The Stupidity of Unbelief
Sunday, September 28, 2008 at 8:11pm
I do stupid things all the time because of unbelief and I really wish I didn't.
I woke up this morning and thought: why did I do that? I pulled the covers over my head because I didn't want to face my own stupidity. I tried to go back to sleep, to stop my racing mind, but I couldn't. Instead, I reluctantly opened my Bible to Luke where I've been reading lately. I asked the Lord to help me understand, but not too much, I asked for the Holy Spirit to bring conviction, but not too much. I read about the servants and the talents which were assigned to each of them. When I got to the part about the faithless servant, I cringed because of two little words: "you knew...". You knew, but you acted like you didn't. Too much conviction for so early in the morning, I decided to see what the morning's sermon would bring.
I went to church and sat absolutely stunned as my pastor preached on Sarah and her long wait on God. My pastor talked about how, by the time it was the time for Sarah to conceive Issac, she had given up on the promises of God. She had walked away in bitterness and unbelief; the reality of God's promises didn't touch her heart anymore. My pastor talked about being faithful, even through the waiting time, even though the hard times, even when I don't understand what's happening, or more likely, what's going to happen. I sat like a statue throughout the whole of the sermon; I never moved. Perhaps I was afraid that God would take even more notice of my faithless heart. I'm sure I reminded Him of someone: Peter sinking on the sea, the Israelites grumbling in the desert, or Sarah laughing in her tent. After the sermon I fled through the back doors, and didn't look back. I avoided eye contact with other friendly church-goers and sat in dejected silence on the drive home.
What is my sin? Lack of faith in the promises of God. My continued displays of faithlessness toward Him. Lately, I've been really convicted about living according to God's Word. I understand that having faith in God means living in obedience to His commands and letting Him take care of the consequences, whatever they may be. I don't want to waste the opportunities which God gives me to obey, but I do. I am a coward and I live with my eyes too much fixed on this world. I live so far away from the REALITY of God. I don't know how to explain this except to say, this is my Father's world, and yet I live as if He has completely abandoned it, as if He doesn't really mean what He says, as if the revelation of Himself through Jesus Christ is somehow a moot point today, instead of the greatest reality of my life.
My heart is a little bit broken today. My wings are all worn out. But I don't believe this is just the case for me either. I believe we are all a little sin-sick and weary. Our lack of faith in the promises of God is causing all of us to lag behind and - the worst thing of all - to compromise. I can't forget the dejected look of a friend who, earlier this week, asked me if I thought any of it was worth it. "It" being the effort of ministry, of life, really. He said "I think it's all useless sometimes, all the time..." I could only stand there beside him and ring my hands, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other and say "you know that's not true, you know that's a lie..." But I couldn't really say much more than that; I was broken and frustrated too.
I want to have "a long obedience in the same direction", that direction being Jesus Christ Himself. I want to prove that, while it may not be easy, through the power of the Holy Spirit I can live a life of faithfulness to God's Word, a life of no compromise. God is so merciful to me. I would have given up on me a long time ago. I would have left me in my bed, with the covers pulled up. But He doesn't do that. He picks me up, brushes me off, and says: "let's try that again, shall we?" He sends pastors and friends and books and verses to remind me that I am loved and forgiven and fought for and that the promises are true.
I am fearful of the next time I face that great giant of unbelief. I am afraid I will act in ignorance and stupidity and unbelief. Again. But my prayer for myself (and you too) is that I will let the reality of the great I AM shape my behavior. I believe that I have nothing to lose and everything to gain by living according to God's standards and "keeping the faith".
And so I do.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Classroom Quotes:
From the classroom of Dr. Jeney:
"Clarity doesn't mean simplicity. There are difficult concepts which can't be summarized clearly. If you've ever looked up existentialism in a dictionary you know what I mean."
"We live in Missouri, which is the empirical state. 'Show me, show me, show me'."
"Horses... are not easy to housebreak. And how many people would you let step on your foot who weigh 850 pounds?"
"From the perspective of grass, human beings are merely lackeys and pikemen in the war against trees... We are simply the instrument of grass, carrying out its evil plot to take over the world."
Jeney: "There's a line to be drawn between disliking babies, and discriminating against them."
Student: "We should make them use separate water fountains."
"Babies look like Winston Churchill to me. I didn't get the baby liking gene. But your friends will ostracize you if you hate babies. I still can't say the things like, 'Aww, she's so beautiful! She looks like her father." Because she looks like Winston Churchill. Or Gollum. Or a larvae. If I were to be brutally honest, I would say, "Ewww- I'm sorry you have one of those!""
"Don't you tell me you aren't going to be here on Tuesday! I'll go 'Lalalala, lalala'."
"...But use words like 'please', and 'my grade is at stake', and 'I have little children at home.'... Oh- and you should walk in on crutches. I'll loan you mine."
From the classroom of Dr. Okapal:
"Philosophers are just annoying little six year olds, with really big vocabularies. 'Why? Why? Why?'"
Okapal: "Actually, that's how I met my wife..."
Student: "Which one?"
Okapal: "You aren't cold, are you?"
Student: "Yes, I am."
Okapal: "It isn't cold, you know. People in St. Joseph are just wimps."
Student: "Oh, then I guess it must just be my subjective perceptions, which may or may not correspond to a reality that may or may not exist, which are signalling to me that I am cold?"
Okapal: "Your perceptions are wrong. I'm not cold at all."
"Clarity doesn't mean simplicity. There are difficult concepts which can't be summarized clearly. If you've ever looked up existentialism in a dictionary you know what I mean."
"We live in Missouri, which is the empirical state. 'Show me, show me, show me'."
"Horses... are not easy to housebreak. And how many people would you let step on your foot who weigh 850 pounds?"
"From the perspective of grass, human beings are merely lackeys and pikemen in the war against trees... We are simply the instrument of grass, carrying out its evil plot to take over the world."
Jeney: "There's a line to be drawn between disliking babies, and discriminating against them."
Student: "We should make them use separate water fountains."
"Babies look like Winston Churchill to me. I didn't get the baby liking gene. But your friends will ostracize you if you hate babies. I still can't say the things like, 'Aww, she's so beautiful! She looks like her father." Because she looks like Winston Churchill. Or Gollum. Or a larvae. If I were to be brutally honest, I would say, "Ewww- I'm sorry you have one of those!""
"Don't you tell me you aren't going to be here on Tuesday! I'll go 'Lalalala, lalala'."
"...But use words like 'please', and 'my grade is at stake', and 'I have little children at home.'... Oh- and you should walk in on crutches. I'll loan you mine."
From the classroom of Dr. Okapal:
"Philosophers are just annoying little six year olds, with really big vocabularies. 'Why? Why? Why?'"
Okapal: "Actually, that's how I met my wife..."
Student: "Which one?"
Okapal: "You aren't cold, are you?"
Student: "Yes, I am."
Okapal: "It isn't cold, you know. People in St. Joseph are just wimps."
Student: "Oh, then I guess it must just be my subjective perceptions, which may or may not correspond to a reality that may or may not exist, which are signalling to me that I am cold?"
Okapal: "Your perceptions are wrong. I'm not cold at all."
The Fear of Being 'Frost-bitten':
'O! That a man might know
The end of this day's business, ere it come;
But it sufficeth that the day will end,
And then the end is known.' -William Shakespeare
Lord, help me to be patient with those around me- to love the unlovely, and, even, to truly LOVE those whom I already 'love'. All of my attachments and affections seem poor things in the inexorable light of reality. I'm afraid that I've chased after too many soap bubbles, erected too many pedestals, and when, as now, I'm angry and dissatisfied with them, the blame rests with me- it's certainly not the fault of my unwilling heroes. Nothing's the way I expected it to be, and the whole world seems turned inside out tonight. In all honesty, I might as well admit that I'm frightened- that I'm facing the prospect of walking away from everything familiar all alone, with no steadying comrade, and quailing at the thought. I promised You that nothing was too great a sacrifice, that I was prepared to 'die before I came', and I meant it then, but just at this moment I'm terrified by the prospect of a lifetime of such isolation- of eternally sitting in silence, or playing the third wheel. Lord, I know living sacrifices must surely quiver on the altar at times? Teach me to continually lay it all down again, moment by moment. I think it was easier, feeling that I knew precisely what I wanted, and was giving it up with a grand gesture of renunciation than it is to realise with bewilderment that I haven't the faintest idea what I want- that, if all of the old dreams were to be untangled and brought to any sort of neat resolution, perhaps I would reject them, not out of sacrifice, but for my own sake. And it's hard not to look back to the simple, uncomplicated agony of resignation with passionate regret, because it was infinitely better than this limbo, and blind apprehension over the future. Yet, the Lamb who was slain is worthy, is He not? Surely I've no one but myself to blame if I go leaping from the Rock in pursuit of shining bubbles and pretty facades, and find it all as bitterly dissatisfying as emptiness always is? Miao Li's prayer, which I myself posted only days ago reproaches me:
"If my Savior be honored
More by my death than my life;
More in sickness than in health;...
More through loneliness than companionship;..."
"I must learn that the purpose of my life belongs to God, not me. God is using me from His great personal perspective, and all He asks of me is that I trust Him. I should never say, 'Lord, this causes me such heartache.' To talk that way makes me a stumbling block. When I stop telling God what I want, He can freely work His will in me without any hindrance. He can crush me, exalt me, or do anything else He chooses. He simply asks me to have absolute faith in Him and His goodness. Self pity is of the devil, and if I wallow in it I cannot be used by God for His purpose in the world. Doing this creates for me my own cozy "world within the world" and God will not be allowed to move me from it because of my fear of being 'frost-bitten'." -Oswald Chambers
The end of this day's business, ere it come;
But it sufficeth that the day will end,
And then the end is known.' -William Shakespeare
Lord, help me to be patient with those around me- to love the unlovely, and, even, to truly LOVE those whom I already 'love'. All of my attachments and affections seem poor things in the inexorable light of reality. I'm afraid that I've chased after too many soap bubbles, erected too many pedestals, and when, as now, I'm angry and dissatisfied with them, the blame rests with me- it's certainly not the fault of my unwilling heroes. Nothing's the way I expected it to be, and the whole world seems turned inside out tonight. In all honesty, I might as well admit that I'm frightened- that I'm facing the prospect of walking away from everything familiar all alone, with no steadying comrade, and quailing at the thought. I promised You that nothing was too great a sacrifice, that I was prepared to 'die before I came', and I meant it then, but just at this moment I'm terrified by the prospect of a lifetime of such isolation- of eternally sitting in silence, or playing the third wheel. Lord, I know living sacrifices must surely quiver on the altar at times? Teach me to continually lay it all down again, moment by moment. I think it was easier, feeling that I knew precisely what I wanted, and was giving it up with a grand gesture of renunciation than it is to realise with bewilderment that I haven't the faintest idea what I want- that, if all of the old dreams were to be untangled and brought to any sort of neat resolution, perhaps I would reject them, not out of sacrifice, but for my own sake. And it's hard not to look back to the simple, uncomplicated agony of resignation with passionate regret, because it was infinitely better than this limbo, and blind apprehension over the future. Yet, the Lamb who was slain is worthy, is He not? Surely I've no one but myself to blame if I go leaping from the Rock in pursuit of shining bubbles and pretty facades, and find it all as bitterly dissatisfying as emptiness always is? Miao Li's prayer, which I myself posted only days ago reproaches me:
"If my Savior be honored
More by my death than my life;
More in sickness than in health;...
More through loneliness than companionship;..."
"I must learn that the purpose of my life belongs to God, not me. God is using me from His great personal perspective, and all He asks of me is that I trust Him. I should never say, 'Lord, this causes me such heartache.' To talk that way makes me a stumbling block. When I stop telling God what I want, He can freely work His will in me without any hindrance. He can crush me, exalt me, or do anything else He chooses. He simply asks me to have absolute faith in Him and His goodness. Self pity is of the devil, and if I wallow in it I cannot be used by God for His purpose in the world. Doing this creates for me my own cozy "world within the world" and God will not be allowed to move me from it because of my fear of being 'frost-bitten'." -Oswald Chambers
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The Problem of Pain
Lord of the winding trail and trackless waste
Of pastures, and the forested expanse,
The dusk was riding- shadowy it paced,
A thousand questions gamboled at its heels,
A host of queries fluttered from its lance.
Maybe the dusk, the trees, the field, and I
Are pictures in Your mind- and nothing more
HAVE You a mind? Who are You Lord, and why
Knowing the desperate limits of my view
Should I dare question why? My God You are
Yourself- a Being dim, if known at all;
And 'I' -if here- a flicker, or a thought.
A thought that's fixed on You though- should it fall-
This shell I'm housing in, all which is You
Will keep all that is I- the rest is naught-
Of pastures, and the forested expanse,
The dusk was riding- shadowy it paced,
A thousand questions gamboled at its heels,
A host of queries fluttered from its lance.
Maybe the dusk, the trees, the field, and I
Are pictures in Your mind- and nothing more
HAVE You a mind? Who are You Lord, and why
Knowing the desperate limits of my view
Should I dare question why? My God You are
Yourself- a Being dim, if known at all;
And 'I' -if here- a flicker, or a thought.
A thought that's fixed on You though- should it fall-
This shell I'm housing in, all which is You
Will keep all that is I- the rest is naught-
Plea
Grant me the wideness of Your ways
Give me Your narrow law of Life
You are the object, and the praise
You are the carving, and the knife.
Further- You are yet more than those
You are the author whence all flows.
Grant me the broadness of Your heart
Give me the limits of Your grace.
Freedom and barrier impart-
Paradox placed within its place.
You who would set the captives free-
Beautiful jailer, capture me!
Firmly attached to ships must sails be
If they would guided by the gales be.
Give me Your narrow law of Life
You are the object, and the praise
You are the carving, and the knife.
Further- You are yet more than those
You are the author whence all flows.
Grant me the broadness of Your heart
Give me the limits of Your grace.
Freedom and barrier impart-
Paradox placed within its place.
You who would set the captives free-
Beautiful jailer, capture me!
Firmly attached to ships must sails be
If they would guided by the gales be.
Randomly IMing about French (as opposed to simply doing my homework)
5:42pmSharon
They keep telling me that due to the Norman invasion of England in 1066 (which, by the way, I am very passionate about) English and French have like 60% of everything in common (there's a fancy word for it that I can't remember) Apparently though, the French have a severe cultural (not congenital) speech impediment, which gradually evolved away once they crossed the channel- but their brothers left behind in Normandy were less fortunate, hence I have to suffer all of this frustration now.
5:43pmMelody
lol
5:43pmSharon
You seem to take this tragedy very lightly Melody
5:44pmMelody
yes. yes i do
5:44pmSharon
I might have expected as much.
5:45pmMelody
what is that supposed to imply?
5:46pmSharon
Think of the consternation when Sir Wilfred Lie-a-bed went home for the fifty year class reunion, and found that he couldn't understand a word his fellow squire of days gone by, Hairuid Stoneslinger was saying?
The tower of Babel pales in comparison
5:47pmMelody
LOL you are so funny
5:49pmSharon
And perhaps Hairuid was trying to explain that Lord Drizzlecask had died leaving him a fortune, but, in befuddlement, Wilfred thought he was offering him another tankard of ale... You have to FEEL these things, Melody, use your imagination- make history come alive! :-)
5:49pmMelody
my heart is breaking for them.
5:49pmSharon
I knew that given a little perspective you would begin to see things properly
Your tender heart does ye credit, lass.
5:51pmSharon
Twas a muckle sore thing, and the grief of it still rankles. What was the result of all this confusion? Wilfred and Hairuid's grandsons chopping each other to fragments at Waterloo, if not sooner! Little things add up.
5:52pmMelody
oh fun
5:52pmSharon
And all because the French can't spell, and consequently become desperately confused in their pronunciation. Honestly, where but in France would they assume that parles and parle should sound the same way? And where else would they try to write 'beautiful' and end up with beaux, and, looking it over say, 'ummm, I think it says 'bo'. Only, the e, the a, the u, and the x are silent. And the o is invisible. The French are entirely too enamoured of their own interpretation of dipthongs.
5:52pmMelody
lol
5:52pmSharon
Not to mention the dark day when some enterprising young grammarian came along and said: "No, simply to say 'beaux' would be misleading and cause complications! We must distinguish between the singular and the plural! I know- for singular nouns, we will drop the silent 'x' from the end of 'beaux' which we pronounce 'bo', and continue to pronounce it 'bo' in both cases. That way, no one will get confused!" Whoever he was, I hope he got a medal.
5:52pmSharon
I'm sorry. I become prone to impassioned monologues when I get tired. :-)
5:56pmMelody
lol
i enjoy them
5:56pmSharon
Which is one of many reasons we are friends! :-)
5:57pmMelody
yay!
6:01pmSharon
i know!
They keep telling me that due to the Norman invasion of England in 1066 (which, by the way, I am very passionate about) English and French have like 60% of everything in common (there's a fancy word for it that I can't remember) Apparently though, the French have a severe cultural (not congenital) speech impediment, which gradually evolved away once they crossed the channel- but their brothers left behind in Normandy were less fortunate, hence I have to suffer all of this frustration now.
5:43pmMelody
lol
5:43pmSharon
You seem to take this tragedy very lightly Melody
5:44pmMelody
yes. yes i do
5:44pmSharon
I might have expected as much.
5:45pmMelody
what is that supposed to imply?
5:46pmSharon
Think of the consternation when Sir Wilfred Lie-a-bed went home for the fifty year class reunion, and found that he couldn't understand a word his fellow squire of days gone by, Hairuid Stoneslinger was saying?
The tower of Babel pales in comparison
5:47pmMelody
LOL you are so funny
5:49pmSharon
And perhaps Hairuid was trying to explain that Lord Drizzlecask had died leaving him a fortune, but, in befuddlement, Wilfred thought he was offering him another tankard of ale... You have to FEEL these things, Melody, use your imagination- make history come alive! :-)
5:49pmMelody
my heart is breaking for them.
5:49pmSharon
I knew that given a little perspective you would begin to see things properly
Your tender heart does ye credit, lass.
5:51pmSharon
Twas a muckle sore thing, and the grief of it still rankles. What was the result of all this confusion? Wilfred and Hairuid's grandsons chopping each other to fragments at Waterloo, if not sooner! Little things add up.
5:52pmMelody
oh fun
5:52pmSharon
And all because the French can't spell, and consequently become desperately confused in their pronunciation. Honestly, where but in France would they assume that parles and parle should sound the same way? And where else would they try to write 'beautiful' and end up with beaux, and, looking it over say, 'ummm, I think it says 'bo'. Only, the e, the a, the u, and the x are silent. And the o is invisible. The French are entirely too enamoured of their own interpretation of dipthongs.
5:52pmMelody
lol
5:52pmSharon
Not to mention the dark day when some enterprising young grammarian came along and said: "No, simply to say 'beaux' would be misleading and cause complications! We must distinguish between the singular and the plural! I know- for singular nouns, we will drop the silent 'x' from the end of 'beaux' which we pronounce 'bo', and continue to pronounce it 'bo' in both cases. That way, no one will get confused!" Whoever he was, I hope he got a medal.
5:52pmSharon
I'm sorry. I become prone to impassioned monologues when I get tired. :-)
5:56pmMelody
lol
i enjoy them
5:56pmSharon
Which is one of many reasons we are friends! :-)
5:57pmMelody
yay!
6:01pmSharon
i know!
Monday, November 9, 2009
A Challenge from Miao Li:
The unconditional prayer of the utterly serious:
“Lord God, my singular ambition in life is to magnify your Son.
I don’t care how You fit me into Your plan.
You may spend me as You please.
I place no conditions on Your arrangements.
You say the terms of my service.
My only prayer is that You ordain for my life
Whatever will glorify Christ most through me.
If my Savior be honored
More by my death than my life;
More in sickness than in health;
More in poverty than in wealth;
More through loneliness than companionship;
More by the appearance of failure
than by the trappings of success;
more by anonymity than by notoriety,
then Your design is my desire.
Only let me make a difference! ” ~ Miao Li, visiting student, China
“Lord God, my singular ambition in life is to magnify your Son.
I don’t care how You fit me into Your plan.
You may spend me as You please.
I place no conditions on Your arrangements.
You say the terms of my service.
My only prayer is that You ordain for my life
Whatever will glorify Christ most through me.
If my Savior be honored
More by my death than my life;
More in sickness than in health;
More in poverty than in wealth;
More through loneliness than companionship;
More by the appearance of failure
than by the trappings of success;
more by anonymity than by notoriety,
then Your design is my desire.
Only let me make a difference! ” ~ Miao Li, visiting student, China
Another College Prayer:
O, guard me, Lord, from creeping doubt,
From questioning which sinks into
Recrimination- keep without
All thought which severs me from You.
Protect me, You, the Living Word
From the rebellious Dark which strove,
Crushing all sense of hope assured,
And cast its shadow over Love.
Father, the night is skulking nigh
To You I flee with faltering faith
You are the full and fair reply
Unto the snarling howls of death.
You are the fortress, and the Hill
Yours is the shield, the mighty arm
Perfect and flawless is Your will-
Shelter Your servant's soul from harm-
Shelter Your servant, grant relief;
Silence the shrieking chords of grief.
From questioning which sinks into
Recrimination- keep without
All thought which severs me from You.
Protect me, You, the Living Word
From the rebellious Dark which strove,
Crushing all sense of hope assured,
And cast its shadow over Love.
Father, the night is skulking nigh
To You I flee with faltering faith
You are the full and fair reply
Unto the snarling howls of death.
You are the fortress, and the Hill
Yours is the shield, the mighty arm
Perfect and flawless is Your will-
Shelter Your servant's soul from harm-
Shelter Your servant, grant relief;
Silence the shrieking chords of grief.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
September 25 in 'My Utmost for His Highest'
'Jesus Christ demands that His disciple does not allow even the slightest trace of resentment in his heart when faced with tyranny and injustice. No amount of enthusiasm will ever stand up to the strain that Jesus Christ will put upon His servant. Only one thing will bear the strain, and that is a personal relationship with Jesus Christ Himself- a relationship that has been examined, purified, and tested until only one purpose remains and I can truly say, "I am here for God to send me where He will." Everything else may become blurred, but this relationship with Jesus Christ must never be.... We are drawn to God by a work of His supernatural grace, and we can never trace back to find where the work began. Our Lord's making of a disciple is supernatural. He does not build on any natural capacity of ours at all. God does not ask us to do the things that are naturally easy for us- He only asks us to do the things that we are perfectly fit to do through His grace, and that is where the cross we must bear will always come.' -Oswald Chambers
A College Song:
Out of my weakness, and my woe
Out of my sinfulness and shame
Out of my bitter overflow
He has engaged to lift His Name.
Out of my sullenness and pride
Out of my eagerness to blame
He who was born and crucified
Plans to bring beauty, all the same
How can He claim a foolish thing?
Take it, and overwhelm the wise?
Faced with my scanty offering,
I can but say, "Not I, but CHRIST!"
For from a harsh and lawless tongue
He has ordained that praise be sung!
Out of my sinfulness and shame
Out of my bitter overflow
He has engaged to lift His Name.
Out of my sullenness and pride
Out of my eagerness to blame
He who was born and crucified
Plans to bring beauty, all the same
How can He claim a foolish thing?
Take it, and overwhelm the wise?
Faced with my scanty offering,
I can but say, "Not I, but CHRIST!"
For from a harsh and lawless tongue
He has ordained that praise be sung!
Saturday, November 7, 2009
A College Prayer:
By faltering spirit bound, O Lord,
By a stony heart, and a wandering tongue
Yet let Thy grace surround, O Lord
The darkened souls I live among.
O let Thy grace transcend, my Lord
All the unloveliness I bring
And let in me be found, O Lord
The mercy of the risen King.
The mercy of the King Who chose,
And cherished the unappealing ill
Who robbed from death its sting, and rose,
And aims to bring to death my will-
All purposes of mine, O Lord
Which scheme to rear themselves above
The path which must fulfill, O Lord
The glory of Your Sovereign love.
For He who snatched the pain from pain
Can bring of one death joy again!
By a stony heart, and a wandering tongue
Yet let Thy grace surround, O Lord
The darkened souls I live among.
O let Thy grace transcend, my Lord
All the unloveliness I bring
And let in me be found, O Lord
The mercy of the risen King.
The mercy of the King Who chose,
And cherished the unappealing ill
Who robbed from death its sting, and rose,
And aims to bring to death my will-
All purposes of mine, O Lord
Which scheme to rear themselves above
The path which must fulfill, O Lord
The glory of Your Sovereign love.
For He who snatched the pain from pain
Can bring of one death joy again!
Friday, November 6, 2009
May 19 in 'My Utmost for His Highest
'"Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?" (Romans 8: 35)
God does not not keep His child immune from trouble; He promises, 'I will be with him in trouble...' (Psalm 19:15) It doesn't matter how real or intense the adversities may be; nothing can ever separate him from his relationship to God. "In all these things we are more than conquerors..." (Romans 8:37) Paul was not referring here to imaginary things, but to things that are dangerously real. And he said we are 'super-victors' in the midst of them, not because of our own ingenuity, nor because of our courage, but because none of them affects our essential relationship with God in Jesus Christ. I feel sorry for the Christian who doesn't have something in the circumstances of his life that he wishes were not there.
'Shall tribulation...?' Tribulation is never a grand, highly welcomed event; but whatever it may be- whether exhausting, irritating, or simply causing some weakness- it is not able to 'separate us from the love of Christ.' Never allow tribulations or the 'cares of this world' to separate you from remembering that God loves you. (Matthew 13:22)
'Shall...distress...?' Can God's love continue to hold fast, even when everyone and everything around us seems to be saying that His love is a lie, and that there is no such thing as justice?
'Shall...famine...?' Can we not only believe in the love of God but also be 'more than conquerors', even while we are being starved?
Either Jesus Christ is a deceiver, having deceived even Paul, or else some extraordinary thing happens to someone who holds on to the love of God when the odds are totally against him. Logic is silenced in the face of each of these things which come against him. Only one thing can account for it- the love of God in Christ Jesus. 'Out of the wreck I rise' every time. ~Oswald Chambers
God does not not keep His child immune from trouble; He promises, 'I will be with him in trouble...' (Psalm 19:15) It doesn't matter how real or intense the adversities may be; nothing can ever separate him from his relationship to God. "In all these things we are more than conquerors..." (Romans 8:37) Paul was not referring here to imaginary things, but to things that are dangerously real. And he said we are 'super-victors' in the midst of them, not because of our own ingenuity, nor because of our courage, but because none of them affects our essential relationship with God in Jesus Christ. I feel sorry for the Christian who doesn't have something in the circumstances of his life that he wishes were not there.
'Shall tribulation...?' Tribulation is never a grand, highly welcomed event; but whatever it may be- whether exhausting, irritating, or simply causing some weakness- it is not able to 'separate us from the love of Christ.' Never allow tribulations or the 'cares of this world' to separate you from remembering that God loves you. (Matthew 13:22)
'Shall...distress...?' Can God's love continue to hold fast, even when everyone and everything around us seems to be saying that His love is a lie, and that there is no such thing as justice?
'Shall...famine...?' Can we not only believe in the love of God but also be 'more than conquerors', even while we are being starved?
Either Jesus Christ is a deceiver, having deceived even Paul, or else some extraordinary thing happens to someone who holds on to the love of God when the odds are totally against him. Logic is silenced in the face of each of these things which come against him. Only one thing can account for it- the love of God in Christ Jesus. 'Out of the wreck I rise' every time. ~Oswald Chambers
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Dohnavur Song # 2
The shadows of the underworld
Compassed about my guilty soul,
And thunderbolts were on me hurled,
And lightnings flashed; and on a scroll
Was written down, without, within,
The secret of my hidden sin.
Without, within, I saw it stand,
In clearest words accusing me;
Till, as it were a wounded hand
Annulled its record, set me free;
With that the stormy wind did cease;
A voice commanded; there was peace.
O Savior stricken for my sin,
O God who gavest Him to grief,
O Spirit who didst woo and win
My troubled soul to seek relief,
O Love revealed at Calvary
Thy glory lights eternity.' ~ Amy Carmichael
Compassed about my guilty soul,
And thunderbolts were on me hurled,
And lightnings flashed; and on a scroll
Was written down, without, within,
The secret of my hidden sin.
Without, within, I saw it stand,
In clearest words accusing me;
Till, as it were a wounded hand
Annulled its record, set me free;
With that the stormy wind did cease;
A voice commanded; there was peace.
O Savior stricken for my sin,
O God who gavest Him to grief,
O Spirit who didst woo and win
My troubled soul to seek relief,
O Love revealed at Calvary
Thy glory lights eternity.' ~ Amy Carmichael
Late Night Theodicy in Free Verse
The tide came shifting
Water and reeds, reeds and sands
And paths to shore all vanished or looked alike.
The tide came sucking
There rose the weary stench of wasted lands
And reeds which broke, which pierced the desperate leaner-
The hands which longed to rest from reaching out.
The tide came rising
And dim waters eddied- My foot vanished,
Gleamed white, was obscured.
Was torn by shells, but staggered forward.
The sand was tugging
Only the urgency of the dragging nightmare-
Nearly to my knees now.
And desolation of grey skies.
Gulls cry somewhere. A pelican makes a ponderous dive
Farther out. Bobbing on sulky swells
On treacherous depths.
I halt between the insistent sands, the lurking waters, the sullen day.
A breeze came ruffling. Danced shyly through the reeds.
Remembered, reaching me, that breezes here
Are nothing but the breaths
Of faltering souls-
Became a spray of salt.
It seemed, there was the day-
A lone expanse.
The sand, the day, and I, and no escape.
Nothing ahead for me but stormy depths,
And nothing behind which tides had not erased.
The mocking slap, breath, slap of lapping water;
Nothing to trust in all the waiting marsh.
One looks for solid ground.
One wants to say, 'A dry spot- here I stand!'
To scrub away the blackness of the swamps.
To step beyond the clawing shades of mangroves.
Shelter from sudden rains.
Footing against the dark uncertain waters.
And yet, for me, none came.
Only a lone bird sobbed.
I fought for ground- sank deeper-
The sands have langorous arms, but grips of steel...
Then somewhere, through the fog, a whisper came-
A voice cut through the wilderness- but WHAT?
Could He ask THAT of me? Please understand-
I couldn't hold what little ground I had-
To GIVE?
To give ground up? How foolish!
All the same,
The voice insisted- what had I to lose?
And what to gain?
So, cautiously I knelt.
The sibilant waters caught with eager hands-
My skirt- its floating hem, my waist- it seemed
They'd grapple at my throat- I staggered up
More prisoned than before, and drenched besides.
"Lord, something else! That way-
It MUST be wrong! It must!
You mean, there is no other? Only this?"
The tides come rising.
Gargoyle faces mock me from the reeds.
The currents hiss.
Can I concede?
Can I accept the clutching of these sands?
The taunting of this water?
The flogging of those waves?
Perhaps I have my rights, and could demand
Answers and proof and evidence- but no.
He won't give that.
There is Himself and me-
Before us both,
The choice:
Obedience, or not.
I knelt again.
The water seemed less cold, the marsh less foul.
The trick was to relax.
There comes a point when no one tells you why.
To know- to know He IS must be enough.
The sands still tugged
And still I sank.
Almost, the wind forgot to grieve, and stayed to mock.
"Where has He brought you now?
Why languish on the altar of His choice?
Child, who will ever know?
He's one who gives so little, asks so much-
And what have you to show
For all your pains?"
I could have tried to tell them all He gave- that altars have their joys-
But I replied:
One had to cast one's life upon the waters at His call
To be buoyed up.
It wasn't mine to choose
The contents of the cup
But, drink, or to refuse.
The breeze subsides.
I find at last, the bitter, bitter waves
Are His embrace-
Are salted by His tears-
The dragging day
Is tender with His touch
And my weak hands
Are warm within His hands-
His poor hands crushed- and crushed for me!
It has to be enough.
An answer for surrender, and descent.
For all the bones in all the mournful deep.
No other answer comes- I am content.
The tide came shifting
Water and reeds, reeds and sands
And paths to shore all vanished or looked alike.
The tide came sucking
There rose the weary stench of wasted lands
And reeds which broke, which pierced the desperate leaner-
The hands which longed to rest from reaching out.
Be still and know.
Water and reeds, reeds and sands
And paths to shore all vanished or looked alike.
The tide came sucking
There rose the weary stench of wasted lands
And reeds which broke, which pierced the desperate leaner-
The hands which longed to rest from reaching out.
The tide came rising
And dim waters eddied- My foot vanished,
Gleamed white, was obscured.
Was torn by shells, but staggered forward.
The sand was tugging
Only the urgency of the dragging nightmare-
Nearly to my knees now.
And desolation of grey skies.
Gulls cry somewhere. A pelican makes a ponderous dive
Farther out. Bobbing on sulky swells
On treacherous depths.
I halt between the insistent sands, the lurking waters, the sullen day.
A breeze came ruffling. Danced shyly through the reeds.
Remembered, reaching me, that breezes here
Are nothing but the breaths
Of faltering souls-
Became a spray of salt.
It seemed, there was the day-
A lone expanse.
The sand, the day, and I, and no escape.
Nothing ahead for me but stormy depths,
And nothing behind which tides had not erased.
The mocking slap, breath, slap of lapping water;
Nothing to trust in all the waiting marsh.
One looks for solid ground.
One wants to say, 'A dry spot- here I stand!'
To scrub away the blackness of the swamps.
To step beyond the clawing shades of mangroves.
Shelter from sudden rains.
Footing against the dark uncertain waters.
And yet, for me, none came.
Only a lone bird sobbed.
I fought for ground- sank deeper-
The sands have langorous arms, but grips of steel...
Then somewhere, through the fog, a whisper came-
A voice cut through the wilderness- but WHAT?
Could He ask THAT of me? Please understand-
I couldn't hold what little ground I had-
To GIVE?
To give ground up? How foolish!
All the same,
The voice insisted- what had I to lose?
And what to gain?
So, cautiously I knelt.
The sibilant waters caught with eager hands-
My skirt- its floating hem, my waist- it seemed
They'd grapple at my throat- I staggered up
More prisoned than before, and drenched besides.
"Lord, something else! That way-
It MUST be wrong! It must!
You mean, there is no other? Only this?"
The tides come rising.
Gargoyle faces mock me from the reeds.
The currents hiss.
Can I concede?
Can I accept the clutching of these sands?
The taunting of this water?
The flogging of those waves?
Perhaps I have my rights, and could demand
Answers and proof and evidence- but no.
He won't give that.
There is Himself and me-
Before us both,
The choice:
Obedience, or not.
I knelt again.
The water seemed less cold, the marsh less foul.
The trick was to relax.
There comes a point when no one tells you why.
To know- to know He IS must be enough.
The sands still tugged
And still I sank.
Almost, the wind forgot to grieve, and stayed to mock.
"Where has He brought you now?
Why languish on the altar of His choice?
Child, who will ever know?
He's one who gives so little, asks so much-
And what have you to show
For all your pains?"
I could have tried to tell them all He gave- that altars have their joys-
But I replied:
One had to cast one's life upon the waters at His call
To be buoyed up.
It wasn't mine to choose
The contents of the cup
But, drink, or to refuse.
The breeze subsides.
I find at last, the bitter, bitter waves
Are His embrace-
Are salted by His tears-
The dragging day
Is tender with His touch
And my weak hands
Are warm within His hands-
His poor hands crushed- and crushed for me!
It has to be enough.
An answer for surrender, and descent.
For all the bones in all the mournful deep.
No other answer comes- I am content.
The tide came shifting
Water and reeds, reeds and sands
And paths to shore all vanished or looked alike.
The tide came sucking
There rose the weary stench of wasted lands
And reeds which broke, which pierced the desperate leaner-
The hands which longed to rest from reaching out.
Be still and know.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Beginnings
Two miserable girls in a drab dorm room, each brooding on her harsh lot, each huddled on her own side of their insurmountable, and yet insufficient partition. And yet, one of them is stumbling through inscrutable darkness, lashing out at the Pathgiver, the Lightgiver, the One who is the way. One of them is sinking under the burden of her offenses, under the terror and grief of a broken home, a shattered family, and a heart hardened by abandonment. Under a vicious
cycle of exploitation and abuse. You could call her annoying, self-centered, inconsiderate, ponder for hours over the million nit-picky little things people are so good at doing to annoy those with whom they live from day to day. You could tell your side of the story- tell it with passion and conviction, and a deep sense of grievance. And maybe you'd be 'right'. But that's too simple.
It isn't a clear cut case of the 'good girl', and the 'bad girl'- the 'sinner' and the 'saint'. It isn't 'us' against 'them'. It's we. Because the saint is a sinner as well. I don't know everything she's thought, or said, or done. I'd probably be horrified if I did. But my life, looked at with that degree of perception, wouldn't be much prettier. People have DIFFERENT weaknesses- but they can never honestly claim to be WITHOUT weaknesses. Our pastor a few weeks ago said. "If you knew me, knew me as I really am- every thought that crosses my mind, every weakness in my character, you would despise me- and given the same knowledge, I would probably feel the same way about you. But Jesus Christ loves us both."
There is only one substantial difference between the sinner and the saint, between the two girls struggling in this chilly little room. One of them, as absolutely foul and rotten as she is, has been drawn into the stern, tender embrace of God in the flesh- of the Almighty Creator who came, and who died. The other is still resisting. But it doesn't have to stay that way. Can the daughter of the King lay aside her 'rights', knowing it might mean freedom for the the one whose life He has, at least temporarily linked to hers? Is she willing to consider the soul of one who could almost be considered an enemy from the human standpoint as more important than her own desire to sleep when she pleases, or study in peace, or leave the windows open on warm days? Can she take unjust criticism with humility- and even have the humility to recognize that the criticism may not be so unjust? That she may not be the ideal roomate she likes to think herself? Is she willing to give up her self righteousness, her tastes, her preferences, her time? Can she do it joyfully? Will she yield her self- pity, her frustration, her fears up to Him? Will she keep loving, even when there's no response? Will she keep loving when the response is hostile? Will she place a guard on her tongue? Will she pray when she'd rather explode? Will she do all of this without any smugness or false sense of virtue?
I'm not sure. The girl I've always known her to be could never manage it. The girl I am has not the faintest idea of what it might mean to TRULY empty herself that way. She's too weak, too lazy, too prideful, too self-centered, too eager to justify herself at the expense of others, to avoid unpleasant situations. She hardly knows where to begin. But maybe it's not up to that girl at all. I can't claim any 'moral superiority'- but my Lord can. I can't stand in judgment, or even discern my roomate's needs, but He is passionately aware of every hair on her head. I can't soothe her through her hurts and hearbreaks- I can't fix even one corner of her poor broken life. But He can change her heart. Am I willing to surrender us both to Him? It won't be easy. It won't be comfortable. It won't happen right away. And yet, there's something new which I've become in Him. Something beautiful which He may yet become in her. Something exciting ahead for us all. Do I dare? He has dared it all for me already, and conquered defeat. What's to lose?
cycle of exploitation and abuse. You could call her annoying, self-centered, inconsiderate, ponder for hours over the million nit-picky little things people are so good at doing to annoy those with whom they live from day to day. You could tell your side of the story- tell it with passion and conviction, and a deep sense of grievance. And maybe you'd be 'right'. But that's too simple.
It isn't a clear cut case of the 'good girl', and the 'bad girl'- the 'sinner' and the 'saint'. It isn't 'us' against 'them'. It's we. Because the saint is a sinner as well. I don't know everything she's thought, or said, or done. I'd probably be horrified if I did. But my life, looked at with that degree of perception, wouldn't be much prettier. People have DIFFERENT weaknesses- but they can never honestly claim to be WITHOUT weaknesses. Our pastor a few weeks ago said. "If you knew me, knew me as I really am- every thought that crosses my mind, every weakness in my character, you would despise me- and given the same knowledge, I would probably feel the same way about you. But Jesus Christ loves us both."
There is only one substantial difference between the sinner and the saint, between the two girls struggling in this chilly little room. One of them, as absolutely foul and rotten as she is, has been drawn into the stern, tender embrace of God in the flesh- of the Almighty Creator who came, and who died. The other is still resisting. But it doesn't have to stay that way. Can the daughter of the King lay aside her 'rights', knowing it might mean freedom for the the one whose life He has, at least temporarily linked to hers? Is she willing to consider the soul of one who could almost be considered an enemy from the human standpoint as more important than her own desire to sleep when she pleases, or study in peace, or leave the windows open on warm days? Can she take unjust criticism with humility- and even have the humility to recognize that the criticism may not be so unjust? That she may not be the ideal roomate she likes to think herself? Is she willing to give up her self righteousness, her tastes, her preferences, her time? Can she do it joyfully? Will she yield her self- pity, her frustration, her fears up to Him? Will she keep loving, even when there's no response? Will she keep loving when the response is hostile? Will she place a guard on her tongue? Will she pray when she'd rather explode? Will she do all of this without any smugness or false sense of virtue?
I'm not sure. The girl I've always known her to be could never manage it. The girl I am has not the faintest idea of what it might mean to TRULY empty herself that way. She's too weak, too lazy, too prideful, too self-centered, too eager to justify herself at the expense of others, to avoid unpleasant situations. She hardly knows where to begin. But maybe it's not up to that girl at all. I can't claim any 'moral superiority'- but my Lord can. I can't stand in judgment, or even discern my roomate's needs, but He is passionately aware of every hair on her head. I can't soothe her through her hurts and hearbreaks- I can't fix even one corner of her poor broken life. But He can change her heart. Am I willing to surrender us both to Him? It won't be easy. It won't be comfortable. It won't happen right away. And yet, there's something new which I've become in Him. Something beautiful which He may yet become in her. Something exciting ahead for us all. Do I dare? He has dared it all for me already, and conquered defeat. What's to lose?
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Going On With Jesus
It's hard to say what's been most challenging about my first semester of college. Probably dealing with people is hardest- that and keeping up with assignments. When your time is tight, it's harder to unwind, regroup, marshal your forces for the next assault. Instead of going 'from strength to strength' one is quickly tempted to go 'from collapse to collapse'
At first, everything was one glorious adventure- meeting new people, finding my way around, diving into my classes... but it didn't stay that way. After the first five or six weeks things crashed into a nightmare of constant tension and 'sameness'. P.G. Wodehouse said that 'Routine is death to heroism', and it seems that he was right. My focus flew out the window. My roomate showed up four weeks into the semester, and suddenly what little privacy I'd been able to maintain was gone. So, I fled to the field behind the dorm to read and study, and had a refuge... until the weather became wet, and bitterly cold. It quickly became clear that the multitudes of relationships I'd initiated were not going to become close friendships, and so, I began to feel desperately isolated and lonely as well. I stayed in contact with a precious handful of friends from high school... but physical distance inevitably creates a certain level of emotional distance. At first, I'd try to tell them everything... then everything turned into 'Oh, uh, nothing much. I'm fine.' Some of the more sensational stories would end up coming out. But the hard stuff, the day to day stuff, the quiet heartbreaks- those get glossed over. After a while, you feel guilty about complaining. And you wonder- do they really understand? Any of it? They aren't here- have never heard the bells pealing out across campus on the hour, seen the scarlet maple leaves glowing like fire in the rain against the drenched bricks of Juda Hall, or the wide sunlit field, tousled with wheat straw like white gold, the roughly turned earth, tumbled blue skies, a lacy border of deciduous trees and deep green groves of cedars, smelled the warm greasy haze which lingers around the Blum Union, or the repulsive fishy stench of the hundreds of earthworms which flee the sodden grass only to drown on the flooded sidewalks, and be deliberately trampled by frat boys. And they can't really enter into the moment by moment battle to love unloveable roomates, suitemates, and fellow students- not that they aren't having similar, maybe even more difficult troubles of their own- but yours are different. The communication breaks down from both sides. After a while you feel suffocated, stifled, by the constant profanity, lewdness, rebelliousness... it seems almost natural and normal, but still leaves you feeling violated and queasy. I still struggle not to protest that I 'shouldn't have to deal with all of that'- that I have a 'right' to be sheltered. But, of course, that's nonsense. Oswald Chambers wrote: "...watch when God changes your circumstances to see whether you are going on with Jesus, or siding with the world, the flesh, and the devil. We wear His name, but are we going on with Him?... The temptations of Jesus continued throughout His earthly life, and they will continue through the life of the Son of God in us. Are we going on with Jesus in the life we are living right now? We have the idea that we ought to shield ourselves from some of the things God brings around us. Jesus Christ's honor is at stake in our bodily lives. Are we remaining faithful to the Son of God in everything that attacks His life in us? Are you going on with Jesus? The way goes through Gethsemane, through the city gate and on 'outside the camp' (Hebrews 13:13) The way is lonely and goes on until there is no longer even a trace of a footprint to follow- but only the voice saying. 'Follow Me.' "
At first, everything was one glorious adventure- meeting new people, finding my way around, diving into my classes... but it didn't stay that way. After the first five or six weeks things crashed into a nightmare of constant tension and 'sameness'. P.G. Wodehouse said that 'Routine is death to heroism', and it seems that he was right. My focus flew out the window. My roomate showed up four weeks into the semester, and suddenly what little privacy I'd been able to maintain was gone. So, I fled to the field behind the dorm to read and study, and had a refuge... until the weather became wet, and bitterly cold. It quickly became clear that the multitudes of relationships I'd initiated were not going to become close friendships, and so, I began to feel desperately isolated and lonely as well. I stayed in contact with a precious handful of friends from high school... but physical distance inevitably creates a certain level of emotional distance. At first, I'd try to tell them everything... then everything turned into 'Oh, uh, nothing much. I'm fine.' Some of the more sensational stories would end up coming out. But the hard stuff, the day to day stuff, the quiet heartbreaks- those get glossed over. After a while, you feel guilty about complaining. And you wonder- do they really understand? Any of it? They aren't here- have never heard the bells pealing out across campus on the hour, seen the scarlet maple leaves glowing like fire in the rain against the drenched bricks of Juda Hall, or the wide sunlit field, tousled with wheat straw like white gold, the roughly turned earth, tumbled blue skies, a lacy border of deciduous trees and deep green groves of cedars, smelled the warm greasy haze which lingers around the Blum Union, or the repulsive fishy stench of the hundreds of earthworms which flee the sodden grass only to drown on the flooded sidewalks, and be deliberately trampled by frat boys. And they can't really enter into the moment by moment battle to love unloveable roomates, suitemates, and fellow students- not that they aren't having similar, maybe even more difficult troubles of their own- but yours are different. The communication breaks down from both sides. After a while you feel suffocated, stifled, by the constant profanity, lewdness, rebelliousness... it seems almost natural and normal, but still leaves you feeling violated and queasy. I still struggle not to protest that I 'shouldn't have to deal with all of that'- that I have a 'right' to be sheltered. But, of course, that's nonsense. Oswald Chambers wrote: "...watch when God changes your circumstances to see whether you are going on with Jesus, or siding with the world, the flesh, and the devil. We wear His name, but are we going on with Him?... The temptations of Jesus continued throughout His earthly life, and they will continue through the life of the Son of God in us. Are we going on with Jesus in the life we are living right now? We have the idea that we ought to shield ourselves from some of the things God brings around us. Jesus Christ's honor is at stake in our bodily lives. Are we remaining faithful to the Son of God in everything that attacks His life in us? Are you going on with Jesus? The way goes through Gethsemane, through the city gate and on 'outside the camp' (Hebrews 13:13) The way is lonely and goes on until there is no longer even a trace of a footprint to follow- but only the voice saying. 'Follow Me.' "
Love (III)
Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
'A guest', I answered, 'worthy to be here.'
Love said, 'You shall be he'.
'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on Thee.'
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
'Who made the eyes but I?'
'Truth Lord, but I have marred them;
Let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.'
'And know you not,' says Love, 'Who bore the blame?'
'My dear, then I will serve'
'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'
So I did sit and eat.
~George Herbert
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
'A guest', I answered, 'worthy to be here.'
Love said, 'You shall be he'.
'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on Thee.'
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
'Who made the eyes but I?'
'Truth Lord, but I have marred them;
Let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.'
'And know you not,' says Love, 'Who bore the blame?'
'My dear, then I will serve'
'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'
So I did sit and eat.
~George Herbert
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