“It is finished.”
Thank God.
All’s quiet,
anxiety subsided;
Life finally makes
sense.
The sun is far gone,
here the cloak unfurled.
Silence–
Stillness–
Kind of peaceful
in a way.
Maybe it was true,
maybe it wasn’t.
Guess is doesn’t
matter anymore.
Now we can all go
back to Babylon.
The dream is
over.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.
– from “How To Be a Poet” by Wendell Berry
I read this piece a couple of weeks ago and haven’t been able to get these lines out of my head. A few thoughts.
Berry captures a truth here that artists know instinctively. Inspiration, beauty, goodness, truth can be found anywhere if you know where or how to look. Artists have a unique gift of sensitivity. They sense the longings of the heart, the cries of the soul, the profound joys and deep miseries. They have been blessed (maybe cursed) with the eyes to see and the ears to hear.
Most of us miss it though. We skim along the surface barely getting wet. Artists dive in and come back up with a treasure. That’s not to say that non-artists are dull and shallow; they just miss things, often important things. It’s in the minuscule and mundane that the deep things of life often show forth. In the beat of a baby’s heart, the flit of an eyelid, an offhand slip of the tongue–something is revealed. The artist says, “Wait. Look and see.”
A kind of magic happens when something is seen for what it really is, and artists can’t help but show us what they’ve seen. The colors and textures, rhythms and harmonies, angles and aspects–they come to life. The trueness comes through. A sacredness even. Even as they squint through the dirty glass and even as they may stammer in the telling, they’ve captured something. Or maybe it’s captured them.
Artists, then, are truth-tellers. Whether they write or paint, sculpt or serenade–whatever their medium–they are truth-telling. They shed light where they have it. They catch a scrap, some grain of truth and wrestle with it. They work it over and over until it begins to shine a little. It may take just a few minutes or a whole lifetime; but that truth, that little beauty, that shade of goodness must–it must be shone to the world.
I reflect on Berry’s words as a writer myself and someone who cares very much about truth beauty, goodness, light–all manner of God really. I don’t think you can deal with these things and not bump into God, even if you don’t ever realize it as such.
I guess this is a different way of repeating the axiom “all truth is God’s truth” but have expanded it to include things like beauty and goodness. It’s all God’s, and he’s deeply involved.
I want to encourage us to have ears to hear and eyes to see wherever God may be working. And taking Jesus as our model, it’s often in unlikely places. May we be witnesses and truth-tellers (they are the same after all) in a world of fantasy and confusion.
“All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence you know.” – Ernest Hemingway
Below is a brief piece based on a sermon I preached this past Sunday at Trinity Baptist Church in Benson:
In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep, and the Spirit of God hovered over the face of the waters. Gen. 1:1-2
Even if we don’t talk about it much, we all know that darkness and chaos are here with us. None of us need to be convinced. No apologetic necessary. We know what that’s all about. We grieve.
But his spirit is already out ahead of us, already dealing with what lies ahead.
Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. Ps. 119:105
God’s law, his decrees, his Word illumines our way. He has shown the way and gone the way. He has dealt with it and directed it.
God is before us tackling the unknown and unseen. We humbly walk by the light of his Word. Often that light isn’t very bright, for our vision is far too blurry, our eyes too dim.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. Prov. 3:5-6
Trust in the one who has gone ahead, who is already at work. He is the one who is constantly calling us forward.
We will stumble. We will fall. But we must not remain still, at least not still too long.
Trust that he is before us, the one who is creating and fashioning life out of the unknown chaos ahead.
So much of our present day, modern, American Christianity is built on principles and ideals that are antithetical to the gospel. So much of what we do is simply un-Christian. Another way of saying this: we have missed the mark in following Jesus.
How so? We idolize more.
We build bigger buildings. We accumulate degrees. We count “new believers” and take “mission” trips (read: numbers games). We are obsessed with growth, with success. We adopt to the newest innovations in social media and slick marketing. We attend megachurches with the eloquent and engaging speakers. We try to look like edgy, cool, and relevant. We create nifty blogs and intuitive websites. We listen to the popular personalities and read all of their bestselling books. We go to the biggest conferences and play the latest chart topping tunes. We watch their television shows and play their radio networks. We heap these things up on our big pile of Christian accolades.
We want more. Better. Newer. Faster. It’s the American way.
But I think we were meant for less.
Less glitz and glam. Less popularity and political platforms. Less branding and marketing. Less cool and relevant.
Less, less, less.
(Required Disclaimer: Now I have to come back and state the obvious. None of these things are bad in and of themselves. In fact, they are wonderful tools in their own right. But let’s be honest, Church. We have a problem with more.)
I heard a little story from pastor and author Eugene Peterson. In his earliest days of ministry, he successfully planted a church and grew it. Upon the completion of the needed new church building, things seemed pretty good. But an odd thing happened. About six months later the regular attendance dropped. He sought out the absent members inquiring about the matter. They basically told him they were proud of what they accomplished: who would have thought a bunch of nobodies like them could ever do something great like that? Now that everything was done, they didn’t want the responsibility of regular attendance. They had hobbies and vacations to get back to.
A troubled Peterson petitioned advice from a mentor. The verdict: start a new building campaign! Peterson was shocked and confused. They didn’t need a new building; they had just finished one after all, and it suited their needs. The advisor explained that his congregation was full of good ole’ fashioned Americans: all they know is setting goals, getting things done, building, and growing. In short, all they know is more. Build a new building, they’ll come. Peterson didn’t follow this advice. Instead he got busy learning how to really pastor a people.
Following Jesus is slow, unglamorous work. It’s often boring and uneventful (though not always), kind of like washing the dishes or cutting the lawn. It’s not sexy and doesn’t make the news.
But this is the thing that we are called to. Faithfulness to Christ.
We were meant for so much less. Which ironically is more (Now cue the Switchfoot song). So much more.
People are reflective this time of year. As a reflective type myself, it intrigues me when others feel the urge to slow down, dig deep, and ponder life. For some this amounts to daydreaming while others stop and really take stock of life.
I see lots of jubilation over the milestones and achievements of the previous year (graduation, moving, new job, engagement/marriage, new house/apartment). Some are disappointed and frustrated over failures or missed opportunities. Others express sorrow over love ones lost. Lots to think about. Reading through the social media feeds it’s clear that most people are simply thankful for life itself.
The possibility of a new day and a new year is refreshing. The slate is clean, the page turned, opportunities ripe for the picking. These reflections lead us to one thing: resolutions.
I won’t let today won’t be like the last. This year will be different, the best yet. The old me is in the rearview mirror, and I’m moving on. Jaw set, face to the wind, we strike out to change the world. One resolution at a time.
But I wonder about these resolutions. I’ve lived just long enough to know that most of my resolutions amount to little more than wishful thinking. Resolutions seem like cheap cookware. After a couple of uses, they’re useless.
Now I’m not being critical of resolutions. I’ve known people to keep them; I’ve got a few goals myself. And it was through that process of thoughtful reflection that spurred most of these resolutions in the first place. So I’m not cynical of the New Year resolution; just a little skeptical.
What if we could dig a little deeper than resolutions? What if we could get behind them to something better, more enduring? What would a changed/improved life look like?
On a different note, have any of your New Year’s resolutions stuck?
Wherever you are, all is not lost. The year is still young!
I hope you’ve all had a Happy New Year. I’m back, and like many other writers I’m trying to write more. It’s a new year and all that jazz.
To be honest, this past year has been rough for me. Not cowering-under-the-bed-in-utter-terror-of-the-fireworks-exploding rough (my poor dog Sadie ringing in the New Year) but tough enough. By the grace of God (literally), I made it through. Got high hopes for 2014.
As far as goals go, regular writing is up there on my list. I’m setting the bar pretty low on this one though at once a week. I’ve read that if you want to stick with a habit you need to start off easy; so easy, in fact, that it’s virtually impossible not to do it. So that’s my goal. I hope it goes well.
Got any goals or plans for 2014?
Lately I’ve been considering the nature of prayer. What does it actually mean “to pray”? How does it work? How is prayer different from meditation? How is prayer different for other people? What happens when God doesn’t answer? etc., etc., etc. A lot of stuff to chew on. In light of that I wanted to do a few posts related to prayer.
To get us rolling, I’m sharing a question from a friend’s post:
“Christians aren’t very good at questioning God. If we are in a covenant relationship with him, then shouldn’t we have a argument with him once and a while?”- a paraphrased professor
Agree or disagree?
I think the underlying question here is this: should Christians argue with God? Isn’t it sinful to question or resist God? Isn’t arguing a kind of rebellion or disobedience?
I’m going to go ahead and lay it out there: I think that we should argue with God.
An argument is nothing less (but obviously more) than a conversation. And if we think that God meaningfully communicates with people and that they can respond in some meaningful way back, then we can have an argument with God. This establishes some kind of relationship; and, like all relationships, they are full of conflict.
Some people are scared to argue with God. They understand conflict as a bad thing to be avoided at all times. Christians should not argue with God because arguing is an act of rebellion. In short: to argue is to sin.
Not so.
In and of itself, conflict is not a bad thing. I have talked a little bit on here before about conflict among Christians. Conflict is inevitable whenever there are two people in relationship. Now arguments can be negative, but ideally conflict is an opportunity to learn and grow.
In fact many of the biblical characters argued with God. Both Abraham and Moses argued with God. Jacob wrestled with him. Job questioned God’s motives. Gideon tested God. David complained and lamented. Thomas doubted the resurrection, and Peter got in Jesus’ face. And as passionate as Paul was, he did his fair share of arguing too.
The Psalmist is a clear case in point. If anyone argued with God, it was the Psalmist. Something like 1/3 of the Psalms are laments (with many others scattered throughout the Bible). A biblical lament is a special kind of complaint to God. They concern internal and external human problems, matters of the community and of the individual. They talk about things related to physical health, national security, death, tragic loss, hunger: basically everything.
The Psalmist brought these grievances before God. And all the problems of life were brought up in the context of worship!
An important thing to note about the laments is that they were not flippant or haphazard. They were specific and direct. They also had another important element: they all end in a cry or blessing of praise. The Psalmist, no matter how distraught, always expressed humble devotion to God.
To argue with God is not a sin. Actually, there is a long biblical tradition that includes complaining, arguing, yelling, and even cursing. Handling our heart in these situations is key.
Because God communicates with humanity, I think we should communicate with him, disagree with him, challenge him, question him, wrestle with him–even if that occasionally takes the form of an argument.
When was the last time you argued with God? What was it about?
More of Arguing with God to come soon!
I have a confession to make: I’ve always had a bit of suspicion of people who seem to know too much about God. It makes me uneasy when someone always has confident answers to the deep and difficult issues of the faith.
Many of these theological know-it-alls, I’ve noticed, are well schooled in some kind of systematic theology and/or apologetics. They’ve taken the classes, done their homework, studied the ins and outs of their system, learned the arguments, practiced how to defend their beliefs, and become quite confident in their faith.
But isn’t God too big for our theological systems?
I recently stumbled across this older post (’08) from Ben Witherington. It resonates with me on many levels and articulates well many of my concerns with this kind of hyper-systematic theology (so much so, that I’m tempted to repost the entire thing). He focuses mainly on the (Neo-)Calvinism of John Piper and his tribe, but I think Witherington’s insights apply to any theological system left unchecked. Here are a couple of excerpts (fyi, the video doesn’t work, but you don’t need it).
And all too often, the apparent intellectual coherency of a theological system is taken as absolute and compelling proof that this view of God, salvation,the world must be true and all others be heresy, to one degree or another. But it is perfectly possible to argue logically and coherency in a hermeneutical or theological circle with all parts connected, and unfortunately be dead wrong– because one drew the circle much too small and left out all the inconvenient contrary evidence. This sort of fault is inevitable with theological systems constructed by finite human beings.
A minutes reflection will show that intellectual coherency, as judged by finite fallen or even redeemed minds, is not a very good guide to what is true. The truth of God and even of the Bible is much larger than anyone’s ability (or any collection of human being’s abilities) to get their mental calipers so firmly around it that one could form it into a ‘coherent theological system’ without flaws, gaps, or lacunae…
While I certainly believe that God’s own worldview is coherent, and that some of it is revealed in the Bible, the facts are that the Bible does not reveal everything we always wanted to know about God so we could be certain God exists and form that body of knowledge into a self-sustaining fully coherent theological system with one idea leading to another idea, and so on (and now we can all sing a chorus of ‘Will the Circle be Unbroken’).
Of course not all people who love thinking about the faith fall into this pattern. Many don’t. Their studies humble them and force them to their knees in worship. This is interaction with the Divine that exceeds explanation, qualification, or systemization. Witherington touches this too.
I must tell you that whenever I have had a profound experience of God through reading his word or encountering God in worship or community, it tends to just humble me, and make me want to say something like what Joni Mitchell said about love— “its love’s illusions I recall, I really don’t know love, at all”. I have barely touched the hem of the Master’s garment, I hardly know him though I long to know him better. In the face of the divine-human encounter, even Barth’s Dogmatics appear to be little more than a good start to understanding God.
I would encourage you to read the entire post here.
I don’t want to paint an overly negative picture of theology because I love it (just not it’s misuse and abuse). I also don’t want to retreat to the hills of mystical, ecstatic experiences (though nothing’s inherently wrong with them either). I believe that we need both.
Broadly speaking, how do we balance confidence and humility in our faith?
And more specifically, how do we do theology in a way that allows for the unknowable? That embraces the Divine without analyzing it? Is this some kind of systematic theology meets mysticism?
I think so.
Have you ever had a great idea, only to find out that someone else got to it first? And then find out that they wrote a whole book about it?
As a writer, this can be frustrating. You think you’ve just discovered the next big thing. You jot it down to save it for later. When you’re back to your writer’s desk, you whip it out and muse thoughtfully over it. This is awesome! This is going to change people’s lives. It’s even going to be fun to write!
But, alas, someone beat you to the punch.
Maybe I’m being a little dramatic, and that’s okay. I’m actually glad when I realize that someone else got to an idea first. It validates for me the fact that it was an awesome idea in the first place!
I have found that we often don’t chase an idea or a dream because we thinks it’s too farfetched, too idealistic. But in reality, it might just be as awesome as you thought it was.
Here’s the idea that I had been toying around with: life is a liturgy. Life is a kind of living, moving, breathing artistic piece. It isn’t rigidly fixed to a particular form, but there is a kind of pattern to it. Seasons if you will. I love it.
Anyways, Bruce Ellis Benson got to this idea first and wrote a book on it called Liturgy as a Way of Life: Embodying the Arts in Christian Worship.
Peter Leithart over at First Things gives a short intro to it here. He emphasizes the importance of the call and response structure in life.
Bruce Ellis Benson summarizes his opening argument in [his book] with this: “the fundamental structure of our lives is that of the call and response. That call and response can rightly be considered artistic in that we are – in our being – God’s works of art. That we participate with God in developing ourselves (not to mention being creators of specific artworks) is due to our call to be living works of art. And the way in which we live our lives, following Jesus’s example, is as liturgical beings who worship God in all that we do” (24-25).
Scot McKnight over at Jesus Creed does a more thorough review of it here. He highlights the artful living part of Benson’s thesis. I really appreciate the analogy of jazz improvisation.
What do you think of living a beautiful life? Of life like a jazz improv piece?
I’m sure I’ll pick it up someday soon (maybe this summer). And I’ll bask in the light of an idea that someone else got to first (which I didn’t have to write or research! And I now have time to chase some other awesome idea. Blessings in disguise).
Have you had that happen? Has someone else beat you to the punch on a cool idea? A business model, story line, research topic, etc.?
March Madness if finally over (congrats Louisville) which means: back to reality. Tests, projects, and papers are headed our way with an entire semester’s worth of stress, sleep deprivation, caffeine, and cramming.
As we come down the homestretch of the spring semester (some of us towards graduation!), I want to offer up a prayer for you:
Ineffable Creator
Who, from the treasures of Your wisdom,
have established three hierarchies of angels,
have arrayed them in marvelous order
above the fiery heavens,
and have marshaled the regions
of the universe with such artful skill,You are proclaimed
the true font of light and wisdom,
and the primal origin
raised high above all things.Pour forth a ray of Your brightness
into the dark place of my mind;
disperse from my soul
the twofold darkness
into which I was born:
sin and ignorance.You make eloquent the tongues of infants.
Refine my speech
and pour forth upon my lips
the goodness of your blessing.Grant to me
keenness of mind,
capacity to remember,
skill in learning,
subtlety to interpret,
and eloquence in speech.May You
guide the beginning of my work,
direct its progress,
and bring it to completion.You Who are true God and true Man,
Who live and reign, world without end.Amen.
And here’s another (shorter) version:
Creator of all things, true source if light and wisdom, origin of all being, graciously let a ray of Your light penetrate the darkness of my understanding.
Take from me the double darkness in which I have been born: an obscurity of sin and ignorance.
Give me a keen understanding, a retentive memory, and the ability to grasp things correctly and fundamentally.
Grant me the talent of being exact in my explanations and the ability to express myself with thoroughness and charm.
Point out the beginning, direct the progress, and help in the completion.
I ask this through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.
This prayer originally came from St. Thomas Aquinas. He is the patron saint of students, schools, and learning (also called the patron saint of scholars). He was a 13th century Dominican priest and one of the most brilliant minds to think about the faith. He often prayed this prayer before studying, writing, or preaching.
These words have been an encouragement to me during times like this. I have used them many times. You may want to write them down and pray them yourself.
Be encouraged and stay focused. The end is in sight.
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