If you had seen me yesterday, then you would have been at Disneyland. The place where even miserly curmudgeons can find something to smile about. And if you had seen me at night, then I would have been watching their fireworks show entitled "Fantasmic." I shared the oo's and ah's of the crowd as we collectively had our eyes burned by the fiery palette of man-made conflagrations.
The lights were alluring, but I escaped their siren call long enough to peer back over my illuminated shoulder to the shadows behind it. I merely wanted to see the crowds, to watched dazed reactions and smiles pepper children's faces. But I was interrupted. It was another light, an older one. The moonbeam ran down to earth to strike my eye and make me remember.
The Greeks used to call her Selene, but she was around before Alexander ever cut down the Gordian knot. She's has seen Adam in Eden, Noah on his ark, and Jesus kneeling in Gethsemane. She gently lifts up and sets down 326 million trillion gallons of water in the ocean's every day (that's 326 with 18 zeros behind it). She rises about 240,000 miles above the earth, which is about 500,000 times higher than the highest fireworks. And tonight, she patiently waits her turn. She is not threatened by the temporary blaze of a fading firework - her light will last. She waits, with her silver mirror-rays cutting through the haze of her competitor's leftovers. They may burn bright for a moment, scarring our retinas, but she has shone bright for millennia, scarring men's emotions.
She's marvelous, but she's so self-effacing.
Selene puts her finger to my lips and tells me "Hush. No oo's or ah's for me. I'm only a signpost. Raise your eyes higher than the sky and marvel at Someone Greater." And so, among the gasps of the audience, I whisper a breath of praise to Selene's Maker, the God who thought up light and darkness and color, and who gave us eyes to see it.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
The Avalanche Of Unknowable Revelry - God's Right Hand
1 John 3:2 hit me like I had just insulted it's momma. I had to stagger backwards, and fall dumbly in praise. It is a verse deserving declaration:
"Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared;"
Stop. Read it again. Cycle with me in this game. Stop, read it again. There is conceivable happiness in being God's child now. I say conceivable because it is a present reality and joy that we can experience in finding ourselves adopted. God cares for orphans, and I was the ugliest, snot-nosed kid out there. I kicked His shins when He approached and spat on hands that reached down. But He embraced me still, and adopted a wicked rebel as a son. He's insane, that God. And now I'm crazy about Him.
But the knuckled fist of time-outlasting truth that left a black and blue memory came in the next phrase - "and what we will be has not yet appeared;"
I take this to mean that the joy of being with Christ when He returns and being with Him forever is something we don't yet know. That thought is the snowflake that starts the avalanche.
Think of all the happiness of your life - family and sunrises and football games and ice cream in the summer and fresh picked blackberry juice running down your chin. Every blessing you can conceive - the smile of a loved one, the creativity of man in the beauty of art, the moon dancing a jig to a chorus of stars - think of all of it. Now forget it, because the ecstasy of heaven is something that "has not yet appeared" on earth. That means there is nothing like it right now. That means the godly will be given unknown and inconceivable happiness. "What we will be has not yet appeared." This is more than just a glorified body - this is a ravenous bliss deep enough to last eternity. The ocean is a merely a drop, Jupiter a marble, all of space only a wisp compared to the colossal happiness of what God has planned. So every joy you've ever known, every smile-adorned moment of life, every minute of enraptured pleasure is dwarfed by heaven's ravishment. You have never known joy like what is to come.
At God's right hand are pleasures forevermore (Psalm 16:11). Such transport is worth every pain suffered for the cause of Christ. It makes bearable all the sacrifices of obedience. It is why the yoke is light, it is what makes all the seemingly unendurable sufferings but a feather measured against a mountain. This is a future worth trading the American dream for, worth trading your comfort and security for, worth denying yourself (and your sin) for 80 years.
I think the fact that Heaven is so marvelous is part of the reason why Hell is so horrible. To know such unfettered delight exists would be a continual vexation (vexation is far too light a word, but Hell has horrors language cannot contain). The eternal rapture could only be matched by the eternal despondency of those who had missed it. Take a moment and pray for those souls trading the treasure of Christ for the mud-pie of current satisfaction. And examine yourself, by the unfailing Word of Scripture, to see if you measure up. The reward is great, strive for it.
"Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared;"
Stop. Read it again. Cycle with me in this game. Stop, read it again. There is conceivable happiness in being God's child now. I say conceivable because it is a present reality and joy that we can experience in finding ourselves adopted. God cares for orphans, and I was the ugliest, snot-nosed kid out there. I kicked His shins when He approached and spat on hands that reached down. But He embraced me still, and adopted a wicked rebel as a son. He's insane, that God. And now I'm crazy about Him.
But the knuckled fist of time-outlasting truth that left a black and blue memory came in the next phrase - "and what we will be has not yet appeared;"
I take this to mean that the joy of being with Christ when He returns and being with Him forever is something we don't yet know. That thought is the snowflake that starts the avalanche.
Think of all the happiness of your life - family and sunrises and football games and ice cream in the summer and fresh picked blackberry juice running down your chin. Every blessing you can conceive - the smile of a loved one, the creativity of man in the beauty of art, the moon dancing a jig to a chorus of stars - think of all of it. Now forget it, because the ecstasy of heaven is something that "has not yet appeared" on earth. That means there is nothing like it right now. That means the godly will be given unknown and inconceivable happiness. "What we will be has not yet appeared." This is more than just a glorified body - this is a ravenous bliss deep enough to last eternity. The ocean is a merely a drop, Jupiter a marble, all of space only a wisp compared to the colossal happiness of what God has planned. So every joy you've ever known, every smile-adorned moment of life, every minute of enraptured pleasure is dwarfed by heaven's ravishment. You have never known joy like what is to come.
At God's right hand are pleasures forevermore (Psalm 16:11). Such transport is worth every pain suffered for the cause of Christ. It makes bearable all the sacrifices of obedience. It is why the yoke is light, it is what makes all the seemingly unendurable sufferings but a feather measured against a mountain. This is a future worth trading the American dream for, worth trading your comfort and security for, worth denying yourself (and your sin) for 80 years.
I think the fact that Heaven is so marvelous is part of the reason why Hell is so horrible. To know such unfettered delight exists would be a continual vexation (vexation is far too light a word, but Hell has horrors language cannot contain). The eternal rapture could only be matched by the eternal despondency of those who had missed it. Take a moment and pray for those souls trading the treasure of Christ for the mud-pie of current satisfaction. And examine yourself, by the unfailing Word of Scripture, to see if you measure up. The reward is great, strive for it.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
All Your Base Are Belong To Us (I Can't Believe I'm Using This Title)
High School Chemistry. The class where a droning professor made sure you were never distracted from sending looks towards the green-eyed girl in the second row. The class you only passed because you were really good at blowing stuff up. And the class with more real-life application than you could ever know.
Remember what you learned? That this side of the equation must balance with that side or someone could die. That if you mix clear and red you can get blue. That sodium should not be mixed with water, unless you're looking for a good show. Remember acids and bases? Acid was the B movie villain's liquid of choice to fill his booby-trapped pits. If you got it on your hands, it burned; and if you got it in your eyes you called an ambulance.
Bases were deceptive though. They were the master planner villains with the sweet monologues. If you got it on your hands, it didn't burn. It waited for that satisfaction. It dupes you into thinking that it's only a liquid that feels a bit slippery on your hands. And an hour later when you're trying to enjoy your mom's bologna and cheese sandwich (or trying to trade it for a jello cup), you feel that patient burn.
It waited for you. For that perfect, unsuspecting moment to unleash it's venom on your epidermis. It knew you wanted to eat that sandwich, and it knew that you would have to skip your entire lunch period trying to find the chemistry teacher so he could reassure you that you were going to live. That scoundrel.
The base is the master of delayed consequence. It is only surpassed by our own sin. What do I mean? I mean that there are certain sins out there that are not considered as flagrant, as scandalous, as appalling as others.
Some sins are like acid. Quick and deadly. Murder, blasphemy, theft - these sins have near immediate consequences, if not with the law then by staining black a portion of your soul. I avoid those like a high school cheerleader avoids carbs.
But those bases, man I love that slippery feeling. You see, I have traded those acid sins for ones easier to hide. Pride, masked in humility, set forth as a virtue to garner praise from those watching. Lust, hidden behind dark hours and the delete key. Slothfulness, guised as a needed break. A bad day is my term for all my discontentment, anger, and belief that I could plan it better than God. I could mention my anxiety, lack of self control, envy, or ingratitude, but instead I'll just cram them all in this sentence and pretend I'm not quite that bad.
There is a lot of sin I tolerate. The number is very nearly proportional to how much I judge for the sins I don't tolerate. I excuse all manner of evil in me, and condemn any manner of evil in you. I know, I'm terrible.
It only gets worse. Not only do I dunk my hands in a vat of base sin (pun intended), Jesus tells me I'm an acid sinner too (Matthew 5:21-48). I don't murder in a way that leads to a gavel pounding and a barred door slamming, but in my thought life, I'm Jack the Ripper. I may never have known a one-night stand, unless you count all the times I wanted to (and Jesus does).
My hands smell like bleach tonight. Partly because I cleaned, and partly because the stench of my "respectable" sin lingers on guilty hands. Will you repent with me?
Jesus shreds me any time I start to think I've got a hint of righteousness. He is dead-set on giving me His own instead.
Remember what you learned? That this side of the equation must balance with that side or someone could die. That if you mix clear and red you can get blue. That sodium should not be mixed with water, unless you're looking for a good show. Remember acids and bases? Acid was the B movie villain's liquid of choice to fill his booby-trapped pits. If you got it on your hands, it burned; and if you got it in your eyes you called an ambulance.
Bases were deceptive though. They were the master planner villains with the sweet monologues. If you got it on your hands, it didn't burn. It waited for that satisfaction. It dupes you into thinking that it's only a liquid that feels a bit slippery on your hands. And an hour later when you're trying to enjoy your mom's bologna and cheese sandwich (or trying to trade it for a jello cup), you feel that patient burn.
It waited for you. For that perfect, unsuspecting moment to unleash it's venom on your epidermis. It knew you wanted to eat that sandwich, and it knew that you would have to skip your entire lunch period trying to find the chemistry teacher so he could reassure you that you were going to live. That scoundrel.
The base is the master of delayed consequence. It is only surpassed by our own sin. What do I mean? I mean that there are certain sins out there that are not considered as flagrant, as scandalous, as appalling as others.
Some sins are like acid. Quick and deadly. Murder, blasphemy, theft - these sins have near immediate consequences, if not with the law then by staining black a portion of your soul. I avoid those like a high school cheerleader avoids carbs.
But those bases, man I love that slippery feeling. You see, I have traded those acid sins for ones easier to hide. Pride, masked in humility, set forth as a virtue to garner praise from those watching. Lust, hidden behind dark hours and the delete key. Slothfulness, guised as a needed break. A bad day is my term for all my discontentment, anger, and belief that I could plan it better than God. I could mention my anxiety, lack of self control, envy, or ingratitude, but instead I'll just cram them all in this sentence and pretend I'm not quite that bad.
There is a lot of sin I tolerate. The number is very nearly proportional to how much I judge for the sins I don't tolerate. I excuse all manner of evil in me, and condemn any manner of evil in you. I know, I'm terrible.
It only gets worse. Not only do I dunk my hands in a vat of base sin (pun intended), Jesus tells me I'm an acid sinner too (Matthew 5:21-48). I don't murder in a way that leads to a gavel pounding and a barred door slamming, but in my thought life, I'm Jack the Ripper. I may never have known a one-night stand, unless you count all the times I wanted to (and Jesus does).
My hands smell like bleach tonight. Partly because I cleaned, and partly because the stench of my "respectable" sin lingers on guilty hands. Will you repent with me?
Jesus shreds me any time I start to think I've got a hint of righteousness. He is dead-set on giving me His own instead.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Wide Eyed Wonder
Has your breath ever been stolen by the beauty of creation. Has God played the thief with your oxygen as you caught a glimpse of moonlight through the branches, or witnessed the sun burn colored carnage into the sky? Ever wanted to relate that experience, but adjectives and nouns seem to fail?
I've felt that way. I'm sure you have seen your frozen breath stolen away, but had no wish for it to return. The experience is a holy one, a glimpse of God in the dim and dusty mirror of His creation (and if this is dim and dusty, I have no concept for the word "glory"). Such a flash is worth the cessation of your heartbeat.
I was enchanted in such a way by an insect. Yes, an insect (or is it a flower?). Pictures may succeed where words fail. So see, and gasp:
This is the Orchid Mantis, or Hymenopus Coronatu to his friends. Don't feel bad if you had to look twice. He's not hiding behind the flower, he is the flower. His legs are extended petals, supporting a patient blossom. His head is a stamen, attracting his unsuspecting food, standing with a stillness to match the counterpart he imitates.
But remember, this beauty serves a purpose. Deception. The unwitting prey must believe wholeheartedly (whole-abdomenly?) that he is flying up to a flower. That he is approaching food, not becoming food. This is a beauty that kills. This is not a decoration for your windowsill; this is a bloodsucker. A murderer masked in lavender.
I was awed by this doppelganger of death, this mantis assassin. It's elegance hiding it's coiled claws. How can this miniature majesty be so deadly? Who would imagine this? Who could create it? And why? It is bad enough that death abounds, but must it claim its victims so stylishly? Here is beauty, here is pain.
Is it too much? Must you deny God because things die? Because they are killed by other things? Do you cast aside the beauty of the painting and curse the Painter because it has shadows and contrast and black?
You decry any notion of a God who could be all-powerful, all knowing and good at the same time. You deny Him who ordains sin and hurricanes, sunflowers and meteors; who designed the fangs of the lion and the laughter of children. All because you have felt some pain; all because you are currently part of the black paint of the canvas. He cannot be good, because He has not fit into your definition of good.
What would you have? What would be the best of all possible worlds? One where there was never any pain, where the word "tear" was never conceived? Would you take the painting and airbrush away all the shadows until it was only white. Would it then be perfect? Would the blankness be beauty?
There is pain in the portrait. Contrast. Blacks mixing to greys fading to whites. A fractured spectrum in between the darks and lights. But the shadow should not complain of the tension, for it cannot see the whole painting.
Evil is what it is - evil. Displeasing to God. It should be abolished. And it will be. But it serves a purpose, to bring glory (a word I do not use lightly) to the only God and His Son, Jesus Christ. Evil magnifies the beauty. The blandness of a blank canvas is abolished by a sea of hues, shades, and contrasts. And a painting with pain in it (a painting) is a good painting. A picture that brings praise to it's Painter.
Do not curse your place in the shadow. Trust the Painter.
I've felt that way. I'm sure you have seen your frozen breath stolen away, but had no wish for it to return. The experience is a holy one, a glimpse of God in the dim and dusty mirror of His creation (and if this is dim and dusty, I have no concept for the word "glory"). Such a flash is worth the cessation of your heartbeat.
I was enchanted in such a way by an insect. Yes, an insect (or is it a flower?). Pictures may succeed where words fail. So see, and gasp:
This is the Orchid Mantis, or Hymenopus Coronatu to his friends. Don't feel bad if you had to look twice. He's not hiding behind the flower, he is the flower. His legs are extended petals, supporting a patient blossom. His head is a stamen, attracting his unsuspecting food, standing with a stillness to match the counterpart he imitates.
But remember, this beauty serves a purpose. Deception. The unwitting prey must believe wholeheartedly (whole-abdomenly?) that he is flying up to a flower. That he is approaching food, not becoming food. This is a beauty that kills. This is not a decoration for your windowsill; this is a bloodsucker. A murderer masked in lavender.
I was awed by this doppelganger of death, this mantis assassin. It's elegance hiding it's coiled claws. How can this miniature majesty be so deadly? Who would imagine this? Who could create it? And why? It is bad enough that death abounds, but must it claim its victims so stylishly? Here is beauty, here is pain.
Is it too much? Must you deny God because things die? Because they are killed by other things? Do you cast aside the beauty of the painting and curse the Painter because it has shadows and contrast and black?
You decry any notion of a God who could be all-powerful, all knowing and good at the same time. You deny Him who ordains sin and hurricanes, sunflowers and meteors; who designed the fangs of the lion and the laughter of children. All because you have felt some pain; all because you are currently part of the black paint of the canvas. He cannot be good, because He has not fit into your definition of good.
What would you have? What would be the best of all possible worlds? One where there was never any pain, where the word "tear" was never conceived? Would you take the painting and airbrush away all the shadows until it was only white. Would it then be perfect? Would the blankness be beauty?
There is pain in the portrait. Contrast. Blacks mixing to greys fading to whites. A fractured spectrum in between the darks and lights. But the shadow should not complain of the tension, for it cannot see the whole painting.
Evil is what it is - evil. Displeasing to God. It should be abolished. And it will be. But it serves a purpose, to bring glory (a word I do not use lightly) to the only God and His Son, Jesus Christ. Evil magnifies the beauty. The blandness of a blank canvas is abolished by a sea of hues, shades, and contrasts. And a painting with pain in it (a painting) is a good painting. A picture that brings praise to it's Painter.
Do not curse your place in the shadow. Trust the Painter.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
'Scuse me, Ma'am?
Saw a driving contradiction today.
A lady had on the back of her Honda "Women for Obama Biden."
No surprise there, Obama is an engaging public speaker, able to sway public opinion with his charisma. And there's (apparently) more democrats than republicans. I'm not much into politics, but that bumper sticker is one of thousands I might see.
But the contradiction came with the second bumper sticker - "Donate Life." I didn't know what it stood for, so I looked it up. Turns out, it's a movement (which I know because it has bumper stickers) urging people to sign up to be organ donors.
Again, not a surprising sticker, but taken in tandem with the other, I am vastly confused.
It seems that this lady believes that human life is important enough to give your organs too. A good position. But she is a woman, supporting Obama enough to sport his bumper sticker, and those two facts mean that she is likely (but not assuredly) pro-choice (which is the political cover word for murder of unborn lives).
She says she supports life, yet she supports a President who will sanction the murder of 500,000 little women every year.
A lady had on the back of her Honda "Women for Obama Biden."
No surprise there, Obama is an engaging public speaker, able to sway public opinion with his charisma. And there's (apparently) more democrats than republicans. I'm not much into politics, but that bumper sticker is one of thousands I might see.
But the contradiction came with the second bumper sticker - "Donate Life." I didn't know what it stood for, so I looked it up. Turns out, it's a movement (which I know because it has bumper stickers) urging people to sign up to be organ donors.
Again, not a surprising sticker, but taken in tandem with the other, I am vastly confused.
It seems that this lady believes that human life is important enough to give your organs too. A good position. But she is a woman, supporting Obama enough to sport his bumper sticker, and those two facts mean that she is likely (but not assuredly) pro-choice (which is the political cover word for murder of unborn lives).
She says she supports life, yet she supports a President who will sanction the murder of 500,000 little women every year.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Greatness (As Promised)
A friend of mine recently told me, "Brett, you're going to do something great, or you're going to end up as a Mercury Insurance salesman somewhere." It was insightful, I could either work diligently and achieve something recognizable for the kingdom, or slothfully obey the demigod Laziness (where the temple worship is video games and the priestly duties include refilling the bowl of M&M's).
Did you notice how easily I associated "great" with "recognizable?" It's inherent to the mind. Our definition includes our own selves being made much of for our feats. Recognition, reputation, approbation, applause. We long for the crowds to scream our name as we stand in the limelight of our own achievement.
Is that really what greatness is? By that last definition, plenty of wicked men are "great." Hitler's name was respectfully chanted. Michael Jackson's (an unconvicted pedophile) name is adored even posthumously. So maybe there is an aspect of morality to greatness as well.
Maybe the adoring crowds should be religious in nature. Maybe the great man or woman blazes a trail of morality through the marshes of man's turpitude. Was Martin Luther King Jr. great? Was Gandhi?
I do think such men were great, by that definition. They are and should be applauded for their efforts in their respective countries. They bettered lives, corrected injustices, and could legitimately be called peacemakers.
But the greatest Man in history (because He was God), was not like them. He had his crowds, but He ran from them when they offered the crown. He drove them away with His fierce rhetoric that destroyed the petty kingdoms men erected to show themselves off. He told men who thought they were great because people praised them that greatness was not what they thought it was.
He redefined the standard notion of what greatness is.
Mark 9. The disciples argue over who is the greatest; the answer "Jesus" never seems to come to mind despite the fact that three of them just saw Him in glory that few mortal men have witnessed. (Isn't it just like sinners who have just witnessed the majesty of the Transcendent One to turn around and talk about how awesome they are?)
I imagine the disciples were recounting the various miracles they performed (Matthew 10), and debating which ones were the most powerful, which were the most righteous, and which miracle worker deserved the honorific title "greatest." They seem to have selective memory in that they just forgot how they couldn't heal a demonized boy. And why couldn't they? "This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer." (Mark 9:29). In other words, they had forgotten where the power to perform miracles came from - that God did the work, and not man.
And Jesus has just told them He was going to be captured, murdered, and resurrected - a foreshadowing that His kind of greatness did not align with their kind.
And so, as they walked the long miles through Galilee to Capernaum, Jesus had to hear their endless cat-fighting about who was the greatest. Unsurprisingly, when He asks them about it, they all get instant amnesia – I suspect that they then realized the idiocy of arguing greatness before Jesus.
What’s really interesting though, is that Jesus doesn’t condemn their desire for greatness, He just redefines it.
He says being great is to be last of all and servant of all.
I mean, last of all.
Last means behind children, behind the homeless, behind the mouth-breathing, pimpled 14 year old who talks too loud at the park, behind everyone I thought was worthless or inferior and everyone I was ever glad I wasn’t. And it’s not just that I have to recognize that I am worse than them, that I am the last of all humankind, but I have to serve them too?
Being great does not mean pastoring a great church, or becoming a renowned missionary, or writing books for the evangelical world. The greatest man in the world right now might be a Mercury insurance salesman in Northern Michigan for all I know. I’m pretty sure the greatest man in the world is not a household name.
Essentially, Jesus says that greatness is the exact opposite of everything I thought it was. You see, the longing for most people is not to be great, but to be known to be great. Rather than longing to be great, we want to be greater than someone else. Greatness is the willingness to be last. Greatness is being a blessing to as many people as you can.
Think about it. Do you really want to be great? Or do you just want to be applauded?
Did you notice how easily I associated "great" with "recognizable?" It's inherent to the mind. Our definition includes our own selves being made much of for our feats. Recognition, reputation, approbation, applause. We long for the crowds to scream our name as we stand in the limelight of our own achievement.
Is that really what greatness is? By that last definition, plenty of wicked men are "great." Hitler's name was respectfully chanted. Michael Jackson's (an unconvicted pedophile) name is adored even posthumously. So maybe there is an aspect of morality to greatness as well.
Maybe the adoring crowds should be religious in nature. Maybe the great man or woman blazes a trail of morality through the marshes of man's turpitude. Was Martin Luther King Jr. great? Was Gandhi?
I do think such men were great, by that definition. They are and should be applauded for their efforts in their respective countries. They bettered lives, corrected injustices, and could legitimately be called peacemakers.
But the greatest Man in history (because He was God), was not like them. He had his crowds, but He ran from them when they offered the crown. He drove them away with His fierce rhetoric that destroyed the petty kingdoms men erected to show themselves off. He told men who thought they were great because people praised them that greatness was not what they thought it was.
He redefined the standard notion of what greatness is.
Mark 9. The disciples argue over who is the greatest; the answer "Jesus" never seems to come to mind despite the fact that three of them just saw Him in glory that few mortal men have witnessed. (Isn't it just like sinners who have just witnessed the majesty of the Transcendent One to turn around and talk about how awesome they are?)
I imagine the disciples were recounting the various miracles they performed (Matthew 10), and debating which ones were the most powerful, which were the most righteous, and which miracle worker deserved the honorific title "greatest." They seem to have selective memory in that they just forgot how they couldn't heal a demonized boy. And why couldn't they? "This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer." (Mark 9:29). In other words, they had forgotten where the power to perform miracles came from - that God did the work, and not man.
And Jesus has just told them He was going to be captured, murdered, and resurrected - a foreshadowing that His kind of greatness did not align with their kind.
And so, as they walked the long miles through Galilee to Capernaum, Jesus had to hear their endless cat-fighting about who was the greatest. Unsurprisingly, when He asks them about it, they all get instant amnesia – I suspect that they then realized the idiocy of arguing greatness before Jesus.
What’s really interesting though, is that Jesus doesn’t condemn their desire for greatness, He just redefines it.
He says being great is to be last of all and servant of all.
I mean, last of all.
Last means behind children, behind the homeless, behind the mouth-breathing, pimpled 14 year old who talks too loud at the park, behind everyone I thought was worthless or inferior and everyone I was ever glad I wasn’t. And it’s not just that I have to recognize that I am worse than them, that I am the last of all humankind, but I have to serve them too?
Being great does not mean pastoring a great church, or becoming a renowned missionary, or writing books for the evangelical world. The greatest man in the world right now might be a Mercury insurance salesman in Northern Michigan for all I know. I’m pretty sure the greatest man in the world is not a household name.
Essentially, Jesus says that greatness is the exact opposite of everything I thought it was. You see, the longing for most people is not to be great, but to be known to be great. Rather than longing to be great, we want to be greater than someone else. Greatness is the willingness to be last. Greatness is being a blessing to as many people as you can.
Think about it. Do you really want to be great? Or do you just want to be applauded?
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
God Is Bigger Than Your Brain
This is really just a post to give my readers (all 2 of you), a little treat to tide y'all over until the next great post. Literally...the post is on greatness.
Anyway, enjoy this excerpt from The God Who Smokes by Timothy J. Stoner (yes, you are allowed to laugh at his name and the title). It is a response to many Open Theists and others like them who would diminish God's majesty to make Him logical.
"All that we needed to learn we really did learn in kindergarten. The lessons are so simple and basic that as grown-ups we may tend to forget them. Two of these are don't run with scissors, and don't play with fire.
This massaging of God's public image, this painting over the portions of God's masterpiece we don't like, this "deconstruction" is doing both those activities your teacher warned you against. And both can yet you and others hurt. While falling with scissors in hand may only poke your eye out, it is possible to burn down your own house and your neighbor's as well playing with matches in the attic.
What the prophets report from behind the smoke is that God scares the pants off us. And to even entertain the idea that we can improve His painting by airbrushing away some offensive "flaws" is incredibly demeaning at best. To act as though God needs our assistance to better position Himself for improved market penetration is so presumptuous and stunningly disrespectful that it is really kind of frightening.
As the tokers and stoners used to say in the sixties, "He is wild, man! Wild!" They were right and still are. He was wild with Moses and Pharaoh, and He's still wild today. He is fierce, and He acts like He owns the entire planet. No, make that the universe.
He really believes that He is the most worthy, most majestic, magnificent, glorious, stunningly beautiful being in the universe. And He is fixated on the certainty that only He deserves worship - that to Him alone belong honor, glory, and praise forever and forever. With red-rimmed, stinging eyes and burning hair, all we an say is - He is right. He is astonishingly beautiful, utterly majestic and perfect in the symmetries of justice and righteousness, knowledge and wisdom. He is as hypnotically compelling as a surging forest fire and ten times as dangerous.
He is out of control - ours, not His.
All us smoking-hair types admit that none of us imagined we'd need biohazard suits to protect us from the radioactive isotopes emanating from the Transcendent One. However, had we taken the biblical Epic a little more seriously, maybe we wouldn't have been so surprised."
Good night.
Anyway, enjoy this excerpt from The God Who Smokes by Timothy J. Stoner (yes, you are allowed to laugh at his name and the title). It is a response to many Open Theists and others like them who would diminish God's majesty to make Him logical.
"All that we needed to learn we really did learn in kindergarten. The lessons are so simple and basic that as grown-ups we may tend to forget them. Two of these are don't run with scissors, and don't play with fire.
This massaging of God's public image, this painting over the portions of God's masterpiece we don't like, this "deconstruction" is doing both those activities your teacher warned you against. And both can yet you and others hurt. While falling with scissors in hand may only poke your eye out, it is possible to burn down your own house and your neighbor's as well playing with matches in the attic.
What the prophets report from behind the smoke is that God scares the pants off us. And to even entertain the idea that we can improve His painting by airbrushing away some offensive "flaws" is incredibly demeaning at best. To act as though God needs our assistance to better position Himself for improved market penetration is so presumptuous and stunningly disrespectful that it is really kind of frightening.
As the tokers and stoners used to say in the sixties, "He is wild, man! Wild!" They were right and still are. He was wild with Moses and Pharaoh, and He's still wild today. He is fierce, and He acts like He owns the entire planet. No, make that the universe.
He really believes that He is the most worthy, most majestic, magnificent, glorious, stunningly beautiful being in the universe. And He is fixated on the certainty that only He deserves worship - that to Him alone belong honor, glory, and praise forever and forever. With red-rimmed, stinging eyes and burning hair, all we an say is - He is right. He is astonishingly beautiful, utterly majestic and perfect in the symmetries of justice and righteousness, knowledge and wisdom. He is as hypnotically compelling as a surging forest fire and ten times as dangerous.
He is out of control - ours, not His.
All us smoking-hair types admit that none of us imagined we'd need biohazard suits to protect us from the radioactive isotopes emanating from the Transcendent One. However, had we taken the biblical Epic a little more seriously, maybe we wouldn't have been so surprised."
Good night.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The Flames Are Licking Their Lips And The Mansions Are Waiting
"Fear is a low motivator."
This is the part of some apparently pious concept being tossed about saying that heaven and hell are not strong (or is it holy?) motivations for salvation or sanctification. In the end (and I don't mean that colloquially) there are only two types of people in this world - those who are going to heaven and those who are going to hell. Immortal splendors or everlasting horrors. Glory or agony.
If perpetual bliss or torment are the stakes, then I want to know the game. I want to secure the one and avoid the other. I want to pay the price.
Besides, if fear is a low motivator, then is Jesus always running His mouth about it?
"Blessed are you when people insult you and persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of Me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven is great." (Matt. 5:11-12)
"I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye makes you stumble, tear it out and throw it from you; for it is better for you to lose one of the parts of your body, than for your whole body to be thrown into hell." (Matt. 5:28-29)
"Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire." (Luke 3:9)
"Sell your possessions and give to charity; make yourselves money belts which do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near nor moth destroys." (Luke 12:33)
"But when you give a reception, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed, since they do not have the means to repay you; for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous." (Luke 14:13-14)
So fight lust and bear fruit or burn forever. Care for the poor and give away what you get to obtain things better than money and time.
Jesus was spitting out this stuff like a viper (for one type of people) and like a salve (for the other type of people). But Jesus can't seem to stop. Eyes that have viewed all of history in a glance know the importance of eternal perspective and delayed gratification. Heaven can make you love your enemies (Luke 6:35) or engage in evangelism and missions (Luke 16:9). Hell can make you fear God (Luke 12:4-5) or be a doer of the word (Luke 6:49).
It's all over, this telescopic view. And if we weren't meant to do something with the view, then we wouldn't have our eyes constantly shoved up to the lens.
Earth-bound people are bound for hell. So do not hope for heaven and live for earth.
P.S. All this living for heaven business should be done as the church.
This is the part of some apparently pious concept being tossed about saying that heaven and hell are not strong (or is it holy?) motivations for salvation or sanctification. In the end (and I don't mean that colloquially) there are only two types of people in this world - those who are going to heaven and those who are going to hell. Immortal splendors or everlasting horrors. Glory or agony.
If perpetual bliss or torment are the stakes, then I want to know the game. I want to secure the one and avoid the other. I want to pay the price.
Besides, if fear is a low motivator, then is Jesus always running His mouth about it?
"Blessed are you when people insult you and persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of Me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven is great." (Matt. 5:11-12)
"I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye makes you stumble, tear it out and throw it from you; for it is better for you to lose one of the parts of your body, than for your whole body to be thrown into hell." (Matt. 5:28-29)
"Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire." (Luke 3:9)
"Sell your possessions and give to charity; make yourselves money belts which do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near nor moth destroys." (Luke 12:33)
"But when you give a reception, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed, since they do not have the means to repay you; for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous." (Luke 14:13-14)
So fight lust and bear fruit or burn forever. Care for the poor and give away what you get to obtain things better than money and time.
Jesus was spitting out this stuff like a viper (for one type of people) and like a salve (for the other type of people). But Jesus can't seem to stop. Eyes that have viewed all of history in a glance know the importance of eternal perspective and delayed gratification. Heaven can make you love your enemies (Luke 6:35) or engage in evangelism and missions (Luke 16:9). Hell can make you fear God (Luke 12:4-5) or be a doer of the word (Luke 6:49).
It's all over, this telescopic view. And if we weren't meant to do something with the view, then we wouldn't have our eyes constantly shoved up to the lens.
Earth-bound people are bound for hell. So do not hope for heaven and live for earth.
P.S. All this living for heaven business should be done as the church.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Write A Post At 3 In The Morning - Check.
I don't know what I want anymore.
I curse and bless with the same mouth. I am a walking contradiction.
I yearn for a holy place the way...I dunno, the way I yearn for a really great $30 dinner. I always love when I make that decision and I never regret it afterward, but I'm so rarely willing to pay the price.
And there is a price attached to this holy place, this costly pearl, this buried treasure.
It is my life.
So what else is there to say?
God, help me.
I curse and bless with the same mouth. I am a walking contradiction.
I yearn for a holy place the way...I dunno, the way I yearn for a really great $30 dinner. I always love when I make that decision and I never regret it afterward, but I'm so rarely willing to pay the price.
And there is a price attached to this holy place, this costly pearl, this buried treasure.
It is my life.
So what else is there to say?
God, help me.
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