Good, bad, or ugly. Let them transform me into Your image.

August 14-17, 2016

 

You can't see seeds once they are planted.

For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison. 2 Corinthians 4:17

Nondual knowing is living in the naked now, the “sacrament of the present moment.” This consciousness will teach us how to actually experience our experiences, whether good, bad, or ugly, and how to let them transform us. Words by themselves will invariably divide and judge the moment; pure presence lets it be what it is, as it is. –Richard Rohr

So I rode up Sentential Peak again Sunday morning. For the first time in like over six months. Slowly. So slowly that this guy passed me, running. But at least I didn’t stop. But it would have been okay if I had. But I didn’t. And I did pass a bunch of people, walking. But that doesn’t matter because they were walking forward. Forward and up.

And really those morning thoughts, and yesterday’s morning thoughts and today’s morning thoughts were framed by The Incredulity of St. Thomas by Caravaggio. And a line out of Randy Reynold’s sermon Saturday night sermon, You can't see seeds once they are planted, as we wait through the hard winters for the bright green sprigs. And a question one of my nephew’s asked his dad, my brother: “I don’t know if I really love God, Dad.” The statement fell flat in his bedroom. Sixteen years of careful (and conservative) Christian education, replete with twelve years of ABeka-anchored elementary homeschooling, obligatory Sunday school attendance, and fairly consistent daily mealtime devotions slowly drained from the room. He continued, “I mean, how can you truly love someone that you never have really met—someone who has never made it beyond something-that-you-study or read stories about?” And a conversation with Cameron and Alan at Kimche Time about people who are headed off to the pig trough and what can we do about it. Not much. Wait for spring. 

And I was thinking a lot about that because I taught Sunday School that morning, twice. Once to the little kids and then again to the big kids. And I told them the story of the Prodigal Son and the Father of Love who waited, eyes squinting into the setting sun, for even the slightest shadow of the repentant beloved leaving the knee-high muck of feeding pigs. And Jack my helper said I did a good job of describing that mud. I guess I have lots of practice doing what C. S Lewis describes in his sermon on the weight of glory: We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

And besides the reflection of big question of whether these stories are true to my little circle of listeners, or simply another version of the Minions and Frozens that populate their imagination. Last week Everette explained to me that Jesus does magic.

I mean, how can you truly love someone that you never have really met?

How can you believe if you have not thrust your hand into his side and stuck your fingers through the nail-pierced hands?

And in my heart I can sort of understand that the Holy Spirit abiding in Christ-followers could show the world Who He Is. Could, in that we have the power. But would we Christ-followers walk so closely in His footsteps that others would not be led astray?

But my head looks around and sees the Church wandering around in all directions, see us stumbling about in the shadows, very like those whom Christ prayed would receive the full measure of joy and complete unity from the Father, but whom He knew would shortly be scattered all to their own homes, leaving Him alone.

Yet He was not alone, because the Father was with Him.

Until that last forsaken moment.

But we cannot see the seeds planted, before they have sprung up with new life. We see through a mirror darkly, not as things truly are.

Simone and Everette are with Nona this morning, which gave me time to read and reread the parting words of Jesus to His followers in the gospel of John. And He repeats Himself a lot, the same way I repeat myself all day long to not-such-good-listeners about independent variables and strong leads and progressive reforms, lest they forget, lest they don’t understand, lest they don’t believe Him the first time.

Lest I don’t believe.

You will be prosecuted. You will suffer.

Ask anything in My name, and you will receive it.

That you might have joy and peace.

And most of all, that we might know the love of God that is within us, so that the world will know that Jesus is the One.

Thus, today, Dear Father, let me live in what is true, Your true presence, this weight of glory, this glory that you gave to Your son Jesus, and which Has given to us, His friends. His chosen friends appointed to go bear fruit.

And Audrey Assad sang again and again this morning, under the billowing sunrise:

O happy fault that gained for me the chance to know You, Lord

To touch Your wounded side and know the joy of my reward

I know, I know, and I believe You are the Lord

I know, I know, and I believe You are the Lord

Help my unbelief.

Help my unbelief.

I look upon all the world as my parish.

Open for me the gates of righteousness; I will enter them. Psalm 118:19

I put myself wholly into Your hands.

Put me to what You will,
rank me with whom You will,
put me to doing,
put me to suffering.

Let me be employed for You or laid aside for You;
exalted for You or trodden under foot for You.

Let me be full; let me be empty;
let me have all things; let me have nothing.

I freely and heartily resign all to Your pleasure and disposal. - John Wesley

Journey helps open people up to encounter God in new ways. Many times, it is in the movement of leaving what is familiar and of exploring something new that creates space for people to go after things they might otherwise have been unaware of or blind to. – Bill Johnson, Defining Moments

John Wesley journeyed. A lot. Over two hundred fifty thousand miles by horseback. He also journeyed far in his understanding of who Jesus was and who he was in Jesus.

Do all the good you can. By all the means you can. In all the ways you can. In all the places you can. At all the times you can. To all the people you can. As long as ever you can. –John Wesley 

And now Mary Anne and I hold tickets Tucson to Istanbul and tickets Istanbul to Athens and tickets Rome to Tucson, and a journey. May we see His gates of righteousness and enter them. May we encounter Him and His image bearers in a new way. May we be aware. May we have eyes to see the good we can do, in all the means, in all the ways, in all the places and at all the times.

I put myself wholly into Your hands.

• • • 

Restore our fortunes, O LORD, like the watercourses of the Negev. Those who sowed with tears will reap with songs of joy. Those who go out weeping, carrying the seed, will come again with joy, shouldering their sheaves. Psalm 126

My God is too small. Deep within my broken heart is the Naomi mentality, that the hand of God has turned against me, and that the remainder of my life will be spent on the edges of the field, harvesting small handfuls after the reapers.

Which is the point of story. Why we are to tell and retell the stories of the mighty God we serve. Bill Johnson said that these stories are not only what He has done in the past, but are prophesies of what He will do, and more, in the future.

Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I am going to the Father. Whatever you ask in My name, that will I do, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son.

It is so easy to forget. To not live in what is true.

And thus the refrain for the morning: Be strong and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the LORD.

And Audry Assad sang all the way back and forth to the pool, I know and I believe You are the Lord; Help my unbelief, Help my unbelief.

I know all about waiting.

Their secret country was real. They had already visited it twice; not in a game or a dream but in reality. C. S. Lewis, Voyage of the Dawn Treader

I sought the LORD, and He answered me and delivered me out of all my terror. Psalm 34:4

Who me? Yeah, you.

I sort of breezed over this verse the first time. But it is the Refrain for the morning lessons, so I paused through it again and again. And it hit me: Yes, I am terrified facing this new year. While on many hands I could count and recount ever-so-much blessing, there is that trembling hand lifted up as well, yes, the one I see in the back corner.

Yes? And the step out the front door is a hard one. The last year was chock-full of humbling and painful and unresolved mysteries. And I am still sorting through the questions of What did I learn? and Why? and How? and Where am I headed?

And I get that really they are exactly the same questions that each of us, in taking no thought for tomorrow because today has enough problems face, but nevertheless, they are indeed my questions.

And my co-teacher is home nursing a chewed-up-by-two-pit-bulls dog, so I will be teaching straight through this first ten hours of a day in the new semester, and I have big new procedural plans of becoming A Teacher Who Will Not Be Manipulated, and my principal’s response was tepid. She doesn’t think I can pull it off.

I don’t even know what I am going to make for dinner tonight.

But yesterday was my day to watch Star Wars. We all marched over to El Con and ate Panda Express mushroom chicken and slid ourselves into those big cushy chairs and watched my generation’s narrative archetypes. And that Rae is just going about her daily business. And the moment-by-moment isn’t that big deal, and actually is pretty dusty and disappointing a lot. And there is some background pain that we have only had the tiniest glimpse about, but we can make some pretty good guesses. I mean, her very name denotes her calling. But the point is, that every day she grows stronger and wiser and more full of grace, preparing for what Unknown lay ahead.

And the Force is with her.

And as I step out the door, I push my soundtrack of courage into the cd player in the little black Rabbit, a Christmas gift from Cameron, Fortunate Fall by Audry Assad.

I know, I know, and I believe You are the Lord

I know, I know, and I believe You are the Lord

Help my unbelief.

I sought the LORD, and He answered me and delivered me out of all my terror.

New wine in new wineskins

Jesus turned, and seeing her He said, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” Matthew 9:22

Twelve years is a long time to bleed.  I ought to know.  

And once again, the ruler, having come to the end of his resources and hope, knelt before Jesus.  “Come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.”  And Jesus went in and took the girl by the hand, and the girl arose.  

And she said to herself, “If I only touch his garment, I will be made well. And instantly the woman was made well.

And as Jesus passed on from there, two blind men followed him, crying aloud, “Have mercy on us, Son of David.” When he entered the house, the blind men came to him, and Jesus said to them, “Do you believe that I am able to do this?” They said to him, “Yes, Lord.” Then he touched their eyes, saying, “According to your faith be it done to you.”

I believe; help my unbelief.

And the chains fell off his hands

When she recognized Peter’s voice, she was so overjoyed she ran back without opening it and exclaimed, “Peter is at the door!” 

“You’re out of your mind,” they told her. When she kept insisting that it was so, they said, “It must be his angel.” Acts 12:13-14

Once again, these early church guys, the ones who walked and talked with Jesus for three long years and chockful of the Holy Spirit, still struggled with the same old issues I face each and every day.

Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.

It’s the same old thing that the people of Israel faced, the walking through the river while the wheels of Pharoh’s chariots twisted to a fallen standstill and the six-days-a-week manna from heaven folks, suffering from short-term memory loss every time the page flips.  

What’s with that?

I was talking to Cousin Steve about miracles and what it is like to be in the middle of a big obvious one, like busted radius and ulna bones sliding back into place and raw flesh wrapping itself up smooth again without even a seam, and really, it’s just like Peter, it feels like a dream.  Mundane day-to-day expectations has dulled my senses; I gobble my food, not even noticing the subtle seasoning mingled with the sustenance.  And much like gobbled food, a moment on the lips, an eternity on the hips, it melts into the blob of the unconsidered life.  I am not wanting to live there, while the waited for, but unexpected miracle waits pounding on the door.  

So once again, as I click on the daily prayer list, let me enter into His presence with open eyes and a keen ear. 

And a heart of gratitude. Because, really, of course, each moment is a miracle.  

The breeze pushes back the heavy drapes

The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God. Corrupt are they, and have done abominable iniquity: there is none that doeth good. Psalm 53:1

I breathe the air of unbelief.  It is a constant companion tangling up my every footstep.  Lingering like the stale cigarette smoke of yesterday’s hotel room.  And much like in my hotel room, I have to stand up and open up the little-bit-sticking window and let in the fresh wind of the Spirit, even if it sends a chill down my spine, to chase away the fog of doubt or distraction or fear.   

Because truly, truly if I lived in belief I would live in joy, for He is with me.

I would live in mercy and lovingkindness, because He is merciful.

I would live in peace, for the LORD is my Shepherd.  

But that is not the case.  I lose my footing and slip into unbelief, the world wherein I am king and I battle the demons of the murky darkness of untruth, into the abominable region of self.  

There is only one who is called good.  He knew without the shadow of doubt that He was about His Father’s business.  

I believe.  Help my unbelief.  

Snotty-nosed Babies

O Lord, you have taught us that without love whatever we do is worth nothing: Send your Holy Spirit and pour into my heart your greatest gift, which is love, the true bond of peace and of all virtue, without which whoever lives is accounted dead before you. Grant this for the sake of your only Son Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. 

Things that I believe:

Not one of us earns love.  Each and every one of us is a mess of twisted, inconsistent, selfish, whitewashed, complicated, shortsighted mundanity.

Yet.  For God so loved the world He sent His only beloved Son to die for us while we were yet sinners.  

And yet each and every one of us is so very lovable.  Why is it the uncomplicated and most vulnerable that touch the profound part of our heart?  That does not fit at all with evolutionary survival.  The wife linking arms with the trembling victim of Alzheimer’s.  Curious round eyes of Indian orphans who look for tomorrow.  Poopy, snotty, screaming babies.  Facebook is filled with posted shots of big eyes and parted lips with just a hint of drool. 

 Maybe all the pretense has been stripped away.  Love me because of who you are, and not because of who I am or what I have done.  Love me because of who I am becoming, through the tireless and endless work of the Good Shepherd.  Maybe because that is when we get the clearest glimpse of Abba Father.  Of glory.

For the joy set before Him, Christ endured the cross.  He understood the work in progress and the end of the story.  And that was enough.  

Sure there were teeth-grinding moments of frustration as His disciples bickered about where they were going to sit or who was allowed to touch Him, but still He set His face toward Jerusalem.  Not because He was a nice guy, not because He was a stoic, not because He was enabling, but for the joy set before Him.  

Because He knew what’s what, what makes for peace and joy, He could walk free in the Truth.  He could answer the systems of the world that explicate with big fancy research words what we are owed and how things might appear, taking into account statistical probability.  He lifts a hand to the whisperings of the Liar whose bottom line is our utter unhappy alienation as he twists our thoughts like silk strands in his adept Surely-He-doesn’t-really-mean-that?  And He is not bound, bound by lusts and insecurities and selfishness.  He is not a slave; He is the Son.  And we are His brothers and sisters.  See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!  And how do we know we are truly His children?  By His love that lives through us.

Perhaps I am wrong-headed in this.  To me, the act of love is even more awe-inspiring than that of lifting of my hands in worship.  Even the trees of the field and the rocks by the road worship Him.  But the act of love is Him united with me, pulsing through my flesh and soul.  The tangible, not-of-this-world insistence that there is something outside of the neurons that link our sensations into thought.  Something from outside the box who claims I AM.

And the ying and yang of this Love is the freedom of forgiveness.  Gently He reminds me, “I died for that sin.  And for that one.  And even that one.”  Let go.  Done and gone.  Little by little I am understanding the swelling delight and celebration of release. The judge not lest you be judged.  Forgive and you shall be forgiven.  The be merciful even as you receive mercy. The seventy times seven.  Unforgiveness only chokes me.  Locks me behind the bars of hopelessness and things will never change.   The ironic horror of the servant who could not release his fellow servant.  Really?  None of us deserve nothing.  

And I will make this choice. Over and over.  The context of the mustard seed-sized faith was this: how can I possibly forgive my brother?  Help my unbelief, oh LORD.  Cast the mulberry tree into sea.  The mulberry tree of unforgiveness.  

And really, if none of this is true, (Strum, strum, the Witch’s fingers plucked the strings) I like Puddleglum would prefer to live in this world of hope and dreams and bright skies.  “One word, Ma'am," he said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain. "One word. All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one more thing to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things-trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say.”

That is what I believe.