It's been one of those weeks. Taxes were due, bills mounted. Seemed like every time I turned around I had to get something else done. And my wife is gone for the week, which typically leaves me in a little more of an unstable emotional state than usual.
And I ran into reminders. I cleaned off the mail on one of the cabinets, and in doing so came across an old announcement from my sister-in-law. It was the graduation announcement for my niece, Jessica. Something moved in my heart, a flutter of pain, the first step towards tears.
I kept cleaning and came across another document mentioning Jessica; her funeral bulletin. Just over 6 months ago Jessica, at a way-too-young age of 22, lost her battle with leukemia but won the victory. That flutter of pain became a stab of grief, opening a wound I tried hard to keep bandaged, and I cried hard tears. Just can't make sense of it, just can't figure out why God didn't just swoop down and heal her.
I'm reading a book called When the Game is Over It All Goes Back in The Box by John Ortberg, In one chapter he tells the story about his uncle Dale who fell off a roof and ended up in a coma. Amazingly, he came out of the coma and returned home to his family. Yet those events helped Ortberg, and us, to understand that...
"One thing is much clearer to everyone; that life is a gift, that every day is an unpurchased miracle, every second is overtime. I do not know why life works the way it does. I do not know why some people recover and others die. I do not know why some prayers get answered and some (seem to) go unheeded. But I do know that life is a gift. I know that it is not something we earn, create, control, or sustain. I know that one truth about us is that we forget that we are going to die. The other truth is that we forget we are alive."
Remember this day that you are alive, that God loves you and there's nothing you can do, nothing better, nothing worse, that can change that fact.
Live life.
a
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Tax Day and Trust
April 15th, and it’s time to pay my taxes. Most years I cut it pretty close but this year I messed things up a bit and I owed quite a bit more than usual. But I had a plan. In February I worked on the budget, increasing the savings so we would have the money in the bank by today. I knew there would an occasional bump in the budget road, but nothing I couldn’t handle.
I had it all figured out.
There were more bumps than I anticipated, more than I ever imagined. Every time I got money into savings something would happen and I would pull the money back out. Sometimes we were our own worse enemies, not paying enough attention and having to cover budget overrun with savings. A deer ran into the car, and though insurance covered most of it I still would have to pay more than I had anticipated. No problem.
I had it all figured out.
The car went into the shop on April 14th, with payment due this week. I reconfigured the budget and moved all the bills to a later paycheck, opening up this entire check to pay the car and the government.
I had it all figured out.
Then I filed my taxes and they were rejected. Apparently I messed up on my son's return and as a result could not claim him as a deduction this year. I reconfigured my taxes and the amount I owed doubled. All of my plans fell apart; all of that careful manipulation of the budget went for naught. Savings would be wiped out and our plans to buy a new house stalled for awhile. I was depressed. My stomach hurt, I couldn't stay out of the bathroom. I could feel another panic attack coming on and was sure I would end up in the hospital.
And God said, do you trust Me?
Yes, I trust you, but this is not the way it was supposed to go! I HAD IT ALL FIGURED OUT!
Do you trust Me?
Yes, I trust you, but it's not fair. How am I going to be able to pay this? I began to think about putting it on a credit card, still trying to figure it out myself.
And God said, stop. Do you trust me?
And I stopped, and I listened. Yes, I trust you. I have no choice. You have provided for us our entire life. Why would I think you wouldn’t provide now? You gave us the means to pay without having to use credit. You’ve blessed us financially in ways we couldn’t imagine. You’ve never failed us. You knew the plans for us, you drew them up, plans with hope and a future. If your worried about the sparrows nesting under my air conditioner unit, your worried about me.
On this day, Tax Day, I make this declaration.
Father, I trust you.
I had it all figured out.
There were more bumps than I anticipated, more than I ever imagined. Every time I got money into savings something would happen and I would pull the money back out. Sometimes we were our own worse enemies, not paying enough attention and having to cover budget overrun with savings. A deer ran into the car, and though insurance covered most of it I still would have to pay more than I had anticipated. No problem.
I had it all figured out.
The car went into the shop on April 14th, with payment due this week. I reconfigured the budget and moved all the bills to a later paycheck, opening up this entire check to pay the car and the government.
I had it all figured out.
Then I filed my taxes and they were rejected. Apparently I messed up on my son's return and as a result could not claim him as a deduction this year. I reconfigured my taxes and the amount I owed doubled. All of my plans fell apart; all of that careful manipulation of the budget went for naught. Savings would be wiped out and our plans to buy a new house stalled for awhile. I was depressed. My stomach hurt, I couldn't stay out of the bathroom. I could feel another panic attack coming on and was sure I would end up in the hospital.
And God said, do you trust Me?
Yes, I trust you, but this is not the way it was supposed to go! I HAD IT ALL FIGURED OUT!
Do you trust Me?
Yes, I trust you, but it's not fair. How am I going to be able to pay this? I began to think about putting it on a credit card, still trying to figure it out myself.
And God said, stop. Do you trust me?
And I stopped, and I listened. Yes, I trust you. I have no choice. You have provided for us our entire life. Why would I think you wouldn’t provide now? You gave us the means to pay without having to use credit. You’ve blessed us financially in ways we couldn’t imagine. You’ve never failed us. You knew the plans for us, you drew them up, plans with hope and a future. If your worried about the sparrows nesting under my air conditioner unit, your worried about me.
On this day, Tax Day, I make this declaration.
Father, I trust you.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Pagan Christianity II
I’ve finished the book (Pagan Christianity), but it took me a long time. Normally I just plow through books but this one was hard. It wasn’t Hemingway-hard, where you have to read and reread paragraphs to make sure you understand what was written. No, it was hard because the basic premise seems like such a slap in the face. After finishing the book the simplest sentence to capture what I felt is: “We’re right and you’re wrong. Our way of doing church, an organic church that meets in homes and has no defined leadership, is the only viable and truly biblical form of church. All other types of churches and worship are based on pagan practices and should be discarded.”
And I don’t agree. I believe a variety of churches meet a variety of spiritual needs. Paul himself says that “he will be all things to all people”, so that Gospel will be proclaimed. I think the same thing applies to churches.
There’s a place for the mega-church with a focus on reaching the seeker and ministry resources that can be astounding. There’s a place for the middle-size church, where members learn to stretch and grow their faith in serving God, each other, and those outside of the church. There’s a place for the small church, where those who don’t have a spiritual family can feel at home, and where those who have been hurt can find a place of peace.
There’s a place for traditional worship, choirs and litanies and ecumenical creeds. There’s a place for contemporary worship, where freedom in worship is explored and experienced. There’s a place for blended worship, a place where the glory of traditional worship blends with elements of contemporary worship. And there’s a place for home churches, growing together like the early church.
The Holy Spirit works through all these things to call hearts and souls to God.
Bless the authors for causing us to ask difficult questions, and shame on them for making the rest of us feel guilty.
And I don’t agree. I believe a variety of churches meet a variety of spiritual needs. Paul himself says that “he will be all things to all people”, so that Gospel will be proclaimed. I think the same thing applies to churches.
There’s a place for the mega-church with a focus on reaching the seeker and ministry resources that can be astounding. There’s a place for the middle-size church, where members learn to stretch and grow their faith in serving God, each other, and those outside of the church. There’s a place for the small church, where those who don’t have a spiritual family can feel at home, and where those who have been hurt can find a place of peace.
There’s a place for traditional worship, choirs and litanies and ecumenical creeds. There’s a place for contemporary worship, where freedom in worship is explored and experienced. There’s a place for blended worship, a place where the glory of traditional worship blends with elements of contemporary worship. And there’s a place for home churches, growing together like the early church.
The Holy Spirit works through all these things to call hearts and souls to God.
Bless the authors for causing us to ask difficult questions, and shame on them for making the rest of us feel guilty.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
The Sorrow of Saturday
It is finished.
They had watched him breathe his last breath, had cried in agony as the blood and water flowed from his side. Their grief was so great they barely noticed the darkness at midday. The trembling of the earth was nothing compared to the trembling of their souls.
It is finished.
They took his dead-weight body down from the cross, laid it out, pressed for time. Joseph had a tomb they could use, borrow, really, but of course they didn’t know, had no idea it was a temporary arrangement. They did what they could, washing away the dirt and blood and spittle, salving the body with ointment. There was more to do, but sundown approached, the Sabbath was near. Tears mingled with the preparatory spices and oils.
It is finished.
They wrapped his body and laid him in the tomb. . And they did what we do when our loved ones die. They mourned. They stayed up through the night, in disbelief and denial. It cannot be. He was young and strong, and his teaching pure and powerful. Had he not as much said he was the One, the Messiah? What happened to the disciples, those men who had walked in his footsteps, who had followed in the dust of the rabbi?
It is finished.
Sabbath was filled with sorrow rather than joy. The traditions and meals and rules all seemed so empty and useless. Gathered around the table, they swapped stories. Remember when he blessed the little children? Remember when he healed the blind man? Remember how he set those self-righteous white-washed tombs called Pharisees straight? Remember when he raised you, Lazarus? Word came to them; the authorities had blocked the entrance to the tomb with a large stone to keep his followers from stealing his body. Stealing his body? The burden of grief was so great that every little action, rising to serve, answering the door, took conscious effort. Who had the strength?
It is finished.
They spent the afternoon getting ready for Sunday. They prepared the rest of the spices and ointment they would put on his body. They wondered out loud how they would ever move that stone. They held each other and cried, ugly grief, grief that distorts your face, which weakens your body. And then they tried to get to sleep; they had to be up early the next day. Jesus was waiting.
They had watched him breathe his last breath, had cried in agony as the blood and water flowed from his side. Their grief was so great they barely noticed the darkness at midday. The trembling of the earth was nothing compared to the trembling of their souls.
It is finished.
They took his dead-weight body down from the cross, laid it out, pressed for time. Joseph had a tomb they could use, borrow, really, but of course they didn’t know, had no idea it was a temporary arrangement. They did what they could, washing away the dirt and blood and spittle, salving the body with ointment. There was more to do, but sundown approached, the Sabbath was near. Tears mingled with the preparatory spices and oils.
It is finished.
They wrapped his body and laid him in the tomb. . And they did what we do when our loved ones die. They mourned. They stayed up through the night, in disbelief and denial. It cannot be. He was young and strong, and his teaching pure and powerful. Had he not as much said he was the One, the Messiah? What happened to the disciples, those men who had walked in his footsteps, who had followed in the dust of the rabbi?
It is finished.
Sabbath was filled with sorrow rather than joy. The traditions and meals and rules all seemed so empty and useless. Gathered around the table, they swapped stories. Remember when he blessed the little children? Remember when he healed the blind man? Remember how he set those self-righteous white-washed tombs called Pharisees straight? Remember when he raised you, Lazarus? Word came to them; the authorities had blocked the entrance to the tomb with a large stone to keep his followers from stealing his body. Stealing his body? The burden of grief was so great that every little action, rising to serve, answering the door, took conscious effort. Who had the strength?
It is finished.
They spent the afternoon getting ready for Sunday. They prepared the rest of the spices and ointment they would put on his body. They wondered out loud how they would ever move that stone. They held each other and cried, ugly grief, grief that distorts your face, which weakens your body. And then they tried to get to sleep; they had to be up early the next day. Jesus was waiting.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Who Will Love a Little Sparrow
I have sparrows living in my window. Actually, they live around my air conditioner. They've lived there for a number of years now. Due to their presence and what many perceive as my soft heart, the air conditioner stays in the window, even during the cold Michigan winter months. I just can't kick them out.
I've tried a few times but after the last attempt I can't do it. I had shaken the air conditioner to chase them all away, then lifted the upper half of the window. As I began to pull the machine into the house one of the sparrows landed on the top and stared me down. I don't know if he thought he could hold it in place or whether it was an act of intimidation, but he did not move until I finally pulled the thing inside.
Now I just leave them there. Sometimes we sing together. I noticed one day that when I sang in the bedroom the sparrows would sing back. I went to the window and began to sing and two of them popped up to the top of the air conditioner and sang back, twisting their tiny heads to see the giant bird on the other side. I am not making this up; my wife has witnessed this very thing!
When I am working in the yard the sparrows will sit on the wire and watch me. I firmly believe that I am their human, and that they like to show me off to their friends and relatives. Often they will sit in the bushes just a few feet away from me when I am sitting in our shady front yard reading.
It's an odd bond, this connection between me and the sparrows. Yet the Father cares about each and every one of them. How much more He must care about me.
I've tried a few times but after the last attempt I can't do it. I had shaken the air conditioner to chase them all away, then lifted the upper half of the window. As I began to pull the machine into the house one of the sparrows landed on the top and stared me down. I don't know if he thought he could hold it in place or whether it was an act of intimidation, but he did not move until I finally pulled the thing inside.
Now I just leave them there. Sometimes we sing together. I noticed one day that when I sang in the bedroom the sparrows would sing back. I went to the window and began to sing and two of them popped up to the top of the air conditioner and sang back, twisting their tiny heads to see the giant bird on the other side. I am not making this up; my wife has witnessed this very thing!
When I am working in the yard the sparrows will sit on the wire and watch me. I firmly believe that I am their human, and that they like to show me off to their friends and relatives. Often they will sit in the bushes just a few feet away from me when I am sitting in our shady front yard reading.
It's an odd bond, this connection between me and the sparrows. Yet the Father cares about each and every one of them. How much more He must care about me.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Thoughts on Pagan Christianity
I've been reading Pagan Christianity by Frank Viola and George Barna. I have to tell you, I'm not too sure about this book. Granted, I'm only 3 chapters in, but if there premise is 100% on the mark I may as well stop going to church.
But first, a gripe. Is it evenly humanly possible to make the footnotes any smaller? I'm not as young as I used to be and I don't even try to read them. It's a shame because with the amount of footnoting that went on here it would be neat to follow the research trail.
Is church the way we do it wrong? Have we simply incorporated non-Christian (pagan) culture into our buildings and our worship services? Viola likes to use the term "organic" church. What precisely does that mean, and will I find out later in the book?
If there's one thing I've learned, there are a lot of very different and very valid forms of worship. This past weekend we were at Acquire the Fire in GR. I love ATF because it's one of the few times I have the freedom to dance in worship. It's not a pretty picture, but it's joyous freedom. Why can't I do this on a Sunday morning?
I'll continue in the book, but I am reading with reservation. I think that's fair. Just because the book makes definitive statements about the pagan origins of church doesn't mean they are right. The authors are, after all, not inspired, just good researchers. And I'll continue to worship on Sunday morning, not as a spectator, but as someone who stands in awe of being part of this communion of the saints.
Or have I been wrong all these years?
I'll keep you posted.
But first, a gripe. Is it evenly humanly possible to make the footnotes any smaller? I'm not as young as I used to be and I don't even try to read them. It's a shame because with the amount of footnoting that went on here it would be neat to follow the research trail.
Is church the way we do it wrong? Have we simply incorporated non-Christian (pagan) culture into our buildings and our worship services? Viola likes to use the term "organic" church. What precisely does that mean, and will I find out later in the book?
If there's one thing I've learned, there are a lot of very different and very valid forms of worship. This past weekend we were at Acquire the Fire in GR. I love ATF because it's one of the few times I have the freedom to dance in worship. It's not a pretty picture, but it's joyous freedom. Why can't I do this on a Sunday morning?
I'll continue in the book, but I am reading with reservation. I think that's fair. Just because the book makes definitive statements about the pagan origins of church doesn't mean they are right. The authors are, after all, not inspired, just good researchers. And I'll continue to worship on Sunday morning, not as a spectator, but as someone who stands in awe of being part of this communion of the saints.
Or have I been wrong all these years?
I'll keep you posted.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Here I Am to Worship
Woke up excited and ready for church. It was 6:00 a.m. and since we go to the 11:00 a.m. service I had to fill in some time. I spent a little time reading a book, surfing the net, and catching up on the local news.
As the morning progressed I got more and more excited. I read the passage for that Sunday in Luke and watched worship videos to prime my spiritual pump (He's going to pump...me...up).
Finally we were ready to go. Man, was I ready to go. And I was not disappointed. The worship was beautiful, the music heart-strirring, the message soul-moving.
What a joy to look forward to church, to wait on it, to eagerly expect it's arrival. It has been a long time since I had that kind of expectation of worship. Seems like all I've had in the past was the job of trying to produce that type of worship. Now I simply show up each Sunday and leave the worship producing to many, many gifted people and God.
Maybe that eager expectation for church is just a sliver of the eager expectation we should feel as we wait on the new creation.
As the morning progressed I got more and more excited. I read the passage for that Sunday in Luke and watched worship videos to prime my spiritual pump (He's going to pump...me...up).
Finally we were ready to go. Man, was I ready to go. And I was not disappointed. The worship was beautiful, the music heart-strirring, the message soul-moving.
What a joy to look forward to church, to wait on it, to eagerly expect it's arrival. It has been a long time since I had that kind of expectation of worship. Seems like all I've had in the past was the job of trying to produce that type of worship. Now I simply show up each Sunday and leave the worship producing to many, many gifted people and God.
Maybe that eager expectation for church is just a sliver of the eager expectation we should feel as we wait on the new creation.
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