On Confession, On Forgiveness...

On Forgiveness, on Confession

I was in a moment of contrition this morning, listing off the litany of my spiritual ails. It grieves me of course. I was trying to accept the forgiveness of God promised in Jesus, whilst confessing sin by sin. Of course, I desire to live apart from anger, lust, gluttony, greed, etc. I think above all else, my eagerness for heaven is the eagerness to be parted from my wanderings into things that I know are wrong.

But there was a bit of cognitive dissonance- a little bit of friction as I was running down my list, and searching for that feeling of catharsis, of release, of forgiveness-ness.

God doesn’t punish the forgiven.

Everybody: say it with me now, “God does-n’t punish the for-giv-en.” Good.

Why? Because He delivered the FULL punishment for my sins to Jesus on the road leading to, and then upon the cross. And the forgiveness I received in it’s place is full, in perfect proportion to the burden that Jesus lifted from my shoulders. So the question I am lead to; does that mean that I need not ask forgiveness anymore?

I’ve begun to wonder that my life should be transformed to a life of Joy rather than remembering my sins to confess to the Father. I feel like my life isn’t enough transformed- and that can mean only one thing. I haven’t fully realized Christ in my heart, body, and strength. I have refused a portion of God’s grace.

I wonder this morning my effort to confess dutifully, and with full penitence, has hampered God’s ability to deliver me from my sin-filled-ness. Jesus didn’t come to simply remove the burden of ungodly acts from my person. He was beaten almost all the way to death, and then mercilessly stretched out on a cross and nailed down to actually change my being from a being-sin to being-right. And in accepting Him as the Son of God, born, crucified, dead, and raised up as a the first-born of the coming New Creation, I also gained a portion of that piece of the New Creation in me. That’s the Holy Spirit, and in Him I die to my being-sin and Christ is now literally in me.

I stand therefore in the very presence of God’s being. And His being is mysteriously present in my person. When my being-right collides with my being-sin, and I perform an ungodly act, there will be dissonance. There is an ontological, flesh ‘n blood, real-life collision. It is a grieving for the Holy Spirit, and there are definitely genuine consequences in my person, in my experience of God’s creation.

So what should I do? I acknowledge the fact of my failure to rely on God’s Spirit for guidance, and I acknowledge the fact that being-Christ (though only a part, not the whole) is still being formed in my heart, and that my being-sin is not fully extinguished. This is my confession. But I have no need to ask forgiveness- and God has no need to dispense yet another small morsel of forgiveness. In asking for forgiveness, doesn’t that presuppose that God must decide whether to dole it out?

God has already forgiven me. He has already done the work atonement. What is left unfinished is my actual, flesh ‘n blood, real-life transformation that removes and unworks my being-sin entirely. I will then confess my rebellion, but I shall do so as an already thoroughly forgiven being. Therefore I shall confess and give thanks that my rebellion is not held against me, and that even as it happened, was being erased from my histories.

From now on- I will float in the ocean of forgiveness that is around me, under me, and saturates my person. I am forgiven. Sometimes I shake my head, and the water flies away from me, but never do I lift out of the wave.

more on waiting...

On waiting…

It may seem tiresome. Waiting, I mean. I can say for my part that waiting usually feels like time wasted. Waiting. Even writing the word out makes me a little jumpy. I’m in a season of waiting right now. Maybe you are.

We’re waiting for a baby to be born. We’re waiting for God to show us who he has chosen to pastor our church. We seem to be in a constant state of waiting for “God’s next move” in our life, whether it’s a job thing, or a writing thing, or a music thing- whatever.

I have a nephew who is waiting for a baby to be born. Like today. Or tomorrow maybe. I remember waiting for my second child to be born. It was A_GON_IZING. We’ve waited for children to come home from their freshman year at college. We’ve waited for brothers to come home from war. We’ve maybe even had the burden of waiting for fathers or mothers to come to the rest of death after debilitating illness. And we all wait for the right time, the time when the fate of all creation finds rest in the unfolded revelation of God.

Again.

I find it comforting, in a sort of sick way, that God takes so long to do things. Time is a funny thing- it is. Time is linear. For us. One thing can only happen following the thing that happens before it. It just does. For us.

The bible says a lot of things about time. It says that God has his own time. That it’s different from man’s time. I’ve taken immense comfort from the belief that time is a created thing, and that as Creator, God is not bound or subject to linear time as I am. That a breath is as 10,000 years, and that 10,000 years as a breath. That I can and do exist in God’s sight as he wills me to be upon the completion of his providence and sanctification, even though, in my sight, today, I’m still a pathetic half-wit of a man.

That even if I am in this “desert of the senses,” blind, deaf, and mute, God has fully mapped out the course and circumstance of my life, and not one single moment is wasted as he chips away the excrement from the form and image he created me in. All I really have to do is stand still and try not to flinch too much.

And I’m not really blind. Or deaf. I have the leadings of the Holy Spirit and the instruction and correction of God’s word. Nor am I mute. I have the prayers of my spirit, and the songs of my heart. The bible says that my prayers themselves are inspired by the Holy Spirit, who alone knows the mind of God. So, I can take hints from the words of my prayers.

What are you praying for? When you sing, what do you sing about? What scriptures are you reading? And finally, when you are doing all these things, what is the Spirit of God saying to you? Remember the prophet in the mountain: it came not in the fire, nor the earthquake, but in the whisper. What is the loudest voice saying? Can you hear the quietest?

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I have to tell you that this morning, I’m basking in the temporary glow of short-term revelation: the message of forgiveness, of it’s indelibility, it’s permanence, it’s irrevocability is especially close to me right now. In the sight of God, I am as he intends me to be. Through Christ. In the sight of the Spirit, I am on a path from where and who I was in sin to the place I shall be, presented spotless and unblemished before the throne of God. In Jesus alone, and by no work of my own, I have gained that status, that glowing report, that untarnished, fleck-less, and altogether harmonious state of existence called Shalom, which Jesus understood but couldn’t know, which the first couple themselves did know in the garden before the serpent, when in the cool of the afternoon, God would walk with them in the shade of the garden’s leaves, and they would hear the rustle of His footsteps in the brush. This is the prize which I run for. My legs are burning, and the wind blurs my vision, but yet I will run. Don’t give up.

Happy Holidays??? Bah. Humbug.

Happy Holidays from Stories & Fingerprints….

Malarky. I don’t even want to wish you a merry Christmas. Yeah. Anymore, I’m afraid you’ll miss the point. Because you’re dumb? No. Course not. Because I’m mean? Well, I won’t rule that out, but that’s not why.

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Shortly (high-altitude perspectiver here) before Jesus of Nazareth was even born, the Romans decided to squash those pesky Jews. Mid 2^nd century bc the Roman Antiochus desecrated the Temple by placing a statue of Zeus there, and by sacrificing pigs. (Both really big no-no’s).

The Jews, rather than falling over in the streets, as Antiochus had hoped, rose up and rebelled. As part of the rededication and cleansing of the Temple, the Jews reinstituted all of the ritual practices, including burning the menorah in the Temple, both night and day. It was prescribed that olive oil alone was to be used in the menorah. But they only had enough oil for one day. And it supposedly took eight days to make more.

But the flame burned. And burned. And burned.

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In a nutshell that’s the story of Hanukkah. As I understand it anyways. Today, the faithful celebrate Hanukkah by lighting one candle each night for eight nights. And there’s revelry and gift giving and whatnot. Whatnot includes ritual prayers over the menorah, recitation of psalms, and story telling. And they do it every night for eight nights.

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Hanukkah predates the Christian holiday of Christmas. Actually, tradition holds that the wintertime Christmas holiday may not have been celebrated “officially” until as late as the 4^th century. Anymore it’s celebrated from Halloween until New Years. Pretty nifty.

The thing I’m fascinated by with Hanukkah is how the holiday is continuously celebrated over an extended period of time. That’s not a speciality of our race any more. Anything over an extended period of time seems to become tiresome. Do it. Pack it up. Move on.

But there’s another “holiday” that with each passing year grabs my attention a little more and a little more. Advent. The season of waiting.

Rich with symbols, traditions and layers of meaning centuries old and largely unchanged, and pretty much unstained by commercialism, every year the dark colors come out of the closet, and the church begins to wait. Each Sunday, we light a purple candle, or a pink candle on the Sunday prior to Christmas, until finally, the night before Christmas, we light the white candle, the Christ candle.

The story of Christmas is told, part by part, through the month of December. The story of a census, the story of a young girl, her cousin, an angel, and shepherds. A young man, eager to wed, who felt betrayed. And had a dream about it. With another angel. Maybe you’ve heard about Simeon, the old man who saw the baby, and rejoiced. Why? Because he’d been waiting.

Why did the Israelites fight to take back the temple? Because God had promised something to them. He had promised a redemption that was greater than they knew. They were waiting too.

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I want to celebrate waiting more. Not because I love waiting. I don’t. I hate it. During the times of waiting I pester, I lose confidence, I get brilliant ideas that are shortcuts and doomed to failure. I waste energy, I get angry, I pester more, and I probably push other people into anxiety that they wouldn’t have had without me.

So maybe I should spend more time meditating on what happens when we wait. When we wait, God’s promises reach their fulfillment in “the fullness of time.” When we wait we experience a full range of emotions- rather than just the joy and elation. We experience desire. Who doesn’t love desire? We experience a little bit of agony. Hey, what’s joy if it doesn’t follow agony? It’s nothing. It’s empty. It’s meaning less. It’s just motion. Kinda like Christmas feels sometimes.

So, from all (one) of us at Stories & Fingerprints. Happy Catharsis. I mean Christmas. May it bring you joy, conditioned by waiting. May it bring you peace seasoned by turmoil. And above all, may it shine the light of Jesus the Christ into the utter darkness of your night. Amen.

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With all wisdom and understanding, 9 he [God] made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, 10 to be put into effect when the times reach their fulfillment—to bring unity to all things in heaven and on earth under Christ.

11 In him we were also chosen, having been predestined according to the plan of him who works out everything in conformity with the purpose of his will, 12 in order that we, who were the first to put our hope in Christ, might be for the praise of his glory. 13 And you also were included in Christ when you heard the message of truth, the gospel of your salvation. When you believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, 14 who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God’s possession—to the praise of his glory.

Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians, chapter 1

Looking Back

So I’ve been kind of wondering lately. It’s been awhile since I’ve posted anything on here, and I think it’s because I got stuck trying to write instead of just listening to God speak into my stone cold little heart and trying to make sense of it. It’s an easy thing to do- not to excuse myself or anything. You just get to thinking that God’s going to use you to “do something.” And for awhile you’ve got enough fire in the belly to fuel your little campaign, but then… one morning you wake up and you’re just out.

Nothing left to really say.

So you start to wonder. You start wondering if God changed His mind- took it all back. Gave it to somebody else. Maybe I didn’t do something quite right. No, wait, maybe Satan is working a scheme, and I’m being “sifted” like Jesus said Peter would be… yeah, that’s probably it.

Or not.

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I’ve been on a journey over the past 30+ years. You too? Huh. I find myself constantly looking back, looking for trends, looking for events, looking for those pivot points and those forks in the road. That’s when I start using phrases like, “for the last couple of years I’ve noticed…” or “looking back, I’ve become aware…” or such and what and all of that. I wonder how the disciples must have been so keenly aware of that same feeling in the years following Jesus’ ascension.

I was reading a statement of belief on a website, and it talked about the Bible’s inerrancy and how God verbally spoke to each author. This morning, the story of Jesus entering the temple and turning out the money-changers was on my mind. In John’s recounting of Jesus ministry this is the 2^nd recorded “big event.” The first was a little skirmish on the fringes of a wedding party that ran out of wine to serve a little early.

That whole thing was kind of weird. He’s at this party- just looking at the text it looks like he’s a “+1.” Like, as in “Mary +1.” So it sounds like he might be out at the fringe of the party, maybe by the doors, where the ceremonial washing vessels are located, and his mom (of all people) comes up and starts nagging him about the wine being gone (MoooooooooM! You’re SO embarrassing me!). She says to servants, “Do whatever He tells you…” and Jesus, kind of exasperated, tells them to fill the jars with water, then take ladle some out and take it to the Master of Ceremonies (father of the bride?). So of course, they do. And FOTB just raves about how great this… wine is? Wine? It was water just second ago?

Ok, so you’d think that Jesus would then jump up and exclaim his arrival. But he doesn’t. He just hangs out, back in the corner by the doors, near the servants (not the bridal party), and that’s all that’s really said about it.

You’d think that when the FOTB went over to the prospective husband and admonished him for saving the best wine till last, Jesus would jump in… “Well, you see sire, that is actually MY fault. If you’ll just step over here, and I’ll explain…” but no. He leaves the party. He leaves the over-attended, bustling party, full of happy, well-heeled, networked… he leaves. No announcement. No headlines. No publicity. Astonishing success.

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So the next thing he does then is go to the Temple, in Jerusalem, during the most highly attended festival of the year, Passover, and start a small riot in the courtyard. Surely, now He’ll explain himself. Sure, he says “Tear this temple down, and I will rebuild it in 3 days.” Nice. Crystal clear. Sounds really good.

So much for a sound business plan and prudent strategy.

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But there’s this little bit tucked in at the end of the story. It says “they remembered.” More specifically it says that after Jesus’ resurrection, they remembered this day. They remembered this statement. And then, three long, unsearchable years later they finally understood.

On that first Passover, in the midst of the chaos of birds squawking and men shouting, furniture being tossed around, and people chasing rolling coins, Jesus says a most puzzling thing. I imagine the disciples present were probably more on board with the money-changers than Jesus at that point. But they trusted Jesus- already! And they persisted with Him. And years later they understood. Looking back they understood.

What if they had walked away after that afternoon in the temple courtyard? What if they wrote Jesus off? What if I did? What is God waiting to explain to me, years down the road? What lunacy is Jesus speaking into my life today, that I have to tuck away in my “to be got later” box? Is Jesus telling you something that just sounds nuts? Look carefully. We may well find ourselves looking back at it together in 10 years and finally. FINALLY. Understanding.

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13When it was almost time for the Jewish Passover, Jesus went up to Jerusalem. 14In the temple courts he found men selling cattle, sheep and doves, and others sitting at tables exchanging money. 15So he made a whip out of cords, and drove all from the temple area, both sheep and cattle; he scattered the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. 16To those who sold doves he said, "Get these out of here! How dare you turn my Father's house into a market!"

17His disciples remembered that it is written: "Zeal for your house will consume me."^[b]

18Then the Jews demanded of him, "What miraculous sign can you show us to prove your authority to do all this?"

19Jesus answered them, "Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days."

20The Jews replied, "It has taken forty-six years to build this temple, and you are going to raise it in three days?" 21But the temple he had spoken of was his body. 22After he was raised from the dead, his disciples recalled what he had said. Then they believed the Scripture and the words that Jesus had spoken.

Dear Papa, Love, Grr...

Those of you familiar with Stories & Fingerprints already know that it is usually a platform for my standard spiritual snobbery and pontification. However, from time to time, I feel inclined to also tell you a story or two about my exceptionally beautiful family. While it is above average in almost every regard, very occasionally some particular aspect rises even above all that. This will be the topic of our post today.

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I am a father of 3 delightful children. Two of them are boys, rambunctious and just short of miscreant status. They are very, very gifted in their depravity. Likewise they are a testimony to their species in the ways of generosity, kindness and gentleness.

But there is another kind born to us. A gentler kind. A radiant, joy-filled, awe-inspiring girl. Grr, she is called. Why? Well, it being MY blog I don’t really have to say, BUT these kids didn’t just come out spectacular: they learned it. Allow me to explain: #2 (“Mo”) struggled to say her name, and it came out sounding a lot like “Grr.” Suga Mama seemed taken by it, and began using the moniker “Grr” herself, leaving me little choice in the matter.

Since her landing, she has demonstrated her super-power already at her tender age of less than one year. It is patience in *virtually* all areas of life.

You’ll note that I say “virtually.” There are 2 specific areas where exception occurs. One area is Mama time. The 2^nd area of holiness is meal-time.

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I hate cooking. I hate preparing food. I don’t even really want to put stuff in the oven. I consider it a great personal sacrifice and further evidence of my genuine and loving character when I do such things. I don’t mind eating. Not one bit.

My children don’t care about those things. But they have learned patience as it relates to their sloth-papa. Especially when he uses such sleight of hand trickery as turning on the television, which buys him a half-hour to make a sandwich or two.

With Grr, there shall be no such amusement, no such tom-foolery, and no further delay. This is apparent immediately. Credit that to my male-intuition and insight into the mind of children and women. That and the note that I received in my e-mail inbox.

Papa, my smile and my provider.

A brief explanation and correction of services rendered to follow:

Food will be delivered promptly.

Food presented will be food made “ready-to-eat.” Delays due to poor timing on the part of the preparer will not be adequate excuse for late presentation.

This means there will be no stirring, no blowing, no mixing of cooler elements, nor warmer, nor thickening agents, nor thinning ones. There will be no spreading about of the elements, even to further hurry cooling. Cooling time should have been accounted for in preparation time, back when I was waiting patiently, and appearing to be entertained by something, even content. Too late. Too bad.

Food supply shall continue until it is a clear and present fact that I am satisfied and finished. Any delays or abatement in the food supply shall result in demerits.

Greens shall not be served cool, or cold. They shall be served warm, with plenty of thickening agents present. Heat masks their general unpleasantness by burning the tongue. Oatmeal cereal further hides the offensiveness by blanding overall flavor.

Fruits shall be served by tonnage, not by bowl. Period.

Blowing on my face is unacceptable. If you don’t like my screaming or growling, serve me faster.

You may clean my lips and chin, chest, neck, head and shoulders, arms, elbows, folds, and hands-area with the spoon. As long as it doesn’t delay the next spoonful of food.

All meals will be followed by a wipe-down, using a non-abrasive dish-rag or wipe. Warm water shall be used, not cold, and you shall clean with a respectful dabbing motion, NOT a rough swipe. I am a lady, not a baboon. Thank you.

Optional bottle will be provided, within ½ hour of meal ending time. At this point, I will guzzle it like a college student, and promptly throw up ALL of my dinner. Where is not my concern.

Thank you. I’ll be seeing you again in about 2 ½ hours. Please- Do not further embarrass yourself or me. Be ready this time.

Message of Judgement/Message of Relief

I’ve been reading in the Book of Hosea recently. Hosea received instruction from God’s Spirit to take a wife. A girl with a “reputation,” shall we say? I’m glad I missed out on that call.

By this woman, Hosea had three children. His first child, a boy, he gave kind of a weird name: Japanese Internment Camp. Ok. That wasn’t actually his name. His real name was “Jezreel.” But the neighbor boys would have reacted to Jezreel the way you’d react to a little boy named “Japanese Internment Camp.” Jezreel was a place of great bloodshed and violence, and it was also a place where the country’s values were scoffed at and defiled.

The next two kids were named “Fascist” and “Injustice.” Whoops, I meant “Unpitied” and “Not-my-people.”

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The book is filled with messages. I mean, that’s how the bible is, right? Lots of messages, lots of different perspectives. You could read Hosea and talk about God’s wrath. You could talk about the violent imagery of battle, drawn swords, pregnant women and children. Or, you could talk about the promises of wrath and how God seems to turn his face from the Israelites. But for all of that, there is the promise of hope given.

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I heard somebody talking about the ten plagues the other day- he was discussing that he thought it inappropriate to inundate children with the notion that God favors one people over another, simply by virtue of their race. Namely, he was talking about the 10^th plague- the “Big Nasty,” or as it’s known more commonly, the Visitation of the Angel of Death. It’s also the advent of the longest continuous religious celebration: Passover.

See, I wonder how many times I’ve done the same thing as the guy above? He is honestly looking for the pearl here. And he really believes that teaching children about favoritism is wrong, and here’s the thing- I would say the same thing. Teaching children that God is racist would be very, very wrong. But the thing my friend has done is to really miss the high altitude perspective of the story.

God wasn’t punishing the Egyptians over the nation of Israel. The thing that saved Israel wasn’t their being Israel, it was their obedience to God when He told them to set themselves apart by using the blood of the Lamb to mark their doorways. The same judgment that fell on the Egyptians would have fallen on Israel, had it not been for obedience.

And Pharaoh didn’t obey. 10 times he didn’t obey. He was very, very naughty. But if this was the punishment for being disobedient 10 times, what kind of punishment have I earned for myself? What kind of blood do I need in order to escape God’s judgment on the world?

See that’s the thing that “the world” doesn’t really want to hear: We are all under judgment for disobedience. Not just these people, or those people, stealers, cussers and cursers, drug-abusers, fat people, greedy people or perverts. All of us. Vain people. Mean people. Self-righteous people. Oh yeah. Them too.

The message of God’s prophets and by proxy, God Himself, through the ages, is that judgment is warranted. It is inescapable. That greed, ambition, pride, and the hubris of our race is inescapably and inherently human. That even our good-natured and kindly qualities are self-fulfilling and will become a source of self-righteous pride. Unless. Unless we believe Him, believe that judgment is warranted, believe Him that it comes, and believe Him that we can be passed over.

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It’s hard to transcend your own perspective. I think it helps to remove myself from the story in order to regain that “big-picture” perspective. By reading the story of the Passover in the Bible, with the help of people more mature than myself, I can begin to regain that high-altitude God-perspective of a world that is in need of discipline.

I guess the thing I’m getting to is that I understand why people think the stories and lessons of the bible seem unfair at times. I tend to feel that way sometimes too. But I trust God. I believe He is just, and fair, merciful and compassionate, and that He delights to save and bless. So, trusting that, when I get to thinking something sounds unfair, I try, albeit unsuccessfully at times, to re-understand it, more from a perspective of an absolutely perfect God and an absolutely imperfect me. It eases the corners on my indignation, and warms my heart to God’s compassion.

But there’s more- I bet it also diminishes my inclination to judge others, too. Maybe that’s what a judgmental world needs- a dose of grace.

capitalC.10 (looking back): What happens when the Church stands up?

What happens when the church stands up? I’m not going to say what would happen. There are lots of people who are willing to, and I suppose if I hung out with them, I might be more inclined to seeing their point of view. But I’m placing my confidence in God’s Spirit, that He completes what he begins, that He is never idle, and that He is always the victor.

I’ve been harping the last several weeks about the intersection of the Church at worship and the Church serving the world. As if they were two separate things, that coincided from time to time, like asteroids. As though you could love God without really loving your neighbor. Or as if you could truly love your neighbor without being touched by God’s Spirit.

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It’s consumed me this past year. I’ve been a little dry maybe, and needing to be relivened. I’ve met so many people who are so jaded, so skeptical- so smart that they simply can’t understand why a person would subject their minds, subject their lives to a book. The Church, to them, is a corrupted, religio-political means to subject people under a power. Faith is a lie for me to tell myself when I feel blue- when the weight of my life is more than I can bear. It’s absolution and a salve for a conscience burdened by guilt. It’s a blind eye turned towards death, war, and the worst possible living conditions.

So how did it become this big? How did it grow from a homeless rabble and 12 men that were otherwise used up, washed out do-overs, to a world-wide social standard, familiar in all corners of the world? Without the internet?

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Somehow, this one man, who probably didn’t travel more than 100 miles from his own home (excluding a sojourn in Egypt as a small child) managed to become the focal point for billions of lives. How? Great speaker? Perhaps. Great networker? Weeeeelllll, not really. He didn’t hang with the power-brokers, or journalists. And when he did he usually ripped them six ways. So, I don’t see the cover of US weekly touting him in any kind of positive way. They’d have photos of his “worst fashion moments” and how he really looked in a 2-piece. There would probably be reports from unnamed sources of illicit encounters, midnight deals with God knows who. This guy was no Oprah Winfrey. He wasn’t even Mickey Rooney. He maybe was more like Simon Cowell. Everybody hates him, but he’s ALWAYS right. I don’t know, maybe I went too far with that.

But somehow this guy affected world change! Without major media, without any kind of material trust fund. Mostly by loving the people he talked with everyday. Somehow, by loving the people around him everyday, those people were infected with somekind of insane “pay it forward” mentality that was so unstoppable that an entire region of the world was impacted within one lifetime. Within a mere 3 or 4 generations! People a thousand miles away or more were changing the entire paths of their lives based on the touch of a man’s affection, genuine love, and grace-filled manner.

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Last week, a small group of people shared that touch. You could tell that the lives in that group had been reoriented. There were about 300 people there. They gave 1684 dollars, and I can’t even begin to tell you how much food. Well, I could begin. I filled up the back of my 1987 Chevy Suburban. It took 2 men about 20 minutes to load it all in. And that was mostly grocery bags or small boxes. It’s not like we stacked it one can at a time. It took two flat carts to get it to the food pantry. I think stuff like that could make a person’s life different. I can see how stuff like that could cause a person to re-examine their life. It would be understandable for a person to receive a gift like this, for them to ask “Why have you done this? What motivates this sort of compassion?”

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I have an answer. And it has almost nothing to do with me, or who I am, or who I want to be. It has to do with what I deserved. And what I received. And how they just don’t match up. And how amazing that is. How unforgettably amazing.

SPEAKING IN ALL CAPS

Ok, I admit it. That guy you heard screaming unintelligibly in the next aisle? Yeah, that was me. If you’d had the military-like courage to come over and ask me, I’d have told you I was speaking with conviction and furious glory. But really? I’d just lost my cool and published it in the cloud.

Now, following the admission comes the stark reality that you are standing in what could easily pass for a) a (used) minefield, or b) the center ring in a one ring circus, or c) a public area with lots of expensive and colorful items stacked precariously on their cardboard endcaps all at floor level, or, worst-case-scenario d) all of the above.

Fortunately, because the natural color of my hair is a mottled sort of orange, the grays that are surely sprouting from all available pores are well camouflaged, and difficult to discern.

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I was standing at the top of the stairs, on my way to wake up my beautiful Grr when I heard it. Tigger, at the top of his voice, speaking to his (currently) smaller brother with a familiar conviction and furious glory. Mo had (reportedly) dropped beans on the floor (that’s a primary-offense, usually punished by removal of said dried beans for a given period of time), and Tig was simply reprimanding in a fashion that precedence had ruled acceptable.
Whoops.

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I called him up to Grr’s room. Dutifully he arrived. At that point I apologized. I immediately recognized that Tig had simply done what he’d seen and heard his papa doing, and that I owed him and Mo an apology for being a poor example on the matter of “Techniques for the correction and rebuke of minor, yet terribly aggravating offenses.” I made a covenant with myself (albeit a weak accountability partner) in the company of my firstborn son, and heir to my great estate, that I would not raise my voice as casually as I had. That it was not a gracious way. That really, it was selfish, undisciplined, and base. Not who I want to be.
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I’ve already broken treaty with myself. It’ll be a long road to recovery. But I’m going to keep trying. I want lots of things: I want my boys to obey my voice, not my volume. And I DON’T want my boys to be afraid of me. But most importantly, I want them to know that there’s a difference between being disciplined and being hated.
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It’s interesting that I gleaned this little distinction from a man younger than me, unmarried, with NO kids. But he has subjected himself to the authority of his teachers, and learned a great deal much earlier than most of us do because of it. We were discussing the matter of discipline, because my boys were running amuck and amusing their less gentile natures outside. And he said something that was plain but very profound. The punishment follows the breaking of a rule. It isn’t about me being angry, or disappointed, or any of that. And when I yell, I communicate anger, not authority. Discipline brings blessing. Anger causes hurt.

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So: in the matter of the people vs. Mo, we find the defendant guilty as charged. Time served. In the corollary matter of the people vs. His father, guardian and steward, we find the defendant guilty of misguided frustration, misdirected selfishness, and we forgive him his debts as we forgive our debtors. He is henceforth remanded to the agency of the kingdom of the Father, and will from this point forward “go forth and sin no more”. Yeah right. BUT, he will resolve to more righteously use tone and volume as it pertains to bringing well-adjusted and Jesus-loving men into this world which we live in. Amen and thank-you, God, for grace, which issues ever forth for the benefit of fathers, mothers, daughters and sons.

capitalC.10 (the politics of charity) OR "On Meeting my In-Laws"

Forgive me if the details seem made-up. They could be. But there’s an equally good chance that they’re not.

I’m pretty sure my marriage was destined. I met her mom before I met my wife actually. Almost a year earlier. She (the MiL) remembers it- I’m not sure if I remember it or if I’ve just heard the story enough times that I’ve created the memory for myself. I was playing in the chamber orchestra- I must have been playing cello, or she probably wouldn’t have come and spoken to me. My wife played cello then. So I think MiL-ie was scouting or something.

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We met for ourselves the next year. I was an R.A. (I’m not really sure what that was about- it seemed like a good idea at the time- but I was wrong and somebody else noticed before I did- whoops). I was sitting desk in the frosh men’s dorm I think when SugarMomma and MiL-ie came in to visit someone else. Suga’ says she liked my “image.” Weekly showers, long hair, and visible tattoos. Hmm. Not sure what Mil-ie thought, but now you’ve got a picture.

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I was drunk. Or high. Not sure which. Maybe both. I’d gotten a whiff of radical-Jesus. I’d gotten a taste of social-justice-Jesus. I was a born-again, anti-fluff, save-the-poor-people, down-with-the-establishment, disciple of Che-Yeshua. And Karl Marx. Oh man, those were the days. I was of a generation that was gonna subvert the dominant paradigm. We were gonna drag Pat Robertson into the street and shun him publically. We were gonna dismantle the Religious Right, and sneak in through the think-tanks and social action groups. We were green. We were smart. We were young. Tri-fecta.

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I revealed this glimpse of God’s kingdom to my future dad-in-law at the Koffie Boon. It was exciting because he was willing to talk to me, listen to me- and he cared! It was astounding. Now- he’s my dad-in-law for real now, so I can’t say too much more “nice” stuff, or it might go to his head.
But one thing- I couldn’t believe he wasn’t jumping onboard my Christian socialist bandwagon! Dude! Care for the poor! The widow! Eat the Rich! THAT’S WHAT THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT IS ALL ABOUT! RIGHT!??

Ok, so I may have made up that last part. But I’m sure he thought it. Ok, not sure.

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He said something to me that night- well, I’m sure he said lots of things. But one thing he said in particular has stayed with me these 13 ?! years. He asked me “What if the church did all those things you want the government to do?” His suggestion, implicitly was that the Church had abdicated her blessed task and mandate to care for the sick, the elderly, the poor and the widowed- and that now people who needed it were left with no better recourse than a deficit strapped government filled with career politicians.

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This week, the Church is taking back her place, at least here in Des Moines. Five churches are throwing a benefit party for the world. Or, at least for Des Moines. “capitalC.10” is an opportunity for the Church of Jesus Christ in Des Moines, IA to gather together- to worship with every faculty available. And to worship gratefully with human charity. You show up. You’ll see Jesus. He’ll be there, giving and collecting food, socks, towels, crappy couches, soup in crock-pots or gallon-sized zip lock bags, sleeping bags, clothes- He’ll be standing by watching over as we sign ourselves up to put our hands to His work. Organizations already serving in Des Moines will be there to accept your services. To be blessed by Jesus, worshipping God.

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The Church will gather, the Word will be sung, the good news will be spread- the blind will see, the hungry will be hunger no more, and bound will be set free. The kingdom of heaven draws near. Come and see.

Feb 27. 6322 Hickman Road
www.capitalc10.com

Larry-boy, Forgiveness and Kindness.

... [he told me] that he knew his obligation to love God in all things, and as he endeavored so to do, he had no need of a director to advise him, but that he needed very much a confessor to absolve him. That he was he was very sensible of his faults, but not discouraged by them; that he confessed them to God, but did not plead against Him to excuse them. When he had so done, he peaceably resumed his usual practice of love and adoration.

-from Conversations and Letters of Nicholas Herman; Brother Lawrence on the Practice of the Presence of God

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I’m sketchy on the details, but I have this thing that the center of the Christian faith has to be forgiveness. I know, I know, the apostle Paul says its the resurrection. And yeah, I know he wrote like HALF of the New Testament. But if it’s not forgiveness, I’m pretty sure I’d like to just stay dead. If that’s alright with everybody. I mean its probably not. But just for the record.
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It amazes me how hard it is to get my head around. Forgiveness that is genuine, and that it is complete. That the end of forgiveness isn’t back to “0” –even-stephen-try-not-to-mess-it-up-again. It’s like +100! We’re counted righteous for someone else’s righteous act, and that’s impossible (nearly!) for me to really comprehend. And for what?

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This guy I quoted- Brother Lawrence, was a cook. Well, that was his vocation. I don’t get the sense that he particularly liked cooking so he became a cook. He was a veteran, and retired to a monastery if I have my facts right. He ended up in the kitchen. So he sort of left one army, where he was a slave to command, only to join up in another army, and another commander. But he was determined that God’s providence had placed him there, and so, there he would be.

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I never wanted to be a carpenter really. I’d always wanted to be a musician. I accepted the possibility that I could possibly be a scholar, a member of the academic class in perpetuity. That seemed like a distant possibility. But when it was time to decide, my heart wasn’t really in that. So there I was, in a 400- maybe 600 square foot apartment, on the second floor, southfacing side of a building, with two other guys, and NO air conditioning. Or money. Or food. And not a clue to my name. All I knew is that God wasn’t sending me any signals that I was supposed to go anywhere else. Just. Here.

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10 years later… (imagine the bat-man tv show music when they change scenes-you know, the trumpets…)

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Being a rockstar is too hard. At least as a carpenter I know where I am when I wake up. Every single morning. And who this is in bed with me. And during the day, I know exactly why I’m busting it in this tin hot-house, sucking dust, and pulling splinters. I guess I’m not that bad at being a carpenter. I’m not that great, but it’s paying the bills, and I like it as it turns out. (but I still love playing music).

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So, Brother Lawrence- he says it takes diligence, but after a while, after practice and perseverance, his persistence in conversation with God excites his heart. It stirs him. And now, he says, I consider everything as for the love of God. I pick up a piece of straw- it is for the love of God. I serve food, for the love of God. He somehow has found a place where everything he does starts and ends with service and satisfaction to God. He says at one point, “that [I] desired to be received into a monastery… so [I] should sacrifice to God… [my] life and it’s pleasures; but God had disappointed him, he having met with nothing but satisfaction in that state.” Right. Everybody follow along? Yeah, me too. What I think he’s saying, around the tongue in his cheek is that he thought service to God was supposed to be miserable and martyr like servanthood. You know, scraping the ends off your fingers, wearing holes through your knees. Yeah- Christian service? But he has found satisfaction! God has pleased his heart as he served. Somehow, for Larry here, doing things with his mind on God, rather than the recipient of his effort, gave him extra satisfaction- sufficient to continue doing it his whole life. And it all had to do with prayer. And as I can see it, his freedom to live with God in prayer was built on the lynchpin of feeling free. Feeling truly forgiven.

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I think that sounds quite nice. I’d like one of those, please. What did the guest say after watching Sally try her salad? “I’ll take what she’s having…”

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I think Brer Larry understood something about forgiveness that I don’t quite have yet. Forgiveness doesn’t end at the ability to stand before God and not fear condemnation. It creates joy. It builds a foundation for a weightless kind of joy that just… gives. It continually offers. And without any expectation for remuneration- it’s like a water source- it only really goes one way. Or light. Scripture is filled with images of radiance, light, overflowing water, and abundance. This is the blessed life. I’m not talking Christmas cheery, holiday shmeery “tis better to give than to receive!” nonsense. I’m talking a giving that isn’t giving- it’s just the way it’s moving.

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But I believe the blessed life is still more. I would love for it to be individualized. We each get our own little totem pole to sit on, and meditate on the goodness of God, the beauty of providence, and the fullness of joy. Alas. I don’t read about totem poles in Eden. Or Revelation. Just cities, gardens, and … people.

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Shalom. We know it to mean “peace be with you.” But it is so much more than “peace, love, dope, man…” It’s more than “end the war.” It’s more than “disarm.” It’s … turning weapons of war and mass production into implements of agriculture and the husbandry of the earth. It’s lions and lambs laying down together. It’s a small boy sticking his hand into a viper’s nest and giggling because they wiggle.

God’s shalom is a peaceable kingdom. God’s law is the closest man can come on his own. Given our inability that’s not very far into the breadth of His kingdom. But Jesus comes. What is the message of his Gospel? “The Kingdom of Heaven is near.” This is the kindness God has shown- rather than destroy what he has made, he repairs, restores, and rebuilds, making all things new again. Including the way we talk and live together. Not just with God, but with each other.

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The Church is called to live aggressive shalom. We are not a place for people to come to. We are a people to go out. We are not a sanctified enclave. We are covert operatives, pressing peace into the hands of those we brush against. One of these days, someone will press peace into a man’s hand, and he will turn and say, “what is this?” Have an answer. We wait for the question. But Brother Larry leads them to ask. “Why are you enjoying that lame job so much? Why is it so easy for you?”

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and he said [he] confessed [his failures] to God, but did not plead against Him to excuse them. When he had so done, he peaceably resumed his usual practice of love and adoration.

capitalC.10 (worshipping together); or "a REST is still a note"

Do you look in the mirror and say to yourself: I have something absolutely crucial to the world to do today? Nah. Me neither. Fact is (and on this I’m confident of any corroboration coming back in the affirmative) I frequently go days without really “looking”. Remember White Men Can’t Jump? You’re listening, but you’re not really hearing? Yeah, me and mirrors. You’re looking, but you’re not really seeing. Otherwise, you’d be embarrassed right now.

What in the world does that have to do with saving the world?

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My entire understanding of worship has recently been rocked. By a rich young man. He also blasted my ideas of evangelism, church, mission, and while he was on a roll, kinda tweaked my perspective on success. And you know how? By walking away. Jerk.

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Worship? Success? When lots of people get together, when music is sung lustily (thanks Chris) and performed excellently. When people get in touch with the Spirit and have an experience. Did I mention “lots?” The more hands there are in the air, the greater the margin of success. Pass the plate.

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I don’t intend to relay skepticism or any of that weak act. Anybody can play skeptic, play devil’s advocate- play alienated child. I want to set the church free. (I can hear the hushed whispers). The church is bound to a cultural standard of success. It is bound to a culturally defined measure of beauty. Dude- culture is JACKED UP. Walk away.

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Here’s the thing. Jesus was there. He wasn’t in some synagogue meeting or library. He wasn’t holed up in a cave, and he wasn’t locked in his prayer closet. He did all those things. But he also went outside sometimes. And he touched hands with some pretty vile critters. No news here. When the rich young man came, Jesus engaged with him. When the man asked a question- kind of a leading question I might add, Jesus didn’t blow him off, sass him, or otherwise try to alienate him. He simply answered. Obviously he didn’t antagonize the young man, because the young man stayed in the conversation. But in the end, the man walked away, and so did Jesus. Weird? Yeah, I’d say so.

Did Jesus fail? (err, *awk*ward silence).

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I wonder what God thinks about the way we “do” church. I am easily persuaded that God loves all different kinds of churches- and not for any reason pertaining to “how” they do church. He says he measures a man by his heart, looking deep on the inside. All we can really do is look on the outside, and so, meh {shrug} that’s what we do.

“ They don’t use any instruments at all!”
“ Sometimes- sometimes people actually fall right over in church over there!”
“ They use irrelevant music, from another time.”
“well they use music that glorifies a cursed society”

Bah. Piffle. (Thanks, Jess). Listen- I’m gonna say something right now that’s gonna ruffle a feather. Maybe two feathers. Fine. I can live with that, cause you’re not my judge, and neither am I. And I pray God’s mercy on me every day because of that fact. I wonder, if “church” isn’t really about “praising God” in the way that we usually mean it OR even about “sermons” anyway? I’m just thinking out loud. Hear me out. I intend no harm. Should we teach in the church? Yes, of course. Should we give God righteous and heartfelt praise? I can’t see how we don’t.

But sometimes I wonder if we should have a look at Jesus and this “rich young ruler.” They had a fairly amicable discussion. Ok. He addressed Jesus respectfully, as a Rabbi or as a “Teacher.” Something happened.

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As a musician growing up, I played in a weekend symphony. It was a way to get students together with professionals and create a peer/mentoring environment. I played my way through some serious pieces. The conductor is someone I’ll never forget- Gerry Marsh. If you know him tell him his legacy lives on in Iowa. He was a very strong and charismatic man. He had energy that could power a freight train. Or keep a symphony full of kids and “professional musicians” together. And on course even.

I remember him saying once, reminding us of the importance of the “rest” in music. He asked somebody, probably a whole section rhetorically, what note they had at such and such bar. A little voice piped up, squeeking “Nothing!” Graciously, but with strength that left no room for debate or disagreement, Marsh tapped his baton on the podium, sort of like I might scratch my head behind my ear with a pencil while thinking, and he said “A rest is equally important to any played note in the music. Just because it’s silent, doesn’t make it any less of a note.”

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Our congregation has endeavored to carry many programs. We’ve had Card Ministries, Community “Game-nights”, Movie showings, special services at “non-traditional” times, Sunday school for kids, Sunday school for adults, choirs, worship bands, special music groups, technical assistance groups, shepherding elders, hospital visitors, a Food Pantry, and a free medical clinic. We’ve had coordinators for small groups, coordinators for set-up, coffee, goodies, assimilation for newcomers, greeters, teachers, mechanics, plumbers, accountants, taxidermy, you name it. Name tag people. Hand-shakers. I’m sort of surprised we haven’t ever discussed having hosts and hostesses in the bathrooms to hand you your warm towels, and what-not. Maybe we’ll hit that next year.

Some of these programs brought members together for the first time in a meaningful way. Some of them supported members who were having troubles making ends meet, or even just needed a cheer-up. Some of these ministries have endured, and some have gone by the way-side. All of them were good. But I think we (as a congregation) recognized that we needed to be doing something different. Not more. Less.

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We’re having an “event” here a couple weeks from now. You’ve probably heard me mention it. It’s gonna be in an empty warehouse-style store. It’s gonna be ONE night. It’s capitalC.10 and I hope that it comes back after this one.

We’re going to be celebrating the kingship of the Lord’s Anointed One, His Messiah.

There’s going to 5 bands, from 5 different churches in Des Moines’ greater “metro” area. There’s going to be booths there from some different humanitarian organizations at work right here in Des Moines and beyond. When the program has finished every item in the building is going to be used or donated to an organization. Except the sound equipment I think.

Now: while we’re all celebrating Jesus’ kingship, there will be some people taking furniture, food, socks, blankets, and all manner of paraphernalia for donations to the Free Store, Hope Ministries, Waukee Area Christian Food Pantry and a host of other organizations.

Nope. That IS celebrating the kingship and reign of Jesus! Do you get it?

Celebrating is singing. Sure. But celebrating is DOING what you’ve been freed to do: Love your neighbor, without judgement, without condescension, without expectation of reciprocation. If they take what you offer, and turn away, you’ve done nothing more or less than exactly what Jesus did.

THAT is the Church at worship- giving freely, living freely, giving and living differently than the world gives and lives. If they come back to find out why we live and give without expectation, THEN the Spirit is at work in their hearts for harvest. Otherwise, we just keep living and breathing and doing the will of God who saves us- loving our neighbors as God loves us, and as we love God.

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That is the story of the rich young ruler. Jesus was obedient to the Word of Truth in his mouth. He wasn’t counted as righteous. He was the picture of it. Yet here, a potential convert walked away, sad. But Jesus did what God wanted- he loved the man, as he watched him walk away.

capitalC.10 February 27 6322 Hickman
5+5* / $10.00

* 5 dollars, + 5 _ _ _ _ (socks, blankets, towels, cans of food, etc.)
this is how they will know us- by our righteousness love.