On Dying

"See, I will wait in the plains of the wilderness, until word comes..." -David

It was a good day to be laid to rest. The beautiful thing about cremation is that practically it is cost conscious. I suppose historically it is the way of old kings (that is pagans of course). While watching, it occured to me that the hole was so small, a square in the ground. There was nothing to labor over. With a brush of your feet it was swept under ground.

It must have been like a funeral. That long line of mourners. David looked back to lament as he stood by the brook and watched his people pass by; 100, 200, 300... Life had taken an unlikely, no, it had taken an unsavory turn. Betrayed by his own flesh and blood. It has been said that only God knows how to love and hate at the same time. That is the gibberish of systematic theologians. I wish one could only love or hate. Then David might not have been so conflicted. His only recourse seemed to be those who rallied to his side and his god of course. The God upon whom he would wait and see. "Wait and see," of course out of the mouth of kings is a political statement. For David was already engineering his potential return. Give or take the will of God of course. But do not be so foolish to think that David was without will or intent. He ever and always will be a man of passion. He would plan, perhaps God would prosper. And he would wait in the desert.

The other day somebody walked over my grave (as an insult). If you find yourself visiting (not staying) a graveyard or attending a burial understand it is not impolite to stand upon others. They understand you are there to respect your dead. I have grown weary of death, but perhaps it has prepared me for death. What I have found is that death can be either noble or ignoble. It is all in how they lay you to rest. There is nothing worse than being hastily buried in a shallow grave by those who simply want to be through with you. Swept under the rug. If you are fortunate, you will be buried by those who love you and are like you. They are fond of his voice, long for the land and cherish the desert. In effect they understand. They will bury or burn you with blood, sweat and tears. It will purify their soul and if conducted appropriately will rise up to heaven as a sweet-smelling sacrifice. Make it a big fire or a deep hole that will take time and callouses to fill (or build). Choose the way of the ancients, bury or burn your own dead. God forbid, you be swept under the rug. Sola, WHB

Cain

"Behold, I will wander far away, I will lodge in the desert -David the shepherd/king (Psalm 55)

Today I live on the dark side of the moon, the backside of the desert. It has occured to me that Cain was an exile of exiles. His parents of course had perfected the art of exile, they held the patent on that one. The text tells us that when Adam and Eve fled, they went "east of Eden." How much further then was Cain sent? I say, "sent" because he was banished from the community.

I am a marked man. Why God ever made me love community I will never understand. Didn't he realize I had always been content to be on my own? I was not one to need people. And then he made me love them. They have been disappointing me ever since. Well, most it would seem. But now, I have retired to my hovel in the desert. Old haunts which brought back fond memories are now places of decadence and decay. Like a portion of the desert lost to suburbia. Abusers and users now own the property. They have no thought for the "Land." Their intent is to only exploit it for their own polluted purposes. Like some old hunting grounds someone else has come along and bought up all the land. Posted signs now dot the landscape.

Some legends say there are restless spirits which wander the earth like homeless beggars. No wonder "legion" requested to be cast into a pack of pigs. How we seek to avert exile. But at what price? I have often wondered if it has already cost too much. No doubt I have thrown in my thirty cents worth. I have danced with the devil and he has led me straight to hell. Such is the price for hoaring around. Perhaps I will find solace in the desert, not all the sacred places have been torn down. Sola, WHB

Relieve Me

"Are we there yet." -Emily Berkheiser (and every other kid on earth)


Well, I have prayed and God has answered. In our last chapter.... OH, I'm sorry. I forgot. Like a book you start to read and put down for what seems like an eternity (though in reality it has only been a few months, weeks or days) so this blog has become. That is forgotten. Not intentionally mind you. But often time did not permit or life was just pressing and writing was depressing. Eventually I chose to wait, until this was over. Well it is over, or so I thought. I mean, is it ever over. No, I fear it is not. The drama of life grinds on. It refuses to slow down enough for me to jump off. That's why I curse public transportation. The bus driver never listens and they probably have revoked licenses anyway. But all of that is for another time. Forgive my digression. As I recall it had something to do with 35 weeks.


Yes, that's it. I had asked God for 35 weeks. Could I survive the lamentable journey across the desert? Would my tribe survive? Like Moses it was my responsibility to take my people to safety. I felt woefully inadequate for the job. I had a million reasons for God not choosing/allowing me/us to make this quest. He was silent, so I have plodded on. Frankly, I think he carried me all the way. He sent ravens to feed me and I discovered that there was a stream in the desert and perhaps a bit of shade too. The 35th week has passed. And while Jezebel has been left in the dust this journey has yet to end. I guess I should say chapter. But like many chapters in life they are hardly rigid. That is one thing does not always come one after the other. Rather another comes before the other ends. Such is reality. Life is messy and ever increasing. I have yet to reach the promise land but God has taught me how to live in the desert. There are several mountains in the distance which beckon. They beg me to scale them. The mountain of God, Mount Zion, Temple Mount. A sancturay I seek and the books, old books and the deep magic of God. The oldest words forgotten by most but coveted by a few. Sola Fide, WHB

Echoes

I am eager to announce the good news to you -Paul


It's alive, the word of God that is. Every time you crack the book, mouth the words; the voice of God is heard. In Romans 1 Paul is desparate to preach the gospel in Rome. It is his driving passion. What follows are a string of clauses verifying the cause of his intensity.

No shame for the gospel
the gospel is the power of God
in the gospel the righteousness of God is revealed
for the wrath of God is being revealed.

There is no end of debate among scholars in regards to this text. A lot of ink has been spilt concerning the matter of theme and the nature of the "righteousness of God." In my simplicity I'm left wondering if we have in our quest to legitimize our theology failed to regard Paul's intent. As seen in his ethos and in his own words. While I have my own opinions of the "righteousness of God" as to its objectivity or subjectivity in this text, I will leave that for another venue. What strikes me is that Paul has realized that his message is linked to prophecy, and a historical event in time which has made the rightousness of God available (accessable?).

When Paul opens his mouth, people hear the voice of God and the righteousness of God is unveiled. (I reject the assumption by some that apokalupsis here is a technical term. It is more of a historial reference than it is an eschatological one). Something has happened, continues to happen. "In the cross of Christ I glory." In Paul's mind when he preaches the gospel something happens. The righteousness of God is unveiled and mankind shudders under the downpour of her accountability or is ushered into the springtime of he recreation.

Have you ever considered how you react to voices? At some we shudder while at others we warm. God's voice draws you or condemns you. I suppose it all depends upon how it sounds in your ear. Unfortunately not many seem to be listening. At the risk of sounding Barthian (perhaps I already have?) I perceive that Paul was convinced that his preaching had the power to create or condemn. I am left to wonder if for so many listeners and speakers alike, preaching /teaching has lost any sense of relavance. It does not fit in our contemporary atmosphere. Perhaps nothing happens because we don't expect anything to happen. It is not a lack of faith in the historical event or the person of Jesus but that the word when spoken is alive. That is it has a life of its own. God may use our vocal cords but it's his voice. His reverberating voice is not only timeless but right on time. Sola Scriptura, WHB

Arriving

"The cloud of the LORD was above the tabernacle by day, and fire was over it by night, in the sight of all the house of Israel, throughout all their journeys." Exodus 40.38


Well he has arrived. "I'm here," were his words. My cousin has begun a new journey. Cambridge is now his desert.

Which started me thinking. Life is a series of journeys. I mean it's just as your finishing one that another seems to be begin. And then there are those which never seem to end. Take Israel for instance. When we start Exodus we are left with the impression that they will arrive soon only to discover this is an extended journey, forty years worth of wrong turns. While Moses speaks of the journey Paul characterizes life as a race to be run. For those of us who are of "The Way" this race is our participation in God's redemptive story. Our own personal epic quest is a series of journeys woven into the fabric of God's own story. We are but a subplot in a much grander theme of God's exaltation of Jesus and his cross. He builds and we seek a city whose builder and maker is God.

Sometimes of course we count the days. I am on such a journey. In particular I think of weeks. I keep petitioning God for "35 weeks". For now it is a journey which I don't want to end despite the distress it has caused me. To date I need 12 more weeks. It reminds of how my daughter will speak of thngs as being so far away when in my mind it is but weeks away. Suddenly I am in empathy for her as a week now seems like a lifetime. So, I offer sacrifices of prayer and praise because we are covered by a cloud by day and a fire by night. Ironically (or perhaps not) Israel wandered for 40 years in the desert. The gestation period for a baby is 40 weeks. A journey ends and a new one begins. We are always arriving. Sola Fide, WHB

Inconceivable

"Come and see." - Philip the Apostle


"He's enduringly strong. He's entirely sincere. He's eternally steadfast. He's immortally graceful. He's impartially powerful. He's impartially merciful. Do you know him?

He's the greatest phenomenon that has ever crossed the horizon of this world. He's God's Son. He's a sinner's Savior. He's the centerpiece of civilization. He stands in the solitude of himself. He is unique. He's unparalleled. He's unprecedented. He's the loftiest idea in literature. He's the highest personality in philosophy. He's the supreme problem in high criticism.

He supplies strength for the weak. He is available for the tempted and the tried. He sympathizes and saves. He strengthens and sustains. He guards and guides. He heals the sick. He cleanses the lepers. He forgives sinners. He discharges debtors. He delivers the captives. He defends the feeble. He blesses the young. He serves the unfortunate. He regards the aged. He rewards the diligent. And he beautifies the meager. I wonder if you know him." (Rev. Henry Lockyear, Do You Know Him)

There was no wind today. The flames danced as they greedily fed. Embers rose higher and higher in the sky. As day turned into dusk I could see them stretching higher, curling on the warmed air and the smoke from this altar. I thought of Moses and the mountain and the undying flame. Fire unfit for any hearth but on occassion willing to grace my altar. All those sacrifices made stretching back further than anyone can remember. Notable one's expected such Abraham and Isaac. Thank God for that ram. Today I follow the goat that wanders narrow paths out here in the desert. And hope. Hope that there is one more ram in the thicket for my son. Kindling one more sacrificial fire to watch the smoke rise from this altar. Sola Scriptura, WHB

Behind The Eyes

"No one bites back as hard on their anger, none of my pain and woe can show through." The Who

All the world's a stage and we are merely players. Shakespeare seemed confident that fate would have its way with us. There are moments in men's lives when the only recourse is not an option. Except for a few of course. They bear labels; selfish, hopeless and senseless. The heat of the desert can leave one delirious. In the wilderness God provided for his children, manna by day and quail by night. Yet according to the gospels he left his son to suffer without nourishment in that dry and weary land. There were no locust or wild honey. Jesus' cousin seemed to fare much better in the desert as if he was born to it. Perhaps Jesus was a suburbanite, playing with his dad's tools in the garage but never venturing into the larger world beyond him (now that sounds like heresy, remind me and I will explain it some time). That is until his temptations. I wonder what was worse, those 40 days of purpose (pun intended) or those satanic isolations? It was Tertullian who said, "the whole revolving wheel of existance bears witness to the resurrection of the dead."

The words haunted the old cowboy...
See the lines upon his face,
Notice the faded, torn fabric of his jeans
Boots with run down heels.
But he believed the words written in red.

The west was almost won,
or so they'd said.
Thinking on these things;
the cowboy'd say:
How can wicked men tame an untamed land?
Has the wilderness just become a place of decadence?
But he believed the words written in red.

Old trails begin to haunt him,
He ponders his calloused hands
Knowing the fence line fading into the distance
would never be fully mended.
But he believed the words written in red.

Dusk is falling.
He pauses to check his back trail
All he sees is history, wondering
Is what's beyond the next bend
More daunting than previous winters?
But he believed the words written in red.

They say, "Fall is coming early."
The words still ring in his head,
Musing then why does it feel like winter?
And then the darkness closes in.
But he believed the words written in red.

It looms out of the darkness,
Etched upon the horizon.
Thank God there's a light on.
And so he dreams...
About the land, the tree and its fruit
That is not forbidden.
Because he beileved the words written in red.

Sola Gracia, WHB

Weary

"We live as though we were doomed to die on the morrow, but we build houses as though we were going to live forever in the world." Jerome, Epistolae

Is there no rest for the weary? Like phantoms we move through a surreal haze. Sometimes living is like grasping water. You always end up with less than you anticipated.

Lately it would seem time is more short than it is long. Too many days have been shortened. Memories will not be made, and for the young, faces will fade. Even memories flee if one does not turn the page.

Is there a rest for the people of God? It is an old question but today my eschatology fails to sustain me. This river has about run dry. Thank God for widows, was she not God's form of salvation for Elijah? His well had run dry from words that now haunted him. Florida Scott Maxwell once said, "You need only claim th events of your life to make yourself yours. When you truly possess all you have been and done ... you are fierce with reality." Yet, what does one do when reality becomes unmanagable? Grasping the mystery of Christ requires one embrace the unmanagable. That reality is always larger than oneself. In a world full of consequences it would seem one is so inconsequential. There is a tale to be told. Unfortunately it keeps spiralling, or might I say splintering into many. The strands have become insurmountable. Like some tangled fishing line, beyond repair. Sometimes you just got to cut the line.

It was Dante who said,
"Midway on our life's journey, I found myself
In dark woods, the right road lost. To tell
about those woods is hard - so tangled and rough..."

I suppose Dante was made of stouter stuff than I for he determines to 'tell what I saw." I have no tale to tell. Only that I have found solace in silence. A silence that is far too rare. This is both encouraging and discouraging. Encouraging in that there is a place of beauty, perhaps rest. Let it be said in the desert silence I heard (even if it was in the distance, that voice calling in the midst of broken canyons, searching you out). Discouraging in that it is rare. Like scattered showers in late summer. They keep falling on somebody elses field.

So, I ask the question for all those lost among the arroys of life, turning to the voice which echoes off canyon walls. "Is there any rest for the weary?" Please don't patronize me. His word reverberates in my strained soul; "Keep the Sabbath." Haven't you been told? "Only losers quit." Sola Gracia, WHB

Turning To Stone

"The dying embers of the night, a fire that slowly fades till dawn
Still glowing upon the wall so bright, turning, turning, turning
The tired streets that hide away from here to everywhere they go
Roll past my door into the day in my blue world. -ELO

HEAR his voice-
It is not enough to read, but one must hear (and of course be heard but that is anothe matter). God's word is his Voice. It is dynamic, alive. In this sense it is very much an event in each one's life. God's voice is therefore an indication of his presence and perogative. Our generation struggles with this because we have become repositories for knowledge. We have become addicted to space and are preoccupied with collecting. May it be possible that these are in conflict with giving and doing. That is, if the acquirement of space and the art of collecting are an act of receiving. Yet the Voice says, "It is better to give than to recieve." I suppose one might argue that our generation has returned to the value of experience. To which I would agree but I fear it is a tainted experience. I only say this because it seems so entertainment driven and personally motivated. The experiences we seek must be new, positive or more intense than the last. In which case the problem is not the experience but ourselves. The horror of self-absorbtion. It is reminescent of Adam and Eve's failure in the garden. In an instant our lives can turn from being theocentric to being anthrocentric. God can turn the desert into paradise. What are we turning it into?

DO not harden your hearts-
We are trying to change the landscape while the Voice is scrawling messages upon the caverns of our soul. That place where only kindled fire can cast light on. Shadows dance on the edge of darkness as one reads/hears his Voice scrawled upon the cavern of one's soul. Stay by the fire and heed the voice of one who cries out of the wilderness. Become the echo of his voice that you may emerg from the cavern and enjoy paradise. Sola Gracia, WHB

Forsaken

"On that day the splendor of Jacob will fade, and his healthy body will become emaciated." -Isaiah


Here in desert places,
There is that which is known as an oasis.

The barrenness of it all, as if forsaken.
Where is the cool runninig stream, the color of green?

Dust swirls on the wind; dry it is.
The limb has been severed from the root;
Hollow, brittle, empty of marrow.

Life vanishes from the face of the desert.
Is it an empty land?

There is no place for a branch without marrow.
Only those in the green discover the coveted valley.

The rest perish and die,
In God-forsaken places
For God-forsaken people.

Sola Gracia, WHB

Unrecognizeable

"many were apalled at thee - so marred was his visage unlike that of a man" -Isaiah

Is he not who you think he is? What is his physical description? The presumption of his appearance? "Marred" is the word of the prophet. The desert is full of damaged goods. It has become a place to collect trash. The stuff left behind for better things. Left to rust, fade away and become a part of the landscape. You'd be amazed what you can find out here. Or for that matter who is out here. Have you forgotten already? God is in the desert.

Oh, I know you saw Jesus in town. The Walmart Jesus; convenient, expendable, one size fits all and on sale at that. Or was it the uptown Jesus? Available to only a select few. A limited number of models, specially designed to your preferences. The marred Jesus was abandoned long ago. He has become unrecognizeable to those who claim to bear his name. But he did say that in the last days there would be many "christs."

He leaves tracks in the desert, footprints in the sand with flecks of blood (and I saw a lamb as if slain-St. John). They are there that we might follow. If you dare. They go deeper into the desert, uncharted territories, boundless. And some say; 'there in the desert, is a lion that haunts the night.' At times it appears as if his and those of Jesus have become one. Sola Fide, WHB

Fire!

Mt. Sinai was wrapped in smoke because the Lord had descended on it in fire. -Moses

Once upon a time my house caught on fire. I was young then but as I recall the fire depatment came twice that morning. You see, fire has a life of its own. Just about the time you think you have mastered the flame, it burns you.

God is fire, never forget that. Moses knew this mind you. He of all people is familiar with burning bushes. But this is different. This fire on the mountain. So, God is not only fire but he is an untamable fire. Here in the desert we appreciate campfires. They provide warmth, a sense of security. Staring into it you encounter a spirit of comfort. But never presume that you are the keeper of the flame. For he is the keeper and our creator. One does not play with fire, or it will burn you. Yes, God is an untamable fire so don't play with him.

There is something volcanic about God. I know, not the image you had in mind. You say, "Give me Jesus." The Jesus of our imagination, long hair, blue eyes, always smiling. My very best friend. Not that I reject or deny this image of Jesus or suggest that it is in no way plausable. It is simply not the full image of God. There is a dark side to the cross, "if we go on sinning deliberately after receiving the knowledge of the truth, there no longer remains a sacrifice for sins, but a fearful expectation of judgment and a fury of fire that will consume the adversaries......how much worse punishement....will be deserved by the one who has spurned the Son of God, and profaned the blood of the covenant" (Hebrews 10). We do not want to see the image of a spurned Savior. He suddenly turns volcanic, dangerous and unpredictable. This is not the kind of God one peddles. This is a Savior to be proclaimed, "the voice of one crying in the wilderness."

Don't get too comfortable in the desert. Not that it will betray you or turn on you. Rather it is not something to be taken for granted. Carelessness will get you killed out here. For God is a consuming fire. His fear must be before us that we might not sin against him (Exodus 20).

So, back to the volcano which God is. "Broad is the way that leads to destruction but narrow is the road that leads to eternal life." Live on that broad way and you may find yourself camping at the base of a volcano. The thing about volcano's is that they are so unpredictable. The volcano may be dormant for years, perhaps the longsuffering of God and then he blows. So much for life as one knows it. Pompei is suddenly your life. This is not something you wish on your worst enemy. Even Abraham asked God not to torch Sodom and Gomorrah. The desert is the place where you learn to worship God, observe this fire on the mountain. Just maybe he'll call up and you will enter in. Sola Fide, WHB

It's In The Room

"This fire is God, and his furnace is in Jerusalem; and Christ enkindles it in the heat of his burning passion, which only he truly perceives who says: My soul chooses hanging and my bones death. Whoever loves death can see God because it is true beyond doubt that man will not see him and live. Let us, then, die and enter into this darkness; let us impose silence upon our cares, and our desires and our imaginings." -St. Bonaventure

There is a darkness of which poets dream and mystics write. A conundrum in its own right, hard to be known. For not all darkness is without light or more appropriately spoken opposite of light. We know that "men loved darkness rather than light, for their deeds were evil." But not all darkness is of evil's delight. Perhaps the mystics were drawn to the darkness seen in Exodus 20? "Moses drew near to the thick darkness where God was." For them was this the place of unknowing? A place where God could be fully known (within human comprehension) and yet remain unseen, for no man can see God and live. Yet the darkness is dangerous of which Jeremiah writes. He laments over God's darkness falling over Jerusalem, wrapped in anger and rage. It became a wound that would not heal........ There is a darkness in which there is no delight.

It's in the room.
It's so cold, I can feel some kind of cool wind blow,
When my eyes are closed I can feel some kind of eerie cold.
Late at night I looked twice, thought I saw someone staring over my shoulder.
It's in the room, I can feel it in the room,
Something dead and gone but still somehow it's hanging on.

In all of my desert wanderings I have yet to encounter the thick darkness where God is. Perhaps in the distance I have percieved it once or twice. Or was it simply a rare seasonal storm cloud that appears before the rain? No, the darkness primarily encountered on these desert paths is that which men begin to love and in the end hate for its haunting. There is a cruelness to it that does not let go. For it has no consience and delights in consuming wayward souls. If you listen you can hear them screaming into the night having become prisoners of their own device.

Is that at least in part why some sought this "place of unknowing?" It had to be something more than one's personal well-being that was in mind. This darkness that one might enter is not a means of escape but rather certitude. It is a place of strength and being. It does not promise clarity but it assures one of peace. The longer one scours these paths the more we realize clarity is a facade. For we are here and here is the only place we can be. But he is before and after; ever-present, ever-past, ever-future. There is no place or time where he is not. This is clarity. A clarity of which we will never know, not even in the resurrection. For even in the resurrection we will only and always be there (wherever there is). The desert wanderer settles for peace. Though he must not pursue peace or it will elude him. Pursue the Prince of Peace and if you permit him he will become your peace. For the world is full of many darkness's. For men loved darkness rather than light. And at times you will find that it is the darkness of cruel delight that rests upon your own shoulder. In this desert we wander but we must not become wayward. We may have to live with darkness but we do not have to live in it. It may be in the room but it is not Lord of the house.

Whoever turns his face fully to the Mercy Seat
and with faith, hope and love,
devotion, admiration, exultation,
appreciation, praise and joy
beholds him hanging upon the cross,
such a one makes the Pasch, that is, the Passover,
with Christ.
By the staff of the cross
he passes over the Red Sea,
going from Egypt into the desert,
where he will taste the hidden manna;
and with Christ
he rests in the tomb,
as if dead to the outer world,
but experiencing,
as far as is possible in this wayfarer's state,
what was said on the cross
to the thief who adhered to Chrst;
Today you shall be with me in Paradise -St. Bonaventure

Sola Gracia, WHB

The Searcher

"God's preacher-prophet-watchperson must be aware that lonliness comes with the territory. In fact, the watchperson, is in a perpetually lonely situation, for a watchtower cannot hold a crowd. -Beecher Hicks Jr.

Life in the desert has a way of having its way with you. You can watch the world from a lonely hilltop or in the darkness of night stare at the sliver of the moon. Watching and waiting generally proves frustrating. Maybe that is why one is prone to wander. Follow old trails, visit old haunts explore uncharted canyons hidden within the desert lanscape. There is an internal desire to be lost, all but forgotten; killed by indians, mortally injured by a careless fall, a water hole run dry. A lot can happen to a man in the desert. Is he not just one more soul lost to civilization?

I have wondered about Paul, lashed to the mast on his journey towards Rome. He stared up at the same sliver of moon comtemplating hopes and dreams and dreading warnings unbidden. With the smell of winter in the air and oracles which fell on deaf ears, the sea of glass became white caps with the coming of November. She shuddered with her belly and heaved within her hull. Taste the spray and ride the rage to a bitter shore.

"I wonder as I wander out under the sky.........."
"Lonliness for the preacher-watchman is most striking because it is most internal. This lonliness is one that friends can not erase and for which congregational families can not compensate. It is a kind of existential lonliness coming in the darkest part of the night and forcing us to meet the ambiguities of life. To struggle with the self that can not be expressed is to be lonely. To struggle with the tension of calling and purpose, knowing all the while that what you wish to be is at odds with what God requires you to become, is to be lonely. To stand in that strange and eerie place where you used to hear from God, where he used to show up but now is undeniably absent and silent, is to be lonely. So then, it apprears that because I have this calling and this vision, I am condemned to be lonely- believing, at the same time, that by God's promise I am never alone. It is the very essence of faith. It is a conundrum." (Beecher HIcks)

And so the desert wanderer presses on. In search of? Only God knows what. Perhaps more appropriately, who he searches for. There on the mountain, in the cloud. A place of unknowing, where for Moses the mysteries of heaven were unlocked. The place where for Moses life must have at times become exceedingly tedious. Waiting for wanderers to become worshippers. Sola Fide, WHB

An Exaggerated Imagination

"A regular practice of speaching may well be an act of relational violence, one that is detrimental to the very communities we are seeking to nurture." Doug Pagitt (Preaching Re-imagined)

The problem with books is that it is a one way conversation. Aren't there times when you just wish the author was sitting there right next to you and you could talk to them about what you just read? Then there is the tragedy of too little too late. The tragedy for me is that I listened to, and conversed with Doug Pagitt at the recent National Conference on Preaching (speaching). Alas, I wish I had read his book first and met him second. We would have had so much more to talk about. Frankly he would have had a lot more explaining to do.

I just read Doug's book, "Preaching Re-imagined." It is quite the rage in the pomo/emergent community. He suggests a whole new approach to preaching which he calls 'progressive preacihng.' The pastor engages the congregation in an ongoing discussion of a selected text. Pre sermonic work is done with a team leading up to the service. The team is open to whoever wants to be there. In that sense I suppose the planning session is conceptual (this is what it might be about). The sermon/service itself would be formational. It is in effect created and proclaimed in community. That is my spin on what Doug was trying to say (which I think I said much better than he did).

All that aside this is an engaging easy read. Which is nice. Nice because it is easy to read and nice because it is engaging. Not in the sense that it draws you in to a good story but engaging in that it is a controversial topic. Lets face it for some (preachers), preaching (or speaching as Pagitt calls it) is the holy grail of Chirstianity. Doug embarks on a worthy discussion and merges the issue of preching with a variety of issues confronting the church today. To some it will read like a hodge-podge but they are legitimage issues nonetheless. Doug's concept of community and preaching are so bound together that it is impossible for him not to stray into other arenas. In this sense he does us a favor in starting a worthy conversation. Unfortunately, what could be a great discussion read like a one-way rant. Sure, there are plenty of minions (those who buy into anything and everything pomo leaders are saying) who will embrace his thoughts but he failed to present himself in such a way that those who need to join the dialogue will be apt to listen. Funny, he talked about language and choice of words in progressive preaching. Too bad it did not exude from his writing. In person and in his book he came off as rather arrogant (I'm right and you are wrong). Not that I'm offended mind you (unless it is in that I met someone who is better at it than I am). Personally I think it's just his passion spilling out. And what preacher/pastor can't respect that in another shepherd? Shouldn't we be passionate about Christ and his body?

So if I can live with Doug's passion then what is my problem with his book? Well, I think it lacks credibility. For instance, he argues for progessive preaching from a biblical and a historical argument. Biblically he uses Acts 10 and Peter and Cornelius' conversation as a proof text for progressive preaching. He seems to suggest this would become the norm for the early church. Historically speaking he insists that speaching is a relatively new phenomenon in church having been born out of the enlightenment. Both of these arguments by some might be called "straw men." In reality they are downright fallacious. This is what makes Doug's work questionable in that it lacks scholarly integrity. First the Acts 10 thing is akin to textual violence (to use Pagitt's terminology). Luke is not prescribing any preaching method he is only documenting events and supplying pertinent conversations and sermons relavent to the fulfillment of his purpose. One has to wonder if Doug knows anything about Greek or Roman rhetoric and the role it played in the first and surrounding centuries. In fact Luke gives us a clear picture of what speaching sounded like in the early church. Paul at times used a classic method known as "Narratio" (Acts 22, 26). His sermons follow a Greek rhetorical pattern as popular in that day. Keep in mind 'rhetoric' was a positive term in Luke's day unlike ours. Nor is it plausable that Luke was not telling the whole 'story.' Historiography in Luke's day was very factually oriented. Embellishment was not likely or considered necessary. Acts is a historical narrative of the work of the Holy Spirit in the fledgling church as seen in the events outlined by Luke. The conversations and sermons serve to inform the reader as to motivations, beliefs and perceptions of the people participating in God's new movement. The accuracy of the sermons is as critical as the accuracy of the events being described.

Doug says nothing of the reading of texts within the community either. Even Acts for as long as it is can be a lively read. Luke almost certainly planned it so; event-speech-explanaiton is a common flow of the text. Did the listeners converse and discuss the text? One would think so but it was in no way a 'progressive sermon'. Nor does Doug make any mention of Pauls blunt expectation that women shut up (my translation) in church. What is one to do with that? Doug goes so far as to suggest that everybody stops talking when a baby cries in church because everyone has to be heard. So this read not only lacks credibility but it gets downright sappy.

At the end of the day I think Pagitt "doth protest too much." He insists progressive preaching is not another method of 'speaching'. Yeah, right. That's exactly what it is. Such an admission would make his arguments more tenable. For he is right in asserting that preaching affects the context of the community. That being said forms of progressive preaching have their place. It is a valuable tool which helps create community. But spare me the arrogance that he has come up with something that is 'other than' what he calls speaching. He himself digresses on personality (his) and how it effects his formation of a sermon. Hey, some things work better for other people.

The funny thing is, the pomo crowd insists they are a breed apart. Well maybe they are. Their arrogance and pontificating remind me of Fundamentalism (we are the last great basteon of hope, blah, blah, blah). I am considering the idea that postmodern is a code word for fundamentalist. Postmodernity is a code word for fundamentallism and emergent is a code word for fundy (pejorative). Rermember the common denominator of fundamentalism is militance. And Doug Pagitt is militant. Maybe that's why I feel like I can have a lively conversation with him. Sola Gracia, WHB

Box Canyons

"Stand firm and see the Lord's salvation he will provide for you today." -Moses

It's like Lious La'mour and one of his classic westerns. The good guys slide into a canyon to escape only to discover it's a death trap. A box canyon. There's no way out. Or is there?

Well I have returned from my hiatus. There is no excuse for my absence. I simply didn't feel like doing this. And this is one of the few things in life which my feelings are allowed to dictate what I do or do not do. Frankly life has changed. In an instant, in the twinkling of an eye or should I say a conversation, the ring of the phone or being late rather than on time. There is something to be said for God. He does have a way about him. In that he knows how to make a point or gain an audience.

When Israel crossed the Red Sea there was quite an audience. This is Israel's epic event about which prophets and poets write about. It serves as a stark reminder that our God is one of promise and fulfillment. And it reads, well it reads like a La'mour western. Desert crossings and box canyons. Trapped with seemingly no escape. Yes, God had Pharoah and Israel right where he wanted them. They are the spectators and Yahweh has the lead role in this divine drama. He arrrives right on time and Israel has only to watch and wait for the salvation of the Lord.

Without doubt God wanted to make a point. He wanted Israel to see the corpses lying on the beach, bodies bobbing in the churning waters. Even if Israel wanted to go back to Egypt they couldn't (and at times they seemed to). For not only had Israel been delivered from bondage but the source of the bondage had been broken. Pharoah was dead and Egypt was crippled. Things would never be the same again. Israel would have to learn to live in the desert, the land of opportunity. The place where God provides. They ate breakfast at Pinera Bread, at night ate at KFC and got their water from the Hard Rock Cafe. God was using this box canyon experience to cultivate Israel's faith in him. It's a matter of trust. If God had saved Israel to serve him it was imperative that they trust him. A lack of trust always tarnishes service and undermines worship.

No doubt we also need our box canyon experiences. I expect we can only mature so much on someone elses experiences. Sooner or later we have to have our own close calls where God arrives. In similar fashion our sinful state is a box canyon, from which only Christ can extract us. We would do well to trust him. Sola Fide, WHB

Reimagining Postmodernism

"Faith is the substance of things hoped for, not seen." -Paul? Apollos?


Well here I am in Dallas Texas at the National Conference on Preaching. Some of the best in the country come here to dialogue and discuss the topic of preaching and how to do it more effectively. This year is in one sense unique, since two Postmodern Christian leaders are here. I say unique because Pomos are often said to not be fond of preaching. It is not dialogical enough for them.


Deiter Zander and Doug Paggit value preaching. Though is may not look or sound anything like what one would traditionally experience (whatever that is). As Pomo's they bring some life to an old conversation. "How do we communicate to people about Christ?" One of the most suprising things I discovered about these guys was that they were so dogmatic. These are deeply passionate men, who believe in what they are doing. It was both refreshing and comforting. I have learned that one can be postmodern and dogmatic too. They would likely react to that thought. But that is how they sound. In their passion they were communicating loud and clear. So maybe there is hope for me. Somehow I can find a way to live in both worlds. The place of passion and discontinuity. The crux of tension. Now if only I can keep from being ripped apart and confused beyond redemption. Sola Gracia, WHB

Whose Valley?

"Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil." -David

What is to become of us when it is the shepherd's valley of the shadow of death?

In the 23rd Psalm we see ourselves walking through darkness with the shepherd as our guide. In C.S. Lewis' The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, as Aslan makes his way to the stone table he comes to a point where he does not allow Lucy and Susan to go any further. They are not permitted to make that last leg of the journey with him. It is a path which he must walk alone, into the heart of death and darkness. What is to become of us when it is the Shepherd's valley of the shadow of death?

Perhaps this is the place where our faith is most shaken. Of course we will beg history. We will say, "I know the rest of the story." But Peter, John and Mary did not have that. They are left with words. "On the third day I will rise again." "I will tear down this temple and in three days raise it up." They are left to contemplate possibility and promise. They are thrust into a crisis of faith. As Jesus proceeded toward the cross he lamented over the abandonment he would experience by his disciples. Peter however insisted that he would not fail. It is here that Jesus informs him of his triple failure. Three times he would deny the Lord, strikeout. Yet Jesus intercedes. Jesus said, "Peter, Satan has asked that he might sift you like wheat. But I have prayed for you that your faith fail not. And when you have returned to me strengthen your brothers."

What is to become of us when it is the shepherd's valley of the shadow of death?

Fear not, Christ has prayed for you. He has passed through the valley of the shadow of death for you. We need not fear any evil. Our salvation is not maintained by our fragile faith. We are kept by the power of God, our forgiveness is in his shed blood. In your crisis of faith, the long pause the deep breath, do not lose heart for hope flies on the wings of the dawn.

The chief shepherd has passed through the valley of the shadow of death. There is no valley so deep that the Son of God can not fathom. No mountain so high that the Son of Man can't climb. No darkness so grim that the Prince of the dawn can not illuminate. There is no sin God can't forgive, no person so lost that Christ can not find them. No bondage so great that the Deliverer can not burst asunder. The valley is the Lord's. The way is safe. "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow you all the days of your life. And you shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever." Sola Gracia, WHB

Into The Misty

"The reason why men are so anxious to see themselves, instead of being content to be themselves, is that they do not really believe in their own existance." -Thomas Merton

God save us if this is even remotely true. Well I'm reading Merton again. He always makes me misty.
To question my existance creates a crisis of faith. How can one's existance be separated from the reality of the Holy One? Is not our being from him and in him? This is an old philosophical question which even St. Paul explored to some extent in Acts 17 in regards to our accountability to the Creator. A Creator who had stepped into history, felt the sting of death, faced the horror of the grave and burst forth in exquisite splendor on the third day. At least that's the way the story goes. Yes, a crisis of faith.

It begs the question of prophetic dependance/necessity. This is the Devil's doing I tell you. If I were a heretic I would say that God and the devil were in collusion. Perhaps this is the chink in the armor of the prophet. Was not Moses devestated when Pharoah did not listen to him? To make matters worse he beligerantly asked, "Who is the Lord?" What do you mean you don't know who God is? Everybody knows God, right? Everybody listens to God, right? Whatever. Damn the corruption of it all. The prophet is damned if he becomes dependent upon the one's (whoever they are) hearing. He has lost his focus, for he caresses the masses and ceases to preach to an audience of One. He is a puppet on a string, a lap dog, the "power's that be" whipping dog (I should have entitled this post: Tied to the Whipping Post, someday).

Is there any hope for the contemporary prophet whose audience is composed of consumers? He must deliver the right product in a seductive presentation. Damned, Damned; the prophet can not live in this world. As Tolkein's elves abandoned Middle Earth and sailed into the West, has the last prophet caught the last train for the coast? It is the end of an era, a new dispensation has dawned and a new age has been spawned out of the belly of the Harlot and we are her slaves.

Prophetic necessity's only salvation is in being lost to oneself. Are these not the echoes of the Christ? "He who loses his life shall save it." But for what? There is no "what." Banish the thought. There is only "WHO." And that is enough. If he is not, then none of this is real and I do not exist. It is all a grand illusion and my faith is in vain. I am vain. Vanity of vanities saith the Preacher. In HIM alone do we find that Person/Place of existance in contentment. Only in Him do these two elusive entities meet. Without Him they are lost to us, our cause is lost like the setting sun upon the twiseted spectacle of some ancient battlefield..... we are lost. All that is left is the carnage and the carrion. Into the misty and the crisis of faith. Sola Fide? -WHB

Monday, Can't Trust That Day

"Oh that I had in the desert a wayfarers' lodging place; that I might leave my people and go from them! Jeremiah 9.2

The anguish of it all. The tearful prophet, though not in tears.

Is Jeremiah the prophet without hope? His voice carries with it the weight of creation and chaos. Is that him choking on his tears or his deconstructive prayers? Jeremiah wanted to be a man of few words but the poet (Spirit) inside him wouldn't allow him to remain silent. So he spoke and the cookie crumbled. At times he hated himself, despised the day that he was born. Sometimes I wonder if Jeremiah's life was just an endless Monday.

Enter the desert. A place of solitude and therefore solace. To Jeremiah this was fantasy island. He's not asking for much, just a little cottage. Someplace out of the way from it all. "All" is of course the problem. If there were no "all" then he would have never opened his mouth (which was always bigger than he anticipated). The "cottage" is not temptation but meditation. It is poetry in pain; sacred lament. A reconfiguration of the soul on pilgrimage to a city whose builder and maker is God. The prophet is no fool. Weak, yes, but foolish, no. He is weak in that he would never go or speak for that matter were there not someone terrifying breathing down his back. Foolish, no; in that he realizes that his desert is his passion. The poet finds peace in the midst of chaos. There is an eye of the storm.

Enter the land. A parcel of property. In the midst of chaos and deconstruction God told Jeremiah to buy land. Go buy a thousand shares of Enron at $60 a pop and watch it crash to 60 cents. There is hope in absurdity, the unimaginable. Here the prophet practices in effect what he preaches. That is he preaches chaos in the hopes of recreation. Exteriorally he is a pragmatist but interiorally he is an optimist. He believes there is a sorrow that leads to repentance. And so his tears are sown in the land of his forefathers in anticipation that the land will live again. This is a mysterious God worth believing in. The God who dares to make dry bones live. Sola Fide, WHB

Spiritum Sanctum Dominum

"The Holy Spirit is indivisibly united with the Father and the Son." St. Basil of Caesarea

The Christian conondrum. "We have never heard that there is a Holy Spirit," thus spoke the disciples of Ephesus to Paul (Acts 19). Does one dare to doubt? Or is villification the inevitable outcome? Here in the desert it is not a question of, "Is there a spirit?" Those who traverse these lonely places in time become sensitive to spirits dancing in the dark. The question is therefore narrower and thus more dangerous. Here in the desert one encounters wind. Is not the Spirit "in," or "on," the wind. The Spirit is wind...... and perhaps fire.(?) [Where is Moses when you need him.] The question before us is, "Who is the Spirit"?

The wind is untameable. It has a mind of its own, and one would be wise to work with it. Though at times it is determined to push hard against you, bending forward into it only makes life worse. At times its howling will haunt you. Then at others you will be lonely, lost without it in a dry and thirsty land. Listless days can be some of the worst in the desert.

Ancient Christiandom seemed at times haunted as to the identity of the Holy Spirit. Is he the Lord? The Council of Nicea in 325 speaks affirmatively, "we believe in the Holy Spirit." They speak affirmatively, but not defensively. It is delightfully rare. I wonder if it was assumptive in nature or more cautious? Jesus of course spoke without caution. Without hesitation he proclaimed, "those who blaspheme against the Holy Spirit are unforgiven" (my translation). It begs the question if those who "speak against" the Son of Man will be forgiven, "What of the status of the Holy Spirit against whom such sins will not be forgiven?" Ancient Christianity relied heavily upon Jesus' baptismal formula in affirming the deity of the Holy Spirit (Matthew 28). The First Council of Constantinople dedicated energy to this issue and determined that the Holy Spirit was "hypostasis" with the Father and the Son. In effect they are three in one (see 'to onoma' in the singular).

Shouldn't we give the council's their due? Wrestling with the questions of wandering humanity, who desparately needed to be found and led home. The atmosphere historically (politics), philosophically and religously was electric. There was a lot of tension in the air as empires crumbled and mystics and logicians fought for a foothold on the text. The pious one would say, "I would not have joined the fray." But in life and faith it is hard to quit the fight. And there is a good fight.

May it be there is wisdom in Jesus? He is very much the advocate of the Spirit. In John 15, Jesus expresses the procession of the Spirit from the Father. He becomes our strength in the absence of the Son and thus the Church is born (see Acts 2, 15). Peter without hesitation finds Ananias and Saphira guilty. "Why has Satan filled your heart to lie to the Holy Spirit?" "You have not lied to men but to God" (Acts 5). The exegesis is profound for the text speaks plainly. The Holy Spirit is the Lord. Therein is the tension. For what becomes of the Shema? "Hear O Israel: the LORD our God is one LORD." The text says that the Holy Spirit is God. In conjunction the text implies (primarily Jesus) that the Father, Son and Spirit are "One." It is the ancient conondrum. For did not Jesus stress the importance of the Shema in Mark 12?

God is a mystery. We can not unlock him for he holds the keys. Theologians will ponticifate and mystics will elaborate on him of whom we only vaguely understand. His mind is forever beyond our grasp (his thoughts are not our thoughts) but his person is amongst us. For the logos became flesh and dwelt amongst us. And the Spirit is within us. Flesh has become the temple of God. NOW that is a paradox. God, guide me through this desert! Sola Scriptura, WHB

She Aint No Angel

"I saw a woman sitting on a scarlet beast, full of blasphemous names, having seven heads and ten horns. The woman was clothed in purple and scarlet, and adorned with gold and precious stones and pearls, having in her hand a gold cup full of abominations and of the unclean things of her immorality, and on her forehead a name was written, a mystery, BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND OF THE ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH. And I saw the woman drunk with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the witnesses of Jesus. When I saw her, I wondered greatly." St. John, Revelation 17.3-6

"She wears a cross around her neck."

It is one of the more horrifying scenes. The carnage of the saints. Subjected to the machinations of a decadent diva. She is dressed to kill. A mesmerizing sight. She is overwhelming at first sight. Yet a glance is all she requires, for her looks kill. She is without mercy and takes delight in inflicting pain. Do not trust her. As a deadly siren she seeks to lure us away. And if she can not "woo" the the saints she will slaughter them just the same. It would seem at least for the moment that she is the victor and we are the spoils.

One has to wonder. Is this alluring diva in disguise? Is this not an elaborate "get up?" The church in drag. Or is it only coincidntial that the body of Christ is also his bride. Ye this woman is no virgin and not privledged to wear white. Her garb is not so simple, for she errs on the side of the flamboyant, ever trying to attract attention to herself. Her adornment is that of the harlot or probably more appropraitely the temple prostitute. She is a religious hoar selling herself to anyone who will entertain her. It is a fatal attraction of the worse kind, for her ways are the ways of death. To go after her is to prepare oneself for a banquet in the grave. She feasts on one's flesh while Hell's mouth is gaping wide awaiting the souls of the demised, damned.

She is without pity, she knows no remorse. Is she not drunk? She is embarassingly filthy and yet seems unaware of it. Yet, does one dare ask the question, Has the church slept with her? Tasted her nuptual nectar only to be enslaved to her? What has it cost to drink from her putrid waters, that filthy stream. Her waters are bitter, like that of Marah. It is a pathetic aftertaste like that of a diet soda. Those who will not sleep with her, she slaughters. Those who have slept with her are slaughtered. She is the praying mantis of idolatry, the evil hoar eating the brains of her victims.

May a day dawn when the saints see more clearly. When they are content with their first love. There is a river that makes glad the city of God. Come, drink from the waters without cost. The Bride says, come. The Spirit says, come. Drink that you no longer be plagued by hunger and thirst. For the Lamb leads us to the waters of life and God wipes away every tear from our eyes.

"The cross is someone shes has not met." Sola Gracia, WHB

So Close and Yet So Far Away

"How shall they hear without a preacher?" -St. Paul

Paul's reflective discourse on the proclamation of the gospel is a contemplative response to his own confusion (frustration?) with Israel's deaf condition. The pen must have been heavy in the apostle's hand. Forced to face the reality of Israel's rejection of Christ as their Messiah.

Being as I reject the simplicity of inspiration by dictation, I anticipate these may have been words which he did not want to write. The humbled Pharisee grapples with the tension between establishing ones own righteousness versus submitting to the righteousness of God. A righteousness (all his own) that he is at times is willing to "bring up," (see Philippians 3) though it always seems to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. As if it was somehow not good enough. Paul finds solace in Moses (just like an x-pharisee to go there) in referring to Deuteronomy 30. For it is there the old prophet calls the people to "love the Lord your God." God's willingness to covenant with them and in effect make them the "covenant community" anticipated a response. A relationship if you will. To know him is to be humbled before him, to be compelled to worship him. One can not help but obey him.

Subsequently, one must be familiar with the context out of which Paul grasps the "righteousness which is of the law." Once that is understood the tension between the "righteousness which is of the law" and the "righteousness out of faith" melts away. For they are one in the same. Paul's tension is not with Torah then but with how Israel practiced Torah and to some extent what they believed about it. Or to put it another way, they believed too much in themselves.

Salvation is so close and yet so far away. This is Paul's hope/lament. The source of all Hope becomes the tool of great pain. Has the Church like Israel reduced Paul's words into a mere formula for salvation? While I will not go so far as to say it is not formulaic it is certainly far more.
The same compelling faith called for by Moses is echoed by Paul (see 10.8 "that is"). If it is reduced to the formulaic is it not the same falacious faith of Israel? A faith in one's own words versus a faith transfixed in God's word. His word of promise.

So we press on, preach on, for how shall they believe in whom they have not heard? Maybe that is our problem. Like Israel, the Church has become hard of hearing. So God reaches, to a disobedient and obstinate people. For our salvation is nearer than we imagined, he is in your mouth and in your heart (8). He is closer than you think and never far away. Sola Fide, WHB

Paradoxes

O CHANGELESS GOD,
Under the conviction of thy Spirit I learn that
the more I do, the worse I am,
the more I know, the less I know,
the more holiness I have, the more sinful I am,
the more I love, the more there is to love.
O wretched man that I am!

O Lord,
I have a wild heart,
and can not stand before thee;
I am like a bird before a man.
How little I love thy truth and ways!
I neglect prayer,
by thinking I have prayed enough and earnestly,
by knowing thou hast saved my soul.
Of all hypocrites, grant that I may not be an evangelical hyporcite,
who sins more safely because grace abounds,
who tells his lusts that Christ's blood cleanseth them,
who reasons that God cannot cast him into hell, for he is saved,
who loves evangelical preaching, churches, Christians, but lives
unholily.
My mind is a bucket without a bottom,
with no spiritual understanding,
no desire for the Lord's Day,
ever learning but never reaching the truth,
always at the gospel-well but never holding water.
My conscience is without conviction or contrition,
with nothing to repent of.
My will is without power of decision or resolution.
My heart is without affection, and full of leaks.
My memory has no retention,
so I forget easily the lessons learned,
and thy truths seep away.
Give me a broken heart that yet carries home the water of grace.

(The Valley of Vision, A Collection of Puritan Prayers and Devotions)

Are We There Yet?

O come my people, unto me out of Sodom and Gomorra,
Egypt and Babylon; come now out of desert and the sea
unto me; the mountain follows where springs of water
or of wine, as rivers run. -Dunstan Massey

There's fire on the mountain. Our God is a consuming fire. We mignt see this if one would pause long enough to notice. Did not Moses have to "turn aside" and see this thing. A bush in flames and yet not consumed. Did Moses see himself in the fire? Consumed by fire but never perishing. Is this what we mean when one says, "he is on fire for the Lord"? I think not. One does not produce fire for God. He is fire and we are his resource if he so chooses to engulf us.

C.S. Lewis described himself as a "reluctant convert." Is this not Moses, the man on the mountain? He stopped to look and became enchanted. He never was the same again though at times he may have regretted it. A man of deep confliction who preferred the solitude of the desert and yet was offered up as a sacrifice to the masses. It became his legacy to take urban sprawl into the desert. Is it a sin to shatter the silence?

Some doors should remain unopened, rocks unturned, the quest not taken. Did Moses ever wonder if the mountain was a "bridge too far"? Moses' calling was a thing of pleasure and pain. The tail had been "pinned upon the donkey." He would go before Pharoah and lead God's people into the desert. "This shall be the sign to you that it is I who have sent you: when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall worship God on this mountain" (Ex. 3.12). I will never grasp this, the uncertainty of God's sign. "Get them here and we'll worship on this mountain". I thought signs were supposed to come before the quest began not after it has been completed? What good does that do the desert wanderer? He is forced to stare into the sacred fire. Ever the threat of consumption, be it the journey or the flame. He is a crucible......... Sola Gracia, WHB

Fatal Attraction

"There is no fear of God before his eyes." David the sheperd (Psalm 36)

The plague of consumption with oneself brings forth wickedness without tension. Eventually life loses its attraction. What is it we are thinking? Dark divinations and rueful musings which only serve to feed one's morbid addictions. It is abhorrent, we are abhorrent. What was David thinking? Of whom was he speaking? At one time was it himself? The looking glass is dangerously reavealing.

In horror he fled. Fled from the emptiness and the dread. He fled from himself. I suppose we will never know of whom David spoke. Still flee he does, whether from himself or some other sininster personality. He finds solace in the attractiveness of God. The simplicity of home, the sound of a fast running stream. It is the land. The sure mercies of God, hidden in the cleft of that rocky cragg. The Son of man, that high and lofty mountain.

There is fulfillment for those who run to the hills, who drink from the pure river of life. To be satisfied and yet needing more. Aaahh, the tension. You can breathe again, feel again, live (maybe for the first time). We taste life in him, for he is our life. He is the life in which we live. There is the tension. For to see is to understand. To hear is to grasp. To feel is to tremble. To know oneself in him is to be painfully aware that beyond the comforting glow of a porch light that tells you you're home is a darkness that waits. It will wait all night. It has embraced the virtue of patience.

From whence cometh the light? The day star rising in our hearts? We make our plea, we cry for divine provision. "Let not the foot of pride come against me." Our prayers for patron saints, guardian angels and the frayed rosary which scrawls across the dashboard. Prayer becomes more than words. It is the tension which which fights for life in a world of decadence and decay. Each sigh is a winged prayer that we just might get some sleep tonight. Sola Gracia, WHB

Don't Tread On Me

"Our task is to offer ourselves up to God like a clean, smooth canvas and not bother ourselves about what God may choose to paint on it, but, at every moment, feel only the stroke of his brush." -Jean Pierre de Caussade

The trouble with people is they're always looking out for themselves. The 'self' is the root of many evils. One of which is self-preservation. There is no end to the ink being spilt over leadership. Our futile efforts to reconfigure the beast seem temporal at best. For those who would lead like Jesus must have "soul-discipline." The rent heart, torn asunder who has "forsaken all." Exactly what is that? All of what? All or our stuff or all of ourselves? As painfully attractive as that sounds it is an over-simplification of the truth.

Moses must have dealt with this. He left his flock to lead a nation (which did not always want to be led). Enter the desert, where men are broken and remade. Moses must have been made in the desert before he returned to Egypt for God's people. God prepared the savior. Though the savior proved to be less than perfect during the desert journey. Moses was not without shortcomings. But at least he owned his stuff. At the end of the day he pleads for his people, even when they drove him crazy. He must have seen himself in them, pitied them as he himself needed to be pitied. Of course we don't want any pity. Why do we always shrink from the benefits of compassion? Have we forgotten it is the meek who inherit the earth? Moses was the humblest man on the face of the earth (Numbers 12.3).

Maybe humility must be measured within the tension of one's experience? I say this only because so often I find Moses to be an angry man and yet God loved him. He was Israel's desert shepherd. God was always saving Israel's savior. Perhaps we expect too much. The demands are too great for one man.

So, it is into the desert of "soul-discipline." Where leaders are made, not simply born. The will is steeled and the heart learns to bleed. And bleed it will. For the desert is a place of peril. The irony of leading like Jesus is that it is so subversive. He has the appearance of a lamb which generates its own enemies. Only to discover he is a lamb that roars. Great leaders always have great enemies. I realize you're saying 'obstacles,' not enemies. Is all that really necessary, it sounds so "Bushish." Well you must not have read Psalms. Love your enemies, they might help you become a great leader. Sola Fide, WHB

Unclean! Unclean!

"No creature has meaning without the word of God." -Hildegard of Bingen

So many are without meaning. Rather they live in mayhem. There is a darkness that walks our streets. You can usually smell it before you see it. For it is the repulsive stench of rotting flesh. Much is left to the imagination as the open sore is wrapped in filthy rags. No matter how much society tries to disguise it, it is the purple elephant that we all see but no one is willing to acknowledge is in the room.

And so they walk on. One more mile or one more town, just so long as they go. Be gone. For them there is no way out. They are the mirror society refuses to peer into, let alone to touch it. For fear of becoming unclean. Banishment, exiled from the community. They are forced to live outside the camp. They are beyond redemption, no sacrament can save them. No waters of baptism can cleanse them? The eucharist can not heal them? Amazing Love, how can it be? When our desire is that they choke on a crust of communion bread. We covet their last gasp. The agonizing gurgle of a soul who drowns on the fluid which has collected in their own lungs. Are you the one to "pass the cup" of drowning? Is it your hand that will immerse them and with the other never let them up? Are you sarcastically saying, "Have a drink on me?"

There must be an oasis in the desert. Where by a quiet campfire one can drink from the river that never runs dry. Realizing for the first time that there is such a thing as rest. And hear, yes have ears that hear. That voice which speaks and birds hush their singing. Words of life, wonderful words, beautiful words. "Then a man with a serious skin disease came to him and, on his knees, begged him: 'if you are willing, you can make me clean.' Moved with compassion, Jesus reached out his hand and touched him. 'I am willing,' he told him. 'Be healed'." (Mark 1.40-41) Sola Scriptura -WHB

Woe Is Me For I Am Undone!

"Here am I! Send me. -Isaiah

"ASK ME"

Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.

I will listen to what you say.
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
What the river says, that is what I say.
-William Stafford

Quiet contemplations are the way of mystics. Apocalyptic outbursts are the way of prophets. Yet they are both men of the desert. Praying in caves, meditating on mountain tops, trembling before bushes that never seem to burn. Of late I have heard much talk of "one's call." For some, calling is irrelevent. For is it not in the end a subjective response to what one thinks they have experienced? With others calling is everything. They stake their very futures upon it. They are compelled, drawn and at times driven into the desert. I readily admit I am more like the latter. Though I hold no ill will towards those who believe "calling" is only a figment of one's imagination. All I can say is that if he had not called I would not have known where to go.

It was Parker Palmer who put me onto Stafford's poem, "Ask Me." There is something etheriel in those words, "Ask me whether what I have done is my life." Palmer is so stable (you would expect that from a Quaker). He likely fits the bill as a modern mystic for there is much contemplation in him. He reflects, "Before you tell your life what you intend to do with it, listen for what it intends to do with you. Before you tell your life what truths and values you have decided to live up to, let your life tell you what truths you embody, what values you represent." Granted there is much danger if one accepts Palmer's words from the Quaker perspective of reaching "self-consciousness" (my interpretation of Quaker philosophy). But if one realizes like Isaiah that it is God-consciousness that we must become. Then there is something here for those of us on a contemplative journey to commune with God in the desert.

Are we not complete in Christ? Without him we are only vaguely human, un-beings if you will. It is only upon having a close encounter of the highest kind that we become truly human. Then we become God's echo, the image-bearers of God (as it was always meant to be). This can not become a reality without a rift being torn in the cosmic fabric of our being. To encounter him is to be broken by him, horrified of ourselves (I am unclean) and terrified of him (I am undone). Yet amidst the chaos he speaks or more appropriately he "calls." For Moses it was a burning bush, with Samuel it was hearing voices and sleepless nights or Paul surrounded by bright lights on a dirty road to Damascus. Were they not all called? How could I not say, "Here am I send me." I readily admit I'm still not sure if they were my words or his. It consumes me, compels me, at times I've wondered if it will kill me. Has it not become me? Or should I say, I have become "it." It is my life, I have no other, nor seek none, can not imagine one. There are not multiple dimensions for me. For I am a man of a single dimension. I know that sounds so small. But I am small. God give me contentment in smallness. Suffer the little children to come to me (Jesus). I am that child chasing him down a dusty street for I hear his voice carried on a silent wind. He carries me.

This does not resolve our question, though it is sufficient for my quest. That is the question of the "call," relevent or irrelevent? Can we consider this objectively in a sea of subjectivity? One thing may help us. Obedience. Isaiah had to behave. He could not remain unchanged. Humbly we prostrate ourselves that the plague of sin be purged. "The uncreated Image, buried and concealed by sin in the depths of our souls, rises from death when, sending forth his Spirit into our spirit, he manifests his presence within us and becomes for us the source of a new life, a new identity and a new mode of action" (Thomas Merton). I am disturbed by those who profess some "call" yet are too proud to recognize their own disobedience. Their stubbornness is stifling. Thankyou, to every man and woman who has helped confirm in me the "call." With gratitude I praise you for not only building me up but for also seeing the necessity of tearing me down. Behavior matters. Woe is me if I am not undone. Sola Gracia, WHB