lived my whole life being told not to. I confess that that feeling fades with all too much haste. I confess that I do not do anything to help these people.
I confess that I love getting letters from my sponsored children across the world but I forget to pray for them even though I know they live so simply and through much hunger and difficulty.
I confess I refrain from writing or saying things that I believe because then I will be held accountable. I confess that with the things that my eyes have seen that I am ashamed how idle my hands are, how soft and un-calloused they are—unlike my heart.
I confess that I strongly believe that when faced with a decision the harder choice is most often the better, yet I tend to favor what is comfortable.
I confess that I waste even when I see how it impacts the rest of the world. I confess that I detest plastic because it poisons the earth in the process of making it, recycling it, destroying it, or drinking from it but will never be able to completely quit using it. I confess that I think this is messed up. I confess that I think all we care about is convenience. I confess that luxury and convenience have been mistaken for necessity.
I confess that I really just want to do what pleases God and believe is right and yet am afraid of what that looks like.
I confess that I probably will not be any different after this, that I will quickly forget this.
I confess that God is just but sometimes we refuse to believe it and so I judge according to my own understanding. I confess that this justice means that there is no compromise and yet we think we can fudge here and there.
I confess that I do not love enough.
I confess I do not know where to go from here, that I do not know how to tie all of this together.

curious mornings

By no means am I a morning person. Anyone that knows me has probably witnessed the fact that I take quite awhile to shake off drowsiness, which comes in the form of being slow to rise and grumpy upon waking. The Proverbs are filled with practical wisdom; one of my favorites is found in 27:14, “If a man loudly blesses his neighbor early in the morning, it will be taken as a curse.” I recall sharing this with my roommate my freshman year, hoping that he may glean something from this Biblical caveat.
As much as I may appear to despise the morning, I actually really like it. So far as I have shifted the hours that I work I have enjoyed greeting the start of a new day. I find that the sun is somewhat like me—it is not an instant riser—it takes its time. Or is it that it wishes to be respectful, to not be so abrupt in urging us out of our slumber?
There is nothing like the crispness of the dawn air; somehow it renews me as it fills my lungs with its purity, unadulterated by the flurry of busyness of the day. There is also a sense of wonder and curiousness as I see color restored as shadows are lifted. It is as if secrets are whispered for all to hear and yet I find myself among the few that are fortunate enough to be up and hear it. What is the secret though?
It is a curious feeling, one that you wish you could share with more. Yet, most of the time when we are up before the sun, we have busied ourselves excessively ALREADY to the point that the purity of the dawn air simply fills our lungs rather than actually permeating our being. The beauty in the way that the mystique of the morning lingers unexplained is so expansive that it is new each day and why lovers draw closer, for they have shared in an eternally ephemeral masterpiece that is theirs to keep.

follow?

Ozzie Chambers’ My Utmost for His Highest for August 17th starts out with the verse Luke 18:22 which reads, “Yet thou lackest one thing; sell all that thou hast…and come, follow Me.” [capitalization is Ozzie’s, not mine]

In this day’s reading, he talks about how Jesus has a lot for us which we listen to, yet not necessarily hear. Yet, there are those times when we feel like we are falling or for a moment you are stuck or it just smacks you in the face like a splat on your windshield. Mr. Chamber’s says those words are “amazingly hard” when they actually do get through to us. I think all of us are pretty aware of this, if you read the same Bible as me, there are some shocking things going on in there that we tend to rationalize away through saying it was hyperbole, analogy, or has a different meaning because of context or even get lost in the intellectualness of it all rather than looking to God’s heart.

What did strike me as I read this is when the devotional goes on and says, “Our Lord never pleaded, He never cajoled, He never entrapped; He simply spoke the sternest words mortal ears ever listened to, and then left it alone.” He then asks, has God ever said something challenging to me which I have clearly heard? I did not really want to hear these words because it places so much responsibility on us. Just the idea that maybe God has not specifically requested of us to sell all our possessions, but there is something else he asks before we are to follow him and then we are given a choice—to do it quick or turn away downtrodden by what we cannot do.

Jesus is pretty hardcore sometimes. Yeah, He is human and there is this balance between the guy that weeps for loss of friends and enjoys a good party from time to time to the guy that says to a disciple in Matthew 8 he should follow him NOW, not even taking time to bury his deceased father. Right before that he says to a teacher of the law that wants to follow him, “man, I made everything you see around you. I AM, and I spoke it into existence. Foxes, birds, ants—they all have a place to call home and yet I do not even have shelter. I am a sojourner; I am homeless. Are you sure you are up to it?” I could distract myself with the idea that Jesus was just trying to make a point of all that it costs to walk and talk with him. Yet, when I ask myself if I would be able to leave behind my responsibility to family I get a little lost in the practical aspects that need to be taken care of. “What will my family think? Jesus does not really mine right this very instant, he can wait a day or two. I cannot just leave them like that.” Do you think you could? Given the burial has not taken place yet, that means the loss is very recent and one would still be immersed in the pain and mourning.

On top of this He says, “let the dead bury their own dead” which at first glance can look extremely callous. And yet, the implications of this are deep—six-feet deep—if you will. The idea is that those that are not truly alive are concerned with the wrong things rather than following. This is pretty scary, but what does that say about me when I turn down the chance to follow up on what Jesus is speaking to me? That I am dead?

This is all really important to munch on, to let it set in, process, then regurgitate and ruminate on it. I am just not sure how. So many times, reading the newspaper or watching the news or talking with friends you get these crazy ideas or strong feelings about something. Or when reading the scriptures suddenly you get excited about a passage or something makes your blood pump a little faster because you never noticed that verse or thought about it that way. I think it appropriate to credit the Holy Spirit in pointing out things to us that we have seen a million times but suddenly are almost highlighted and illuminated so clearly. Given the perfect, holy communion between the persons of God, would it be too much to say that convictions or passions can be Him speaking to us [a little indirectly?]? This is scary because we get all into whatever it is at the time but not necessarily do anything about it. Where is the follow through, taking actions to our ideas and beliefs. To know something and not do anything about it is perfidy—we are breaching something that was entrusted to us in faith.

So many times I think, “man, I just want to follow.” Well, it is time to rethink, to look anew, to see all the offers Jesus has put out there, lovingly, without demanding.

There is hope though. Oswald Chambers says near the conclusion of the devotional, “Our Lord knows perfectly that when once His word is heard, it will bear fruit sooner or later.”

Lord, cure this leprosy of the soul.


It is time to follow.

reflection

When I look in the mirror
I see too much of me
and not enough of you

envelop me

i have been holding back--
no more
when we lose ourselves in you
we find,
we find what we have been searching for

too much of me
not enough of you
too much of me
not enough of you
not enough of you
envelop me

only you
only you

present

A lot of what we struggle with in life is knowing for certain that God is present with us. A lot of things I have read in recent times remind us that God is always here but it takes that something extra to really believe it even when we are blind to Him. As lonely as I felt in Mongolia and as many of the lows I had where I was doubting myself, I really felt close to God, as if He was near. The reality of it is that He is not any closer or farther now, but it has to do with my perspective. This is tough. I think it has to do with a dependency on Him. I am back and just trying to make a living to get through each month which seems almost a depressing existence to me, but it is only for the time being I tell myself. Yet when I was in Mongolia, I was completely out of my element, in a strange milieu that I did not know how to function in so I was in no way able to take a hold of the reins. I felt a deep sense of creativity where my spirit was almost crying out, praising God in its own ways, fueling me with ideas. The Word was alive and when worshiping with people I was moved even when I could not understand what we were singing. It did not matter, just looking around and seeing the intimacy that people share with God and their love for people was more beautiful than words could ever be put into a verse or chorus.

Here I am now, trying to figure out the next steps for the future. Have not felt the same kind of presence and creativity here though. Sometimes I hate this constant access to instant information. It is like there is always something that I could look up on the net, resulting in two things. The first is that I think some of us have a poorer retention of information because there is less of a need to store it. Also, I spend a lot of my free time surfing or reading random things when I could be reading with purpose or even more--listening. I think that is what is killing me. I wish I could cut off all access to TV and internet for awhile and just be quiet to see how much more of God we could see.

In the midst of this I have been struggling--why did I come back and am I making any difference where I am? Then I feel like I was spoken to directly in a way that is quite personal to my experience. It begins with a funny story.

I am at work, set up in this blue little tent on the lawn between two dorms on campus. The operation is to collect keys from guests that had been attending a Jesus Culture conference at Bethel church nearby. This is not really my job but it being teh weekend I get to do a variety of random jobs since no one else is around.

An Asian girl that quickly stood out as one of the leaders in her group came over to drop off her keys. In the process as I am counting the keys and checking them off of the list and putting them away she poses a funny question, "have you ever heard of dove eyes?" My response is, "um, no, why? Did someone say that about you?" as I wonder if she wants me to explain it to her as if someone had been complimenting her with it. Instead she throws it back at me saying, "No, I wanted to say it to you. It is from a song that says, 'I don't want to talk about you like you are not in the room...'"

I'm thinking, 'Great. This is incredibly awkward. This girl is hitting on me? How random!' Before I have time to fumble words around and dig my hands deep into my pockets as if either I can extricate myself from this situation or the right words lie there, she continues--rescuing me from a squirmy moment.

"I just feel that God has something for you, to have dove's eyes, to be uncompromising in your search for his presence. To be totally devoted to seeking Him. Have you heard of Misty Edwards? I'm really into worship music, she sang "Dove Eyes" which is about undivided devotion. I feel that God had these words for you today so I wanted to share them with you. Can I pray for you?"

I am normally someone that gets really uncomfortable in this kind of situation but I felt at peace and that it just seemed right--no weird vibes. Felt like it was directly for me. I looked up Misty Edwards, it turns out she is a worship leader at IHOP (International House of Prayer) which I think is totally awesome by the way. The lyrics are short and simple:

I don't want to talk about You like You're not in the room
I want to look right at You I want to sing right to You

I believe that You are listening
I believe that You move at the sound of my voice

Give me dove's eyes

Give me undistracted devotion for only You

But what do I do with this? I have been struggling with this. What does it mean? Does it go with what I have been fearing lately--that I worked too much at setting myself up with what came my way first and what was most convenient? Am I trying to take care of myself too much instead of relying on God to take care of me and honor that I am trying to follow a way of service and a Spirit-filled life?

Any words of clarity for me on this?

filthy stinking rich

Everyone else is writing about it, so to write about it myself is to just be another voice in the crowd. But I cannot help it, it is so frustrating all this stuff with the high cost of oil and gasoline. I do not even have a car at this point but the effects spill over into increased cost of everything else (insert cheesy allusion to an oil spill here).
I read in the paper the other day about how Exxon made a record amount last quarter with 11.7 billion dollars—not just in sales, in PROFIT. There is a deep stench here that says that the rise in the price of gasoline is not necessarily correlated with the cost of oil because they are making more money than before despite the rising number of people seeking more fuel efficient cars and resorting to riding bikes. Something just is not right in this scene. One would think that with these factors playing in, that they would be losing money and having to make cuts and such just like everyone else. Instead, these massive companies are raking in the money while the rest of the world is finding ways to accommodate for the rise in food costs due to the rise in the price of oil. They continue to make even more while the economy suffers and we ultimately make less because more goes into practical costs which means we spend less recreationally which feeds back into hurting the economy. Why is it that these oil companies cannot afford to make a few cuts in profits, make a little less for the sake of the entire country?
Even more so we see this twisted, crude, slippery business when we see that the cost of crude oil per barrel has decreased by as much as 15% while the cost of gas at the pump has seen a mere 3% reduction. Is it just me or is it that the people that just announced record profits are now making even more because the “wholesale” price went down but their “retail” price has barely budged? (http://www.nypost.com/seven/08032008/business/oil_drop_brings_no_relief_to_the_pump_122827.htm)
While I am at it, another thing that bugs me is the yearly increase of gas prices during national holidays because they know that we are going to be driving all over to go on vacations and visit families. They have so much of a monopoly over our transportation that we cannot do much about it except grimace when we face the pump or try and find some special bus, train, or plane deal. Whatever happened to doing something like reducing the costs at these auspicious times of the year to encourage travel?
Where was I? Oh yeah, profits of the gas people. While these people are busy padding their wallets, the governator is busy cutting costs to meet California deficits. Thousands of jobs are being wiped out and judges that used to make $178,000 annually are going to receive $6.55 hourly which is the federal minimum wage but less than the state minimum wage of $8 per hour. While some of this may be good to help us increase efficiency, government jobs are incredibly important—we cannot really afford to have underpaid people running things!
A final thought. While we think we are struggling, the reality is that America is still incredibly wealthy, we are just having to budget a little more closely than we have had to in a long time. Smaller economies, poorer people are hit much harder overseas than we are as they watch their tiny incomes stay the same and the cost of living increase. Think of the people that already were impoverished or had little to eat, they have less now. We are in crisis.
I confess I am no business or economic or political expert, so if I am off-base or misinformed in areas, please hit me up with your thoughts because all of this is looking incredibly messy—enough for someone that usually tries to stay out of these topics to say something.

Silence and The Shack

God is deeply involved in our lives, whether we acknowledge it or not, weaving themes that speak to us. I have noticed in recent years that there are times that these themes are represented in a variety of forms, but if our eyes are open and if we are paying attention we might begin to recognize what He is trying to teach us. Certain times in my life I have been plagued by thoughts only to have them addressed in a variety of forms, speaking deeply to my heart. Or there are other times where you almost feel inspired by something and yet subdued by reticence and doubt and then you open up the Bible and everything seems to be pointing to that or conversations with friends or anywhere.
I have read two books back to back that are seemingly very different and yet they grapple with many of the same things. Both are firmly recommended. The first is called “Silence” by Shusako Endo. It takes place in Japan in the sixteenth century. Missionaries had been met with great initial “success” in that the church was growing and people were following Christ, including important leaders. In a drastic shift, heavy persecution is doled out upon believers that are spared upon apostatizing by trampling upon an image of Christ. The protagonist is a Portuguese priest that sets out for Japan after hearing that his revered mentor had in fact set his foot upon the visage of Christ. This book is a fascinating journey that follows the questions and doubts that fill the priest. He is steadfast in his dedication and yet asks God over and over again why He is silent in the face of their oppression. As he struggles he learns to look at Jesus in a new way and how to listen for his voice.
The second book is also a work of fiction called “The Shack” by William P. Young. It is cleverly crafted as if the author is simply relating someone else’s story. The main character, Mack, struggles with his daughter being abducted and murdered in an old shack. Years later he decides to return to the shack and is met there by God in the form of three people that he has intimate, heart-breaking conversations. Again, this story struggles through doubts and pain and wondering where God is when everything comes tumbling down. Fascinating conversations. This book is also well written in the way things are described and the richness of it all as it comes together it is actually hard to stop reading. You find yourself going through it too quickly and wanting to go back and cherish and mull over some of the things. It is written in a deeply personal manner that makes you wonder if it is in fact fiction.
I hope to be changed by what I have read and to be aware of what is being spoken to me. I also see the power of literature that carries messages, themes, questions across stories that touch our hearts more deeply as they are more vulnerable as we grow attached to characters and identify with their lives.
Check out www.theshackbook.com for more information. Let me know what your thoughts are on it as well. Always open to more learning.
Open eyes.

Last days

I have been thinking about death after catching moments where you see how abruptly life fades from something seemingly under control to out of hand, to weakness, to joy, to pain, to helplessness, to loss of hope.
It was an interesting contrast, and to even call it that might be somewhat of a misnomer, for in so many ways they paralleled each other. In my short trip to Florida I had the chance to volunteer at a place called “Give Kids the World” thanks to my cousin, who signed me up to help even before I got there because of the great experience he had in the previous summer. Give Kids the World is a place where families with terminally ill children get to go and kind of leave things behind for awhile, to have fun and forget what is to come. The place is a theme park all in its own. The cost for this little getaway is zero. At the center of the grounds is what they call the ice cream palace, a place where kids are allowed to get it even in the morning, even for breakfast. Big carousels and game rooms and a theater are just some of the things that I saw in my time there.
As we were on our way, I was somewhat somber, thinking of the implications and forgetting that this was a place of happiness to leave the sorrows on the backburner for awhile. The other thing that threw me off is that so many of the kids looked like they were fine, and yet somehow they were dying. They were all smiles and having a lot of fun, and I just could not help but feel pain for these people. Children are such joys and full of life, to be robbed of it is nefarious.
On the flipside, my cousin and I went to the nursing home in the retirement village my grandparents live in to drop off something for a friend of theirs. This man had gone into the ministry and then into teaching and administration. Yet here he was, a captive of Parkinson’s. Beyond the quivering hands, it had rendered his voice weak to a point that you could barely hear him and you find yourself just nodding and smiling foolishly, not wanting to make him have to repeat himself over and over again. This place was so depressing and weighed heavily on my spirit. I could not help but think about the accomplishments of these people, the lives that they have touched, all to be forgotten as they plod through the last days, weeks, months, years utterly helpless in spite of all they have done. Only to be pushed around in wheel chairs and have people not understand you. The people around are without the rich context of these people’s lives, left with the withering remaining moments. There is a certain sense of frustration that hangs in the air. Sometimes you can see it in their eyes, and yet others are gray and unfocused from resignation, surrender, to helplessness.
I wonder why it is that we have to exit life like this. Is it that we are to be humbled and realize our utter helplessness, to bring us to complete dependency, to physically embody human frailty before we enter glory? Is it a test of our hearts, to see what we do or how we live when robbed of strength and vitality? What about those that lose their minds, what is the purpose of this? I cannot see a purpose, only that we truly were not designed for this.
My grandparents are some of my biggest heroes because aged 79 and 82 they are still working so hard. They spend many hours of the day making calls to donors for Samaritan’s Purse, an NGO under Franklin Graham. On top of this they are very active in the community and still travel. They are so dedicated to service, to not simply sit back and rest. In fact, one of my last days of visiting them, my grandmother put in a 13 hour work day. They are the wisest people I know and have come through so much. They will be greatly rewarded when the King returns.
The commonality of all of this is simply last days and how they are lived out. I saw escapism, I saw joy, I saw determination, I saw resignation, I saw fear. What I could not see was myself in the same place, it is too hard to imagine how you get to that point. That may be the problem, that we fail to remind ourselves when we see these people that we will be there one day as well. The contrast between the happiness and sorrow was striking. One on hand, there is an underlying sadness beneath the surface of the fun for life cut short, while on the other hope for paradise underneath the layers of age and frailty.
How quickly we go from nursing to the nursing home. Forget not the brevity of life.

the taste of blood

This represents a journey and freeflowing thought, unedited, without any preconceived idea or direction. It may not be cohesive or linear but it is a window into the thought process and what was really on the mind.

slay the moon
steal it from the sky
clothed with the night
we can roam, run, dance
each day is hope
as we step, climb
to an unknown life
even as we tire and decay
as subjects of gravity and entropy
and as our bodies are swallowed
our graves will taste no glory
for its lust for death
has been forever sated
by the taste of blood
unsoiled by the haunt of Hades

the mighty sepulcher beckons
all too familiar with our names
that once rested in its vices
to forget that death,
clothed as sheep,
keeps us from living
with its seductive whispers

Death, you've been defeated
you know the end result
in the final book
it has been writ
"it is done"
you shall not slay us
day by day
with our memory
we will hold on to love
for a day without love
is no life at all

this taste of blood
stings from the stains it leaves
yet, testament to lasting love
that gave life
so let us live,
live love
for, without love we are nothing

disintegrating

I wanted it so bad, to be out of the vastness of that great desert land that I called home for such a short time. To be in conversation with people that know me well. To be in comfort. To speak and not feel dependent upon the pen. To not feel as if my existence only mattered if people cared and were reading what I wrote. To end the pangs of separation and distance from love that you try to ignore, only to find that they don't go away.

We all need a purpose, to discover our passions. There are so many books about this and those that tell us that a lot of times we kill ourselves pursuing other things and that is why we feel so un-alive. When I was in Mongolia, I felt alive in that I knew that each day was a step of faith and that I was surrounded by foreignness, ripe with learning opportunities. I felt dead in that I wanted people to share it with. Now things have been flip flopped, and the adjustment isn't as clear as transitioning from dry cold to humid tropics. It is so subtle. Relationships with family and friends truly sustain me and I just feel ever refreshed, soaking in their love and seeing how they live. Yet, the future seems so unclear. As excited as I should be, I find myself gripped with a bit of fear. #1 on my list is being united again with the one that I foolishly keep trying to play hard to get with distance. Yet, beyond the happy feelings is the need to take the next step or support oneself. Work for a year? Or two? A real job? Or a job where you can just save up? Or one where you get little pay but good experience?

Ah the uncertainty. I hate it. I love it. I am used to having options that seem amazing and then having to choose. Time to strap up and go. Take a few steps. Maybe run a little. The option that I tend to take doesn't seem to be there. My philosophy tends to be that the harder thing to do tends to be the right thing, because it will stretch you and make you grow. Yes, that may be hard to believe considering I am a comfort zone coach potato but at least that's how I think.

Why can't I just do what I want to do? Why do we have to play these career games where we take on things knowing that it will give us a chance in the long run?

My friend is running off to the Philippines and going to be serving God with the skills and passion that have been cultivated through his experiences, background, and just big 'ol heart. Am I jealous? Yes. Should I be? I know I know, I just went to Mongolia. But, there's this thing with being away from everything and knowing that you have to just live each day trying to serve God...there's something exciting about that. When it's not about the income, not about what you are going to do tomorrow.

I feel like I am disintegrating. Something comforting in knowing your purpose and passion. Oh, to know that.

Silhouette

There was a darkness over my countenance yesterday and out of it came this one and the fragmented one (see next post). Everything felt meaningless as I realized as I was searching for jobs and that I didn't want any of it. We're all just trying to survive, make our time go by on earth with as many laughs as we can until we pass on. Afraid of where my pen would lead me in this dark place, I was given images that showed me where I stand as a lamp before my feet.

We are but silhouettes
In this shadow
Fearful
As we draw nigh
To the light
The darker, deeper shadows
Are cast
Driving us away
To feel with
Our fumbling hands
Calloused from reading
In the dark
With our hearts to interpret, yet
Infected with
Leprosy of the soul
As it silently devours.

Heal
Help our unbelief

I know to all else
I am but a silhouette
In the distance of the night
Yet you see my face
More than just a shadow
You know my face
The dark hides who we are
You see my face
The anonymity consumes every detail
You know my name.

Fragments

Oh
We’re such fragile souls
Looking for a home
Like the cracked soil
From whence we’ve come
Afraid of crumbling
In your hands
Oh to be held
Is it worth the risk
Of being dropped?
Shattered,
Never to be gathered
Oh piece us together
Shatter us first
We’ve clung to nothing
Brittle and dry
Shatter us
Piece us together
As we fall apart
Not but broken shards
Jagged and unclean
Useless on our own
Shatter us
Piece us together
Show us where we fit in
Not as brilliant wholes
But as
Frag
men
ted
pieces
That together
Make this
Life mosaic.

Landlocked Odyssey

I feared for long this day
that we would sail through these wretched waters
deceptively calm, beautiful
I knew what lies ahead
The Siren's song prances o'er effortlessly
Coated with honey to disguise such malice
Beckoning, calling my name, dizzying my mind
Loosening my grip, my determination
May I not sail in vain

Fetch the strongest cords aboard!
Tie me to the mast,
make the knots ever taut
Grant me the vigilance of Odysseus
Their lies coax
proffering gentle repose
they are a mirage of feigned hope
I am weary, my sails tattered and thin
wandering in this relentless desert
Although their chorus drowns all else out
Something constant as the ringing in my ears holds me
The very words that began this tiresome journey
If I veer now, it was all meaningless
May I not sail in vain

Tie me to the mast
your words bind me there
May this not be in vain
Lead me out of exile, into Zion
Abandoned all other hope
to search the seas recklessly
your words are all I have
Your oath, your covenant carries me
May I not sail in vain
as it echoes on and on
above the enticing tales of Babylon
"I will be found by you"

Inspired by Jeremiah 29:12-14

roots

I don’t claim to have a green thumb or to even know much about plants. Yet for some reason an image rooted itself in my mind the other day as I was walking through town with my friend. Strange in that I haven’t see a whole lot of plantlife in awhile as well, so perhaps that is why it is so vivid in my mind.
I have been thinking about why it is difficult to change scenes, to move yourself from one setting to another when you have made that place your home. The longer we are in one place the more we grow accustomed to the soil and the overall milieu, adjusting in the right places so that we can live as comfortably as we can. With time we set roots in the soil so that we can take from the nutrients offered and begin the growth process. It is slow going but with time our roots go deeper, they thicken and expand, perhaps a parallel of what happens with the branches above the soil. We know how much water and sunshine to expect, how harsh the conditions of the weather are and everything else necessary to survive.
When it comes time to move we have to dig up the roots so that we can be moved from one soil to another. In this process the thicker roots remain intact, yet the frail and thin extensions of the smaller roots are usually broken and are left behind. No matter how careful, roots are ripped and torn, but what is important that enough is there that the plant can continue to glean nutrients.
When we move, if we have grown roots deep enough in a place, a part of us is left behind, no matter how well we say goodbye. We can do what we may to avoid any pain, but the truth is that some relationships and connections are fragile. A part of you will always remain where you left off. Some of us choose to amplify the pain and not trust that it is worth growing those smaller, more breakable roots in the new soil, knowing that the main roots are enough for us to live on. The fact is that we get less nutrients this way and are less intertwined with the soil. When it comes time to move again we remember that we didn’t grow those smaller roots so we just yank the plant out without digging up the roots because the strongest ones are thick enough to not be damaged. In reality, each time we do this even the thicker roots receive enough wear in tear that over time they begin to break down.

Soundtracks, peripheral vision, and a crumby analogy

A series of scattered thoughts.

We all need a soundtrack to step to. One to guide us, one foot in front of the other. Tunes that demonstrate what we are going through, as if all the world can see you and understand. Other times we need the songs that slow us down and help us see what is going on around us. Then again, there are the beats, the lyrics, melodies that speed us up or keep us going when we so badly want to stop.

Every idea, every image that shows up in my mind or heart is only the very tip of what there is to see and to understanding. I see everything in my periphery, not enough to see in full and yet just enough to mystify me and keep me searching. Like a dog fascinated when it sees its tail in the side of its eye and is willing to chase it to no end, I feel like I have been running in circles trying to catch whatever it is in full view. This is life, this is why we keep living and moving forward (or maybe more accurately—off to the side?). We can’t settle for what we see now, there is always more. I will search desperately to just see a little more than I saw before, just to know more, for it was beautiful and it continues to haunt me. Although I look a fool for chasing my tail I know that what I saw out of the corner of my eye is a peek into what life really is and what is to come. It is ever elusive, no matter how quickly I turn to the left or the right, I am always a step behind, left with just enough of a morsel to fuel my curiosity.
We choose to ignore our peripheral vision, it is easy. So much easier to focus on what is straight ahead of us. It is more comfortable and we are used to it. Our peripheral vision isn’t great and you can’t exactly trust what you see, especially since it is the place of our blindspot. What if the truth was that hard to see? What if that is why we all have different ideas of it?
The way I see life is that we have only tasted a crumb of what is to come. The crumb was just big enough to ignite an insatiable hunger, so we continue through life searching for the place that the crumb came from. Some of us grow content in searching for more of those crumbs, as if Hansel and Gretel are going to lead us along, forgetting that a crumb is a smaller piece of something much bigger. The crumbs are hard to come by, but those that search are rewarded by what they find. For some of us the hunger grows so intense that we become as infants, putting any and everything in our mouth, showing no discretion and hoping that we will get lucky. We can grow blind in our search, not considering the evidence around the crumbs we find, unaware that they could lead us to more.
Is it more important to discover the source of the crumbs or to uncover the identity of the baker? Once we actually find where X marks the spot how long will our prized possession last? This is where we get confused, for the baker is fully capable of making much more of what we have tasted. Our senses will be overwhelmed with what is available once we realize that the crumb is actually a key that unlocks an unfathomable spectrum of secrets that will forever keep us in ecstasy.
The sad part is that we grow cynical in our search for the great cake, we come to think that there is none in existence. We think that the crumbs are all that there is, so we prize them and abuse them and they become subjects of our adulation. We forget that if there were crumbs that they have to have come from somewhere and that they are the result of someone’s work. Soon the different flavored crumbs become talismans that a select few horde, claiming understanding and knowledge beyond this realm. They deprive those who hunger for the truth and feed them their own fabrications of the crumbs, themselves long forgetting what the crumbs tasted like, creating inferior flakes that fade.

Priesthood

Prayer isn’t meant to be on our own behalf. We are “like living stones…being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” it says in 1 Peter 2:5. This is again repeated four verses later, saying that we are a chosen people.
What is this whole priesthood thing about anyway? I had always read this in reference to what the author of Hebrews talks about. He says that Christ’s death on our behalf, his expiating blood, is the ultimate sacrifice—perfect, so that no more blood need be shed for our sin (ch.8-10). Thus, Christ is the mediator between us and God, allowing us to enter the “Most Holy Place” (10:19). What a privilege, for only the high priest was allowed to under the old covenant, and at that once a year. This means that we are able to draw near to God in ways that were off limits before. I had always thought that this emphasized the individuality of our faith, that we can truly be in close relationship to the Father because of what Christ, the Highest Priest, has done for us.
Then I read “My Utmost for His Highest” by Oswald Chambers that changed my thinking. The entry for June 21 suggests something completely opposite about being a part of the priesthood. He said it is not about looking inward and working out our salvation. That is self-centered with the wrong perspective. Instead, we are to look outward.
I was pretty surprised when I read this, but then I started thinking about the priestly duties. They were a select group, chosen to serve the people by making sacrifices and atonement for them. Said differently, their life was dedicated not to themselves but to others. Their life was no small sacrifice, it is quite a duty to be responsible for so many people.
When Peter wrote about us being a priesthood, I think it was with this mindset (he was after all, living in the time of the temple). I think it is difficult to grasp as we don’t have that context or familiarity with all that a priest does. Chambers says that our focus needs to be on praying for the saints. This is the ministry of the priesthood, that we intercede on behalf of others, not ourselves.
Are we, as royal priests, working on behalf of others? Or are we ministering to ourselves, concerned about our own issues, thus denying our priestly duties? We are to be praying for one another. Christ has got your back, so quit focusing on yourself. Pray for the saints.
Let’s face it, we all need prayer. But if we spend too much time praying for ourselves, that is one man’s gain. If we pray for others then how much greater is the covering of our prayer? If we are all praying for our brothers and sisters then that means instead of you only praying for yourself you got your whole family lifting you up.
Pray for the saints.

"If you can?!"

17…“Teacher, I brought you my son, who is possessed by a spirit that has robbed him of speech. 18Whenever it seizes him, it throws him to the ground. He foams at the mouth, gnashes his teeth and becomes rigid I asked your disciples to drive out the spirit, but they could not.”
19“O unbelieving generation,” Jesus replied, “how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring the boy to me.”
20So they brought him. When the spirit saw Jesus, it immediately threw the boy into a convulsion. He fell to the ground and rolled around, foaming at the mouth.
21Jesus asked the boy’s father, “How long has he been like this?”
“From childhood,” he answered. 22“It has often thrown him into fire or water to kill him. But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”
23“ ‘If you can’?” said Jesus. “Everything is possible for him who believes.”
24Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
Mark 9:17-24

When I read this I thought that the way the man asked Jesus, “If you can do anything…” was legitimate and in a way trying to be respectful towards him. After all, his disciples were not able to drive the demon out whereas Jesus had given them the authority to do so (ch. 6).
When you read v.19, Jesus almost seems annoyed that despite his presence, teaching, and miraculous works that people still don’t quite get it. I read that as, “What else do I have to do to make you believe?” Yet, Jesus is always compassionate, pitying the poor and the broken that can turn no where else. When you continue reading with the tone of v.19 in mind and read v.23 I couldn’t help but see the situation in my mind, picturing Jesus’ face and tone of voice. “If you can?!” he asked incredulously. “Are you serious? What kind of question is that? Don’t you know that everything is possible for him who believes? If you really want something, then really ask for it. Ask boldly. Don’t say ‘if you can,’ of course I can. Let me direct the question back to you, can you—can you believe?”
“I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
If you read on Jesus drove out the spirit—a deaf and mute spirit—with such power that it shrieked. There is real power here, especially when you consider that at the sight of Jesus the spirit started freaking out (v.20). Jesus in the flesh, with all this power, and still belief comes into question.
Do we pray like the father of the demon-possessed child? How many times through the gospels does Jesus say that if you believe anything is possible? He says that if we ask, then the Lord will give. Do we really ask? Or do we just timidly say, “um, if its alright with you…I mean, I know you can do anything but…only if you have time” Do we pray and ask boldly or are we saying “if you can?”
Read through the gospels, Jesus healed the people that had the temerity approach Jesus no matter the inconvenience. People bore a hole in his roof to get to him—that’s risking ticking somebody off real bad. Blind men were calling out his name to the point that people were telling them to shut up and go away. Their determination got Jesus’ attention, rising above the din of the crowd. They were desperate.
If he were here where we could see him in his physical body, do you think we would talk to him the same way that we pray? I doubt it. Would our pleas get lost in the crowd, or would we find a way to be heard?

A Return - A response to "Flotsam"

I returned to the vessel I once abandoned—
leaving it a ghost ship—
after drifting as flotsam for quite some time.
My hands, now unfamiliar with the ropes.

Docked, lost in the expanse, fearful--
hoping to find my place in the celestial sea
before I take to the winds.
Instead the sextant lay untouched, collecting dust.

Sever the anchor!
Although reticent, no longer content
to float in familiar waters.

Pull the halyard, hoist the sails!
Let the breath of Poseidon carry us;
may the currents pull us in their invisible paths

clenching the helm, unseen destination
Knowing naught in the nautical vast
My map, along with my fears, is swept off deck

The sky reflects what fills my veins.
Alone I will sail through the night
with only the moon to haunt me
and the stars to keep watch
until the sun steals their scattered glory.
I will find you.

Though the squalls suggest a different course,
though my soul may threaten mutiny,
and though the waves toss and tangle
in their nets of doubt and destruction,
I will find you.

Forgotten

This ironically came out of me while walking through the concrete jungle (Bangkok). Weird.

Leaves fall from above
Taking with them shards of shade
Allowing the sun to poke through.
They pattern the ground
in their own scheme, their own design
Shaping, shifting in the slightest wind
A breathing mosaic,
Alive in these brittle castaways.
their each move is a dance
in all of time
never performed twice
to only live on in their own memory.

Frail sails without vessels
travel the winds, trading secrets.
they land ashore, leaving imprints
etching lightly into the sand
tales of wonder and wander,
treasure maps to coves undiscovered.
only to be erased by the wind,
each new day a canvas
leaving yesterday forgotten.