Currently Combustication By Medeski Martin & Wood see related

A Repressed Disappointment Transformed

I love the Bible. The Old Testament and the New Testament Scriptures. I find them profoundly exciting and discover anew with each glimpse that they hold a myriad of surprises and challenges. It is living, active, razor sharp, comforting, encouraging, inspiring, shocking, scandalous...

...and sometimes disappointing.

That final adjective isn't one that I care to use concerning the God-breathed. So I've repressed it somewhat over the years. I'm brining it out now to expose, to smear before the rays of insight (I remember reading once, in a mountaineering book, that the excrement deposited by climbers on high peaks like Everest would most quickly and thoroughly degrade to its elemental composition if they could smear it on rocks before the sun - that, however, would be a vast dispaly of unsightly smearage and is not done).

I was always mildly disappointed by the fact that Revelation says there will be no more sun or moon and no more sea. The whole bit about whiping away every tear, a new heaven and earth, profound glory beyond comprehension, perfect justice finally effected, the very transformation of elemental principles of decay, etc. all sound addictively inviting. But why no sea? Why no sun or moon? What's better than sitting on the rocks of a raging shoreline watching the sun descend and the moon arise? Shoot, dawg. I don't really care to lose that, if I must unveil my impious honesty.

But the other day I was enjoying a conversation with my girlfriend in which she was marveling about the beauties of Revelation 22, and God helped me embrace a new paradigm. First of all, while the sea is indeed gone, it may serve to represent the turmoil of the nations, the paths of selfish and unjust trade, and by the end of Revelation the old, natural sea had become rather a pit for decay and death, the earth's garbage heap (reminds me a little of some National Geographic issues I can recall). But there is a new sea, as of glass and fire (15:2 and 4:6) - perfect in purity and energy. So rather than losing something beautiful, we gain the very essence toward which the imperfect is pointing us.

It is the same with the sun and the moon. It would be easy to picture myself missing them until the paradigm shifts again. Rather than natural sources of light, our vision will be governed by the very pinnacle of divine self-illumination: Christ (21:23). Just suppose that all that we love about the sun and the moon is actually pointing beyond itself to a light far greater, purer, more life-giving. There will be no natural light to distract us from the light by which we see light (Ps. 36:9), in the pitch blackness of no natural light sources, glory - GLORY - making all things utterly manifest. What sort of sight, what manner of seeing might that be?! My heart cannot begin to fathom, but the excitement transcends any foolish sense of loss. (And besides, I've just realized, it does not say that there will be no sun or moon; it merely says that we will not "need the sun or the moon to shine").

The source of light, of vision, will be the very One from whose overwhelming presence "earth and sky fled, and there was no place for them" (Rev. 20:11). The sheer beauty and power of His supernatural being leaving natural existence virtually impossible. There will be nothing behind which the sheer nakedness of our being might attempt to hide. It is the culmination of redemptive history, the hope toward which all hopes aspire and the terror toward which all defenses mechanisms ultimately flee in vain.

Then the adventure begins. The new heaven and new earth, every tear wiped away (though I hope to be weeping like a child at the burning intimacy of His feet when He does that), no more mourning or death or pain. We should not think that eternal life will be a static peace, a passive lack of the very drama and thrill that makes life so exciting now. It is a dynamic peace, a violently beautiful energy and creativity. It will be the adventure toward which all adventure alludes. To the adrenaline junky who laments the loss of fear, I submit that you haven't yet begun to taste the fear you really long for. In this culminative beginning, you may see the very face of the radiance of God (22:4), and you will fear the very fear which you always longed for but never quite dared approach. To the weary slave, you will find the freedom no utopian genius could conceive. To the broken, wholeness. To the weak, such power. To the striving, rest. To the ambitious, eternal ascent.

Needless to say, I'm far from disappointed in these hopes.

The state of my soul

I think I found it so hard to answer because the state of my soul has been, above all else, needy.

The past semester was very difficult. It has been the most difficult academic challenge of my life, and the coming semester will be more so. Last semester I got an A, another A, an A-, and a B+. That leaves me with a gpa of 3.75 for the time being. For those who care about such things, it is a very fine gpa. For those who care greatly about such things, it is merely fair. For my own part, I am pleased and learned a great deal.

The most important thing I learned the past semester was not biblical exegesis nor the finer shades of Greek grammar nor physical and psychological development nor the various schools of psychotherapeutic theories (in my personal order of descending importance).

The most important thing I learned was simply that I need grace desperately, daily, a constant supply. I am the broken one, hospitalized with the oxygen tube of grace in my nose. No, let me be the more severe case, wearing the full oxygen mask. And give me a feeding tube of grace. And give me an IV drip, but let it not merely drip. Let it flow always, let it gush and roar and rage into me. Helpless, let the air and sustenance and liquid gold of grace be my everything.

I've known, but only begun to know, how weak and needy I am; how futile and frail on my own; how carnal and wretched; how craving sin; my being fairly crouching at its door, awaiting the slightest hair's breadth opening to lunge against it and engorge myself on folly. Or how reluctant toward good, toward self-sacrifice and servanthood, toward shining and radiance and worship, so slow, hesitant, and wayward in pursuing glory. Or how tolerant of icy drafts seeping in through cracks and crevices to chill the heart and slow its motions.

But by grace I sought Him, held Him as one being held by Him, seeking even while fallen or filthy or wayward or frail. And I manage to seek Him still, and I learn daily to cast myself upon Him.

Last semester was glorious. It was an awesome journey of learning and love. I saw Him move through minds and hearts and felt Him deeply in my own. I was loved, and I loved. I touched and was touched. I stood amazed in His presence, and drank in His word. All these I experienced as but a drop in the bucket of what could be, but the little drop grows. However, I learned above all this one cherished lesson - that I am weak and He is strong.

Speechless

"What is the state of your soul?"

Exactly the sort of question on which I thrive. Always a delight to consider and discuss. And the sort which I love to hear others answer. Almost always.

It is very rare that I am speechless. I'm a talker, a teacher and a preacher. I always seem to have "a word." My emotional/cognitive processes are generally external - whether talking (to myself, often enough) or writing. It is exceedingly rare, perhaps unheard of, that I should pass up an opportunity to answer such a question. Yet I had nothing to say.

Not that it's an easy question. Of the human heart, a prophet has asked the rhetorical question, "who can know it?" A poetic elucidation of the mystery which is our inmost being, it points to the common state of all mankind - shadow and darkness, void of the illuminating light of truth and righteousness. The common state is no prison, however, when you meet the Redeemer. Since receiving the light, I have felt quite free and even eager to examine the deepest parts of me, zealously probing the fractal recesses of my soul.

It was disconcerting to consider answering.

One of my favorite veins of discussion has always revolved around the question "what is God doing in your life these days?" Some people, to my surprise, are bothered by questions of that sort. Others delighted. I've always fallen among the delighted camp and hoped that my friendships and conversations would gravitate toward such intimate depths.

Yet I had no answer. No thought. No insight.

Even now, the state of my soul is that the snow is falling gently outside; that I've just returned from a quiet walk by the shore, down to the Dungeon by the ocean where I stood on a majestic porch overlooking the sea and wandered down to the small gazebo at the head of the pier; the state of my soul is that I have much reading to do; that the snow still falls; that my legs are cool within my jeans; that my fingers touch light upon the keys; that my ears receive the rythms and melodies issuing from the tinny speakers of my laptop computer; that two clocks tick in elliptically syncopated time; that an eternal textbook sits on a pillow beside me, rife with words large, complex, just beyond my cognitive reach; stillness.

The state of my soul? Must I know now? Though I find reprieve in noting the phenomenology of my being (big psychobabble word for life as it is being presently experienced), yet I know that it functions as a distraction. A vital distraction, an important one, a distraction pregnant with goodness and value it may be, yet a distraction just the same.

The state of my soul is perhaps too many things to begin the utterance. With a deluge looming, shall I breach the dam? What is God doing? Should I really express it, and could there be an ebb to that flood tide?

I think I will continue to wait, to simmer, to ponder the state of my soul. I don't want to jump to any conclusions. The state of my soul is much, many, simple, free, stirred, awaiting, done, becoming, angst, cheer, desire, delight, hope, fear, falling, flowing, finding, fleeing, frisky, fumbling, needy, broken, wishing, warmed, warned, beautiful and many things beside.

So I'll dive into it all another day. For now it is enough to simply be.

Currently Two Men With The Blues By Willie Nelson/Wynton Marsalis see related

Album Recommendation

I've just now purchased this on iTunes. Now I'm sitting here smiling like a fool and loving it. 

One line especially caught my attention, being that I'm in seminary for counseling, theology, preaching and that sorta thing. 

"Some people go to school, trying to learn how to preach

but if you can't preach without going to school

you ain't no preacher, you're an educated fool."

So if you get a chance, check out the album that has most immediately won my heart:  Willie Nelson & Wynton Marsalis: Two Men With the Blues.

Currently Kind of Blue By Miles Davis see related

Silence and Solitude

The world is a noisy place, a restless fig leaf covering, a vain shelter from the utter beingness of the I Am.  The world, in this sense, begins deep within - deeper far than scalpel, sword, or lover goes.  Recently I was allowed to understand the fig leaf more clearly through a Soul Sabbath.  I spent a day in silence and solitude at a retreat center. 

In my anticipation of the day, I began to awaken to my cravings.  I noticed an addiction to fine-tuning in my (mild) apprehension of an entire day of silence and solitude.  There must always be a tweak here an adjustment there, never resting; we get a cup of coffee, buy a piece of clothing, turn on a light, scratch the itch, change the channel, turn it up, then down, no, up again, cross our legs, uncross them, check the e-mail, and again, then three social networking sites, hoping for...adjust this, a bite to eat, to the bathroom, warmer socks, another cup.  Always and ever fine-tuning in vain attempt to find the sweet spot of comfort, of pleasure that needs nothing.  But eye never fills with seeing nor ear with hearing nor heart with craving.  Comfort alludes us, yet we obsessively seek it.

It would seem that we cannot accept things as they are or rest ONLY in being.  Always, something is not quite right, and perhaps it is a defense against the aching hollow of our being, the yawning chasm of the unknown which is stillness.  Our very thoughts are trained to race and flit, never alighting to simply be.  Our hearts in desiring cannot attain or rest except in apathy (a deadening which loathes its own putrified self-love).  Each member and aspect of our being fidgets from one nervous doing to another lest we find ourselves alone in the overwhelming silence and solitude of merely being.  And why should it be so fearful a thing?  Because there we might begin to encounter Being and who we really are(n't).

The day was for me like the quieting of dusk through the mystery of night to the first crack of dawn, when the lake has finally stilled to the smooth perfection of glass, and water and sky are one.  God was very still, waiting with me as I slowed enough to be with Him. 

There is certainly nothing wrong with fig leaves, but they were never intended to cover nakedness.  We are created to move and dance and think vast thoughts and whisper and shout and touch and create!  Ah, but such things are a vain shelter from our utter nakedness of being before the One who Is.  Those who flee stillness and aloneness have much to fear, indeed, but in silence and solitude they may find their perfect opportunity to learn the meaning of the saying,

"tis grace that taught my heart to fear and grace my fears relieved."

Lord, expose us to pure BEING that we might uproarously come alive!  Reveal the fig leaves of our noise and haste and fidgeting busyness for what they are and still our restless hearts before you.