"Now Cain rose up and killed his brother Abel." Genesis 4:8
He never knew what hit him. In regards to plot lines the hero always dies in a tragedy. There is something disturbing about this read. Abel is almost sublime. He barely emerges from the text. One might say he was "average." Like any man you might pass on the street, minding his business and following his God. Cain on the other hand is unforgettable. It is almost as if he lives now. His large form looming over his victim intent upon striking him down. Abel seem easily forgotten but Cain is a name that just doesn't want to go away.
Cain's flight was a descent away from the presence of God. His banishment further demonstration of God's repugnance of sin. And yet Cain is almost child-like. As if he fails to grasp the full implications of his actions. In a grotesque rage he mourns his own burden and has no thought for his fallen brother. As if he could wash the thought of his brother away as easily as he washed the blood off of his hands. And so sin reigned. That is the problem with this story. The hero dies and there seems to be no justice. While Cain is banished he still manages to thrive. And like the psalmist we are left to ponder, "Why do the wicked prosper?"
But that is the way of the tragedy. The hero alway dies in the end. Try as you may, there is no stopping it. It is as if any attempt to stop it only hastens it. And the more you love him the more you hate the fact that you have to turn the next page. Knowing that with each flip you bring our hero one step closer to his demise.
Maybe Cain didn't have it so good after all. He bore his guilt the rest of his days. I expect there was little rest for him in this life or the one to come. And with the turning of each page it dawns upon us that in many ways we are more like Cain than his sublime brother. Our sin has a way of haunting us. Blood stains.
We need a hero. As meek as Abel, acquainted with sin (having been bruised by it) but able to rise from the grave. A hero who can turn tragedy into triumph. His name is Jesus and he alone can save Cain. Sola Gracia -WHB
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
The Searchers
"I (GOD) will open rivers on the barren heights, and springs in the middle of the plains. I will turn the desert into a pool of water and dry land into springs of water." Isaiah 41:18
He walked on. Out of the city and into the desert. He passed right through two-bit towns and quaint little villages. He walked out of their lives forever. The memories fade. The sands of time seem to have blurred his vision of the past, faces he can't see and names he can't remember. He tried but failure haunted him at every corner. Old ways just didn't want to pass away. He had given up on the man he would never be. He'd spent most of his life second-guessing himself. Surrounded by could've, would've, should'ves. He'd learned that no matter how right he could be there was always something wrong. He was wrong, and had been for too long.
I wonder if Moses remembered Egypt? Or perhaps I should say, "How did he remember it?" Living in the desert, isolated from the world at large. Did his mind take him back to his former life? Did he hit the rewind button on that fateful day and try to make things turn out different. Did the word "murderer" haunt him in the desert?
The desert is haunted. Spend enough time out there and you will dine with demons and spirits by firelight. Dancing on the edge, casting their own deformed shadow of reality. They are intimidating, one should not wander off in the dark.
Still he walked on, into the desert and the dark. It enveloped him and soon he was just a whisper on the wind. Lost in an ocean of sand with no apparent way out. His tracks had long since been blown in, not that he would have followed them anyway. It was as if being lost was the only thing he was good at. He had finally found something at which he could succeed. And success was bittersweet.
It has been said there are streams in the desert. That Jesus walks around out there. He's made a way. He can even bring water from a rock. So, the man walks on. He'll stare at the stars and dream of better days. Tomorrow the search will go on. Sola Fide, WHB
He walked on. Out of the city and into the desert. He passed right through two-bit towns and quaint little villages. He walked out of their lives forever. The memories fade. The sands of time seem to have blurred his vision of the past, faces he can't see and names he can't remember. He tried but failure haunted him at every corner. Old ways just didn't want to pass away. He had given up on the man he would never be. He'd spent most of his life second-guessing himself. Surrounded by could've, would've, should'ves. He'd learned that no matter how right he could be there was always something wrong. He was wrong, and had been for too long.
I wonder if Moses remembered Egypt? Or perhaps I should say, "How did he remember it?" Living in the desert, isolated from the world at large. Did his mind take him back to his former life? Did he hit the rewind button on that fateful day and try to make things turn out different. Did the word "murderer" haunt him in the desert?
The desert is haunted. Spend enough time out there and you will dine with demons and spirits by firelight. Dancing on the edge, casting their own deformed shadow of reality. They are intimidating, one should not wander off in the dark.
Still he walked on, into the desert and the dark. It enveloped him and soon he was just a whisper on the wind. Lost in an ocean of sand with no apparent way out. His tracks had long since been blown in, not that he would have followed them anyway. It was as if being lost was the only thing he was good at. He had finally found something at which he could succeed. And success was bittersweet.
It has been said there are streams in the desert. That Jesus walks around out there. He's made a way. He can even bring water from a rock. So, the man walks on. He'll stare at the stars and dream of better days. Tomorrow the search will go on. Sola Fide, WHB
Monday, January 21, 2008
THE POVERTY OF JESUS
“If you purify your soul of attachment to and desire for things, you will understand them spiritually. If you deny your appetite for them, you will enjoy their truth, understanding what is certain in them.” St. John of the Cross
"You know the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ. That though he was rich he became poor, so that through his poverty you might become rich." 2 Corinthians 8:9
The poverty of Jesus. It almost sounds unchristian. Which tells you just how far Christianity has strayed from Christ and his word. The poverty of Jesus is the grace of God. We are debtors without it; poor, wretched and naked. Shame veils our face. These words haunt me. For the desert is becoming a place of prosperity and self-gratification. Jesus is on sale at Walmart, with a variety of styles to fit your preference. He comes complete with accessories to fashion him as you like.
God have mercy on our souls. Vegas you know is in the desert. Why did we have to go off and stink up the desert. At times I feel my only recourse is to wander deeper into the darkness. Take some old trail and walk till I forget how to get back. To do so means to forsake community. My God does not allow that. He insists I live in community. But Vegas Jesus? Does it have to be Vegas? I know, I know. Israel had to live in Babylon, Jesus went down to Egypt. I have to walk the streets of Vegas.
Father forgive us our debts as we forgive those who are indebted to us. Forgive us for greed and covetousness. Forgive us for extravagant living. Forgive us for judging the poor and needy. Forgive us for giving you what's left instead what's best. Forgive us for being ashamed to say, "God owns the cattle on a 1000 hills," and that includes yours. Forgive us for thinking we can't make a difference, when you are the difference. Through the poverty of Jesus we have become rich. And so many don't even see it. They are too busy playing with their action-figure Jesus. Sola Gracia, WHB
"You know the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ. That though he was rich he became poor, so that through his poverty you might become rich." 2 Corinthians 8:9
The poverty of Jesus. It almost sounds unchristian. Which tells you just how far Christianity has strayed from Christ and his word. The poverty of Jesus is the grace of God. We are debtors without it; poor, wretched and naked. Shame veils our face. These words haunt me. For the desert is becoming a place of prosperity and self-gratification. Jesus is on sale at Walmart, with a variety of styles to fit your preference. He comes complete with accessories to fashion him as you like.
God have mercy on our souls. Vegas you know is in the desert. Why did we have to go off and stink up the desert. At times I feel my only recourse is to wander deeper into the darkness. Take some old trail and walk till I forget how to get back. To do so means to forsake community. My God does not allow that. He insists I live in community. But Vegas Jesus? Does it have to be Vegas? I know, I know. Israel had to live in Babylon, Jesus went down to Egypt. I have to walk the streets of Vegas.
Father forgive us our debts as we forgive those who are indebted to us. Forgive us for greed and covetousness. Forgive us for extravagant living. Forgive us for judging the poor and needy. Forgive us for giving you what's left instead what's best. Forgive us for being ashamed to say, "God owns the cattle on a 1000 hills," and that includes yours. Forgive us for thinking we can't make a difference, when you are the difference. Through the poverty of Jesus we have become rich. And so many don't even see it. They are too busy playing with their action-figure Jesus. Sola Gracia, WHB
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Bittersweet
"This song is over, I'm left with only tears. I must remember even if it takes a million years." - The Who
"Ahab did more to provoke the Lord God of Israel to anger than all the kings of Israel before him" (1 Kings 16:33). For the prophet life was bittersweet. On the surface they often appear as vengeful men longing for God to rain down fire from heaven upon every malcontent they laid their judgmental eyes on. This of course is a gross misunderstanding of their character and emotional make up. They loved God and they loved God's people. Yet they themselves were often unloved. They insisted Israel return to a YHWH and his ways. Kings of course have a habit of creating their own systems and becoming a god unto themselves. Let's face it. There's only room for one king/god in the kingdom.
The land was in turmoil. It groaned under the weight of idolatry. In its polluted state it had become a fruitless wasteland. The prophet preached and prayed, from the temple, from the synagogue, on the rooftop. He lived in the shadow of ridicule and scorn, for kings have a way of raising up their own prophets and priests to function like puppets on a string. Then it happened one day. Like all kings they fade away. Sometimes quietly and others rather violently. The prophet contemplates tomorrow. He hopes in God and is wary of the political landscape. Yet in some way he can breathe again. Even if but for a moment. It is not a sigh of relief but a breath of hope that you hear if you are close enough to him.
For the prophet life is bittersweet. There is no joy in the failure of kings. God will not be mocked. So in humility the prophet meditates upon the future king, the King of kings. For he can not put his trust in chariots or horses. Rather the word of the Lord is a lamp unto his feet and a light unto his path. A new day comes and with a new opportunity for those within the land to live out the redemptive story. And is that not the prophets responsibility? To live that life and preach that story. To be a window into an alternative reality. To go beyond prophetic imagination but practice obedient prophetic anticipation. Sola Fide -WHB
"Ahab did more to provoke the Lord God of Israel to anger than all the kings of Israel before him" (1 Kings 16:33). For the prophet life was bittersweet. On the surface they often appear as vengeful men longing for God to rain down fire from heaven upon every malcontent they laid their judgmental eyes on. This of course is a gross misunderstanding of their character and emotional make up. They loved God and they loved God's people. Yet they themselves were often unloved. They insisted Israel return to a YHWH and his ways. Kings of course have a habit of creating their own systems and becoming a god unto themselves. Let's face it. There's only room for one king/god in the kingdom.
The land was in turmoil. It groaned under the weight of idolatry. In its polluted state it had become a fruitless wasteland. The prophet preached and prayed, from the temple, from the synagogue, on the rooftop. He lived in the shadow of ridicule and scorn, for kings have a way of raising up their own prophets and priests to function like puppets on a string. Then it happened one day. Like all kings they fade away. Sometimes quietly and others rather violently. The prophet contemplates tomorrow. He hopes in God and is wary of the political landscape. Yet in some way he can breathe again. Even if but for a moment. It is not a sigh of relief but a breath of hope that you hear if you are close enough to him.
For the prophet life is bittersweet. There is no joy in the failure of kings. God will not be mocked. So in humility the prophet meditates upon the future king, the King of kings. For he can not put his trust in chariots or horses. Rather the word of the Lord is a lamp unto his feet and a light unto his path. A new day comes and with a new opportunity for those within the land to live out the redemptive story. And is that not the prophets responsibility? To live that life and preach that story. To be a window into an alternative reality. To go beyond prophetic imagination but practice obedient prophetic anticipation. Sola Fide -WHB
Monday, January 08, 2007
Angelic Voices
"The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the most high will overshadow you." -Luke
These angelic words have haunted me. I have long considered Mary's meditations and her magnificant. It has been my hope and my prayer. Many times I have plead with the Lord who understands our infirmities who has tasted our fraility. How true it is that God has been there.
Dangerous words mind you. To suggest that you know how someone feels in the midst of their plight. When in reality you are clueless as to their pain. Especially if you have not tasted their particular reproach. Yet not so with the Christ. He knows, he feels, he has been there and now travels with us through our own valleys of the shadow of death.
My Jesus you have been there. You know this weakness of the human embroy, the fraility of the fetus, the tension of birth and the humility of humanity. Did the Holy Spirit shelter you in the womb? Protect you from all that is dark and all that can be wrong with our outer shell?
Having known this journey I plead with you. I offered smoke from this altar with the hope that my petitions would rise with the warm wind. Be his shelter in the time of storm, cover him as your glory fell upon the Mercy Seat of old. And so my prayers have been answered. This child is of the Holy Spirit. The psalmist is always right. Children are a heritage of the Lord. Sola Gracia, WHB
These angelic words have haunted me. I have long considered Mary's meditations and her magnificant. It has been my hope and my prayer. Many times I have plead with the Lord who understands our infirmities who has tasted our fraility. How true it is that God has been there.
Dangerous words mind you. To suggest that you know how someone feels in the midst of their plight. When in reality you are clueless as to their pain. Especially if you have not tasted their particular reproach. Yet not so with the Christ. He knows, he feels, he has been there and now travels with us through our own valleys of the shadow of death.
My Jesus you have been there. You know this weakness of the human embroy, the fraility of the fetus, the tension of birth and the humility of humanity. Did the Holy Spirit shelter you in the womb? Protect you from all that is dark and all that can be wrong with our outer shell?
Having known this journey I plead with you. I offered smoke from this altar with the hope that my petitions would rise with the warm wind. Be his shelter in the time of storm, cover him as your glory fell upon the Mercy Seat of old. And so my prayers have been answered. This child is of the Holy Spirit. The psalmist is always right. Children are a heritage of the Lord. Sola Gracia, WHB
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
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
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
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
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
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
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
Monday, October 09, 2006
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
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
Monday, September 18, 2006
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
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
Sunday, September 03, 2006
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
"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
Friday, August 25, 2006
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
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
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
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
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
Friday, July 21, 2006
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
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
Sunday, July 09, 2006
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
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
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
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
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
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
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
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
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
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
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
Sunday, May 28, 2006
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
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
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
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
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)