Thursday, December 29, 2005

Is Anybody Out There? - Pink Floyd

"Trinity!!....Lead us up beyond unknowing and light, up to the farthest highest peak of mystic scripture, where the mysteries of God's Word lie simple, absolute and unchangeable in the brilliant darkness of a hidden silence." - Dionysius the Areopagite

Well a new year awaits us and I thought this would be a good time make an assessment of things. Not that I have a clue what I'm doing. I've been blogging since October as an experiment/outlet of sorts. I've read other blogs (mostly political, business or topic-specific stuff) to get a feel of what is happening out there. To some extent I think a blog is a dead end, another empty portal filled with jargon the average reader does not understand. I suppose I have only added to the litter. Perhaps it does matter though. For it matters to me and possibly the wandering few who bother to read what I write. Understanding is another thing altogether. If you understood exactly what I was saying would be at times disconcerting. What I write is buried in symbolism quite intentionally. Though if you read carefully I may reveal more than you realize.

For me this is a quiet quest. To be undone, reduced to obscurity. That one might be truly known and to some extent know the unknowable, the transcendent One who has determined to be known. If it helps you on your contemplative quest I am doubly blessed, for it has certainly aided mine. That being said I dare to request feedback. I say dare, because I'm not sure anybody is out there. I will survive if there is nothing but silence. I already know that this is one more dark portal, with a black screen staring back. But etched within the fabric of this space are the words "God Is In the Desert." If a tree falls in the woods and nobody is there to hear it, it still makes noise and if a book is written that nobody ever reads, it still says something. Because its author who controls its meaning put it there. Anyway that is another story. As I was saying, feedback can only help me improve what I am doing. The fact that I write so frankly probably exposes my internet ignorance. But suggestions may help me produce a better product so I am open to ideas or criticisms. Wether it be in regards to what I write, how I write or what is in my profile (I'm not sure if anything is there or for that matter what should go there).

After the first of the year we will return to our regular scheduled programming. Desert journeys, contemplation, mystical meditations with a splash of exegesis, all harmonized in the music of my own song. Sola Fide, WHB


Saturday, December 24, 2005

The House of Bread

"We have seen his star in the east and have come to worship him." - The Magi

"And so God gave the Israelites bread from heaven" (Ex. 16). This manna the Israelites ate for 40 years as they wandered around the desert. Six days a week, 360 days a year for forty years the children of Israel woke up to a winter wonderland. This was the best of bread, an enduring witness to the faithfulness of God, who does not forget his covenant. It was the preamble to Christmas. Even in the desert of disappointment there was hope.

"In Bethlehem of Judah, so say the prophets," in regards to the birth of Messiah. Obscurity is only in the minds of unbelievers. For is not Bethlehem the birthplace of kings? The birth of Jesus eclipses the birth of Israel's first davidic king; David. Yet this is a prophecy born out of struggle. Israel has been fractured by civil war and further humiliation is to follow at the hands of the Assyrians and the Babylonians. The words of the prophet Moses had come to pass as Israel suffered the consequences of her sins. Yet out of the desert, on a rocky hillside in an out of the way village, hope blossoms.

Bethlehem means "house of bread." Jesus Christ is the "living bread who has come down out of heaven" (John 6). Such food for thought, that manna would be so significant to the survival of Israel in the wilderness as Jesus, the bread from heaven is to us in our own desert journey. Christ is our hope in our seasons of disappointment. Disappointment haunts this story, always lurking in the dark, ever following close behind. It was not Israel's preference to wander, and Israel would endure more cruel hardships (Assyria and Babylon) before the Messiah would ever be born. And what of the birth of Christ? Do you suppose this was Mary's idea of a wedding or Joseph's idea of a honeymoon? And while Jesus slipped away into Egypt for the remaining young mothers, Bethlehem would become a house of mourning. Don't tell me disappoint isn't a part of this story. But is that not the point? Jesus is our hope in the season's of disappointment. And hope is to those who worship the new born king. Have traveled far and will travel farther yet, because Christ is our life. He is the source of life in the desert. May he be your 'north star' by night and your manna in the morning- a guiding light and nourishment to those who follow narrow paths. Sola Gracia, WHB

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

"The Field of Blood"

"You speak of hope. Shattering blows have buried my hope, my birdsong. My faith, I fear, is periously near extinction." Dunstan Massey

They say a man has 8 to 10 pints of blood in his body. Then why am I still bleeding? The desert can be as beautiful as it is morbid. Looking from the valley below, one sees the sun striking a distant mountain top which appears to be bathed in blood. It is my field of blood, a battleground of broken, twisted bodies. When I was in grade school I had a teacher who used to take us to old indian/frontiersman battlefields. Deserted places that no one visited anymore. We would look for arrowheads and he would tell the stories of my forefathers (indian and frontiersman alike). I could picture the scene.

Now the scene is all too real. Casualties of war, mountains of them. It just never stops, the blood that is. I just keep on bleeding. It covers my hands and when I try to wipe it off all it does is smear. Frankly I'm not sure whose blood it is anymore, mine or those,...........those corpses staring back at me. Begging for battlefield dressings that will never cover the gaping wound that has been ripped in the fabric of the desert. There seems to be no end to this pain. And were it not for his voice I would go insane. "Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters" (Is. 55.1). Sometimes I hate fact that he ever made me feel. "You who have no money, come buy and eat." That he ever made me care. "Delight yourself in abundance.....come to me,....listen,.....live." Because there is so much pain. But I need my pain. God please don't let me ever stop feeling, even if it means pain. (At least then I know I'm still breathing). Our pain is the heartbeat of the desert. Sola Gracia, WHB

Thursday, December 15, 2005

The Weight

"Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Matt. 11.28

You have to choose your baggage wisely in the desert. Needless to say one has to learn to "travel light." Yet I anticipate this is prone to glamourization. For only a fool enters the desert with nothing. You're likely to die out there as it is. Isn't it plausable that we take something? The Israelites as I recall did not leave "empty-handed." They left tracks only too easy for Pharoah to follow. The ruts must have left deep scars in the earth as they took off with all of Egypt's bounty. So much for traveling light. Not that I'm criticizing them mind you. I've read the end of the story, that God had a use for all that booty.

I anticipate, that is not the burden that would leave the deepest scars upon the desert surface. It is the burden of the soul. Like some rock you started to extract from the backyard only to discover that its depth had no end. It just goes deeper and deeper, until your blood, sweat and tears are inscribed on that rock and the dirt has been ground into your forehead and the grime forms long rivers from your elbow to your wrist. The creases which run in the rock are akin to the creases of your own heart till there are moments when you're not sure if your struggle is against the rock or your own soul. The weight of it all.

Th deepest ruts left in the desert are the contemplations that the "other" is better. Like Egypt, it was better; better food, better water, better housing. But slavery is never better, just easier. No I did not stutter. I think that thoughts that Egypt was better left ruts so deep in the desert that it began to bleed. Yes to answer your concern, Egypt is easier in the sense that one knows their fate; slavery...... then death. But in the desert, well that seems to be another story. At least is that not how the story reads? At least from the perspective of the Israelites. What would the next sunrise bring, but more intense heat, thirst, wandering. The weight of it all. You see it's not until you fall in love with the desert that it becomes easy. You shoulder your pack only to discover that you've learned to travel light. And how can you not? Not learn that is, for do we not have the best teacher? He carries "the weight of it all". So take a load off and walk a mile with me.
Sola Fide, WHB

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Let It Go..................... Into The Desert (Part 2)

"For any person who is not afflicted in soul on that same day shall
be cut off from his people."
Leviticus 23.29

The gospel was always meant to be experienced. The man stood, looking up into the starlit sky. Shook his head, turned his back and walked out of civilization and into the desert. Christ was crucified outside the city. Not so much in the desert mind you. But the outskirts, neglected and unkept. Places children should not play, but are all drawn to. Somewhere between the edge of civilization and eternity. In his thirst did he think of the desert? The place where temptation fled and destiny could not be swayed.

There is much debate as to the location of Christ in the intermitent period between his death and his resurrection. Was he preaching hell, fire and brimstone or resting at heaven's doorstep? It moves me to wonder what happened to all those goats? You know, the ones on the Day of Atonement? One was slain and the other surrendered to the desert, bearing that heavy load. The burden none of us could carry, though at times we seem insistent. Pride truly does come before a fall. There are many who stumble in the desert (something to do with not travelig light).

But not him, the Man's too big the Man's too strong. Could it be he went into the desert, like all the rest before him? The Place which is neither heaven nor hell, though you will have your share of both there. You're wondering if any of this is real or is it all an apocalyptic mystery. Words without meaning or meaning too deep to be fathomed. This blade is real. The blood on our hands is real, becoming sticky, beginning to dry and crack. The smell of goatskin and burning flesh is real. The cold ashes of this sacrificial fire are real. Can't you see his footprints in the sand? They are untouched by the winds of time. I saw him, (just about sunset) walking out of the camp............ and into the desert. Sola Scriptura, WHB




Thursday, December 01, 2005

Let It Go............ Into The Desert (Part 1)

"For any person who is not afflicted in soul on that same day shall be cut off from his people." Leviticus 23.29

"Father forgive them." Famous last words. What were those goats thinking when Aaron flipped that coin. Is it heads or tails? Of course there was no coin toss at Golgatha's Mercy Seat. The single grain of wheat had to die, fall into the ground and emerge.

- Eyes that do not see
Ears that do not hear
Hearts that do not beat
Stone cold, wrapped in the icy grip of winter,
Lost in the frigid winds of a Nor'easter.
Hopelessness wanders in a ice-glazed desert with no road home.
If you find yourself in Missouri during Spring, when the pastures are green and the hills roll on forever into a Kansas sunset, it has been said; "This must be heaven." Like a stubborn flower, splitting the 'stone cold' creating fissures which rivers of life now flow through. Yes, Golgatha like some high tower lifted high the "Carrier." He who bore that heavy load, and then she like some monstrous rocky crag swallowed him whole; whereby angry young men could only look back and lament. Rather than flip another coin the straw was bruised for our transgressions. I can see Him, (just about sunset) walking out of the camp......... and into the desert. Sola Gracia, WHB