Answer?

Last night, I was thinking about how churches often drive for participation.  I've discussed that on this blog at length.  But as I've alluded, I rarely jump to conclusions.  So even though I am staunchly opposed to coercive participation, when faced with yet another instance of it, I still find myself stepping back, and thinking, "Am I the one who's wrong?"

It's always a possibility.  Especially when one finds the same message occurring repeatedly, it's wise to take note and analyze again.  So, I found myself mulling this over as I went to bed.  Remembrance of times when I've tried to buy in and go with it, only to end in disaster.  Debate amongst messages I've received, verses I know, Truths I hold.

And so, as I tried to turn off, I asked God to show me the answer.  And I fell asleep.

So this morning I awoke with two vivid dreams in my mind.  As always, some details are fuzzy, but the important part of any dream is what isn't fuzzy.  In the first, I was going about some business or other when a highly contagious disease began to be noticed among people.  It was subtle, really, starting with few symptoms that were easily misinterpreted.  Tiny red spots, etc.  But if untreated, it ended in death.  It quickly became an epidemic and was still spreading.  I found myself trying to spot people with the disease and help them in any way I could.  At one point, I ended up with a sort of clinic that was set up like a pizza delivery.  Drivers were going out on calls to provide aid, or bring in patients while the doctor and office staff kept calls coming in and treated patients.  I stepped in as a driver and spent the dream taking errands to bring aid, help the sick, bring them in.  I remember being slightly concerned that I may be infected, but didn't have time to be concerned.  I might be infected anyway and these people certainly were.  They needed help.

In the second dream, I was volunteering at a church camp.  I went to sign up and was explaining my experience with education, even coordination, and program development.  The staff seemed too busy to be interested, but when I mentioned education, they started jargoning about educational theories, statistics, etc.  I realized I couldn't possibly keep up with that, since I wasn't a classically trained educator.  But I knew how to work with kids.  So I stepped in and began to relate to some waiting kids.  Then we were ushered into a big room where activities were underway.  I tried to hang on and be useful with no idea what was happening or what I was needed to do, as I've done many times in church ministry.  And that's when I started looking for the red spots again.  I knew some of these kids must be sick.  I needed to find them.  To help them.  I woke up from this.

It was soft morning and I immediately began to think about the dreams while they were fresh.  They didn't feel like my normal dreams...not fueled by my health condition (which produces a characteristic type of dreaming), not the usual amalgam of recent experiences.  It wouldn't be the first time a dream had directly answered a prayer for me.  But any dream could also be my own thoughts.  So I searched for confirmation.

That's when the words of Jesus came to memory, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick." and "I came to seek and save that which was lost."  Could that be right?  Did this really apply here?  Was it my imagination pulling together relevant information?  I felt moisture drip down my cheek.  I touched my eyes.  They were wet.  This is often confirmation for me.

I thanked God for answering my prayer.

Then I woke my wife to tell her and see if she confirmed it as well.  In conversation, I became more certain.  This was a reminder of what I had known.  I know my mission, and it is not in vane.  Religious organizations and ministries will churn and that is not my concern.  The secular world will churn and that is not my concern.  Both are equally irrelevant to the task.  The sick are among us.  The disease is rampant.  Symptoms are slow but definitive.  But I am to look for them, and aid where I can.  This is it.

The aid will take various forms: comfort, support, steering toward healing, taking to the Doctor, bringing medicine to the sick.  I don't have to think about being infected.  I just have to help.  I don't even need to cure the disease.  And I'm not alone.  There are many doing the same.  We know each other when we see, but keep at our work.  It compliments each other and we know what to do in this effort.

And if by chance the pizza delivery has a physical manifestation, I'll keep my eyes open.  But the context doesn't matter.  The disease doesn't respect persons or status.  So the cure can't either.

God, help me.

Christians talk of love.  We're told to overlook, forgive, bear with, no one is perfect, don't judge.  And yet, in so many cases, this is entirely the duty of the listener and not at all reflected by the speaker or his organization.

It starts to sound hollow after awhile.  So I'm supposed to be eternally forgiving offences against me, some of which are grossly wrong...morally, ethically, personally wrong...and yet the person/people preaching this are the very offenders who then refuse to show it to me, to bear with me, to overlook, forgive, withhold judgement of my faults.

Now the moralist in me is screaming that two wrongs don't make a right and that one must do right regardless of how one is treated.  OK.  I know this.  But it doesn't change the bitterness and anger that rise up at it again and again.  And it isn't everyone.  I know many people who do live out their faith and have shown me great love, even when I don't deserve it.  So again, I blame the institution for creating the paradigm in which a man can stand over anonymous heads and orate without having to answer to the eyes and mouths of those he speaks to.  Where he doesn't have to feel the full and immediate effect of his words.  There has to be a better way.

I feel like I know that way too.  I have glimpsed it, smelled it, but can't quite apprehend it.  I'm not planning anything.  I'm over trying to work my own will in these cases.  I just don't have the energy any more.  But I want to understand, to walk in it, to help it grow where it sprouts.

Am I missing something?  I find myself cringing from certain aspects of the faith.  Embarrassed by them.  I don't want to be caught listening to Christian radio.  I don't even like the music.  I just need some uplifting, faithful, stilling presence and commercial radio (at least the genres I can tolerate) is all about degradation and glory in low things.  I hate to pray over meals in public, though I do it at home with a will and a desire to instill it in my son.

Am I embarrassed by the faith?  No.  I'm not.  I'll easily tell someone I'm Christian, that I go to church, that I believe in universal Truth and live morally, etc.  I'll discuss my faith at length and detail in certain contexts, not just amongst other Christians.  So I am not embarrassed by the faith.  So what is it?

If it was just hokey contrivances, I would not do them myself.  So I see value in them.  This means the issue must be deeper.  Perhaps a fear of seeming naive or backward.  Perhaps of being misunderstood.  I can't tell what it is.  My Evangelical background steps forward at this point and begins condemning me that those who are ashamed of Christ, he will be ashamed of.  Words from his own mouth!  And my heart quails.  But yet I find the same reactions persisting.

I am fickle and inconsistent.  And then I am reminded quietly of Peter who denied Christ three times after just proclaiming his allegiance and even using a blade against an armed troop of men to defend Jesus.  I am reminded of Paul who could not do the good he wanted to do, though he knew what it was.

And so this Sunday, when I was sitting in church, at odds with the place and myself, the pastor, whom I don't even know if I like and certainly don't yet trust, calls us to take Communion in a way that does not put me off.  Not single serving plastic wrapped.  Not greatly orated.  Simply saying that we will serve ourselves because, "you need no one coming between you and your God."  And so I go forward, looking into my own heart, wondering what I will say to Him in the moment, though I feel something must be said.  At the same time, I dred that my heart may burst out my eyes in front of everyone, as too often happens when I encounter God.  I take the wafer, dip it in the cup, and at that second, my heart cries out, "God, help me."

I don't even know where it came from...well I do really.  But I was not planning it, I promise you.  I felt my eyes well, clenched my teeth to stop it, and rushed back to my seat.  Then it came to me that this simple line is the essence of my faith, of all faith.  I don't know.  I can't do.  God, help me.

And on this rock, I can stand.  Nothing more, nothing less.  God, help me.  God, help me.

Jesus Prayer

It's been a long time since I've blogged.  This is because I've entered the busiest season for me.  This one was made more busy by a certain conglomeration of circumstances: family, work, illness  Not the least of which was surgery on myself.

But now I am back.  I'm still in the throes of activity, but find a spare moment.  Honestly, there's not much to tell, since I've been preoccupied there hasn't been much time for examination.  Perhaps this is a good thing.

Two things I have noticed.  One, I'm developing a fondness for Canada caused by a long spell of recovery in which I became fascinated with Canadian TV.  While this is silly, it's worth noting since I previously viewed it as pretty much a frozen wilderness with a fringe of basically American culture.  While obviously TV isn't a full or necessarily accurate picture, it is a window, and a careful observer (which I consider myself) can pick out elements that transcend the showbiz of even educational TV.  This is what has led to the fondness.

The second thing of note is the Jesus Prayer.  As usual, I won't quote it, go look it up (can't make it that easy; knowledge without even 30 seconds of effort is devoid of value.)  It's basically one line, packed full of meaning, said repeatedly as a means of focusing our attention.

I've tried various forms of discipline in the past. They work for a bit, and then the newness wears off and they become hollow.  Some people may find them more valuable, but for me they fade in favor of ever more real interaction.  But lately, this prayer has been good.  It has helped me stave off wandering thoughts, and quiet my mind.  This is a big problem for someone like me whose mind wanders leagues afield and at the pace of an overstimulated ferret.

But most notable is that while I was prepping for surgery in which they would essentially hollow out my face from the inside...not a pretty prospect...I kept saying this prayer.  It was easy enough to remember and pick right back up after an interruption.  As I was being put under, it was my last thought...I wonder if it might have even become audible as I was fading.  But then most astonishing to me was that it was my first thought upon regaining the slightest bit of consciousness.  Almost as if it had been rolling through my subconscious mind the entire time. 

Of course I can't say that to be the case as I was totally unaware of it.  But I was happy to find that my thoughts were not of monkeys wildly gesticulating behind the nurses or other such half-dreamed impressions.  Instead it was this one solid line of truth echoing through my reality.  Even when I could least control my mind, this razor sharp prayer cut through and remained strong.

Thank God, and thank all the saints who crowd around me whispering this line from across the centuries.

Answer

Today I've been surrounded by awareness of God's presence.  I don't know why.  I'm aware of what He's saying and feeling toward me more than usual.  This morning He impressed upon me that someone was praying for something and that I was the answer.

No, not that I, particularly, was an answer to someone's prayers in the cocky sense.  But quite the opposite.  It is tremendously humbling to think that someone has cried out to God to provide something they need desperately and that in answer, He sends me.

I don't know if this refers to something that has already happened, something that will happen, or just a parable-like lesson.  Maybe it's a combination of them all.  But I am honored and humbled.  I know my own flaws.  I know my own inadequacies.  I also know that I asked God to use me, to send me where He will.  I figured I'd be part of something or more likely a voice in the wilderness declaring God's message.  But to think that I, messed up and willfully rebellious, am the medium of God's answer to someone's cry from their heart.  It's so personal and tender I can barely allow myself to process it.  I'm trembling and crying as I type this.  I don't deserve to do it.  How can I represent God in the flesh?  How can these hands and this tongue convey a fraction of His love.  It's so far beyond me.

I know I am nothing more than the vessel.  What good comes from me is not me, but the Spirit Lord in me.  So logically, I know I can do this.  But I don't even feel capable of conducting this kind of power.

I will go, though.  I will do it.  Maybe I am, or already have.  Good God!  Thank you for using me.

God did it

I've been saving this up until the entire deal was over and I could safely say so.  Now I believe it is true.  Here's the story.

We bought our house at the tail end of the housing peak.  We were smart enough to avoid the pitfall mortgages and to buy a house that we could afford.  We bought it under value, did lots of work to it, and in a year had it reappraised.  We had gained significant equity which we thought would preserve us during the inevitable crash that everyone with a brain saw coming.  But it didn't.  The values fell so far that we not only lost the equity but the house was valued at less than half what we paid for it.

Now things were still good in that we could afford it.  But the neighborhood, which was not the best in the first place began to slip and we could not sell or refinance.  We were locked into the payment for thirty years.  At the rate of recovery there was no way we could ever make back the money and certainly not within a time frame which we needed to move.

So we debated several things and investigated options and ultimately sat on it until the time seemed right.  Earlier this year, that time hit.  We decided we needed to get out.  Trouble at my son's school, new neighbor issues, the huge albatross of a home investment, family issues all pointed to one thing.  But we knew we had no options before.  but we also know that God is all powerful and works in the world today.  So I asked him to take care of this some way or other.

I called the bank to ask about options, knowing there weren't many for people who were smart enough to afford their homes...why would a bank help someone who could pay?  But they said there were programs for our case.  So I needed a realtor.  My wife knew one who turned out to specialize in short sales, so we signed up with her.  She gave us details about programs and processes and we were in for the haul, expecting this could take nearly a year and cost us money in the end.

But then the bank told us they had a program that was essentially a "no doc" short sale.  We say we need to sell and they work with us to do it.  No financial record search, no haggling, etc.  Our realtor had never had something like this before.  Even her other short sales with far more hardship were slow and painful.

We listed the house and had a buyer in less than a week.  The bank told us how much we needed to get and we had more than that.  It took a few months to work out all the paperwork, etc, but this month we closed the sale, had the balance of debt written off, and even came a way with a nice relocation incentive.  All told about 4 months.

We even found a nice house to rent in a good area with more square footage and for less than our mortgage payment.  I know no one who has had it this easy.  Our realtor doesn't either.  I know others in the process who are struggling through in the typical fashion or through other similar relief options.

I did nothing to make this happen.  I have no special knowledge of real estate, and I am not a holy man.  There is only one explanation for this entire process:  I asked God to do it and he did.  I don't know why he might not do it for other people.  I'm not going to start making theological premises out of it.  Suffice to say it is not by works of righteousness which I have done.  But the credit must go to my God who claims to know and control all things and who promises to give us good things, and he did.

Called Out

The original word for church is Ekklesia, or Ecclesia, depending on how you want to transliterate. It means literally "called out". That Ec- is still in English with the same meaning: Ecstatic, Eccentric.

I am called out. I recently realized...no I'm trying to be more literal...God recently told me that my new diet and the condition that led to its necessity are not an accident, nor a flaw. I was being set apart and this is a mark of it. Like John the Baptist with his skins and locusts, Elijah, Jeremiah, David, Samson, the list goes on...all are set apart for God's purposes and all had outward signs that made them stand out.

I cannot eat the food of the culture. I must live on a simple diet. I am not upset by it actually. It perfectly suits my personality...imagine that, being suited to our lot. So I will not look at this as a fault or a cross to bear. To me it is a joy. I've never experienced this aspect of life, though I've read about it often. I am glad in what many would see as difficult.

I've also often talked about being drug into this life. It was chosen for me and I had little to do about it. Much like Jonah, I couldn't even run from it when I tried. To not do it makes me sick. I was tired of being sick. I was tired of feeling bad. I had prayed this so often. God has answered my prayers.

I'm not pretending that life will be happily ever after. I'm just rejoicing in this newfound release. I'm celebrating in having been chosen for this life.

I saw my mentor and spiritual director last week as well, and as usual, he spoke right into me in a way that even he does not understand until he sees my reaction to it. He confirms for me who I am and tells me that I am not insane. I'm not going to explain what he said or how it affected me because it is too personal.

I am very thankful right now.

Beholding Galadriel

Sometimes the greatest revelations are so utterly simple most people don't get it. Not that they are that dense, just that the significance is lost on them because words fail to reveal the depth of the revelation.

I have been trying for the past few weeks to practice the Presence. It's nothing new. I've done it before, but somewhere along the way...I think it was a conscious choice, I am sad to say...I quit. And then it was slowly forgotten. Not that I really forgot all about it, but the importance and the value of this simple lifestyle faded.

I can't say that I've been doing very well at it. In fact, I've been doing quite miserably...but then that might be the first step. It certainly seems to often be a prerequisite for moving closer to God...that is becoming aware of just how miserable we are. As my good friend once said, we are blind, deaf, dumb, naked, and stupid. Yet somewhere apart from our own insatiable ability to mess things up, we are valued. We are loved. And frankly, I don't get it. But I do catch snatches of it on the air...glimpses in odd fleeting moments. Whispers from the mouth of God that I am truly loved. And though I don't understand why, I do understand how because I exhibit the same feelings toward others, family, friends, coworkers, and even the odd stranger that I just see so differently than they appear.

Just this Sunday I was sitting next to a very shy, unassuming, yet sincere and intelligent girl at church. I know her, but she isn't one to attract attention, intentionally or by her nature. When I asked God who I should pray for that service, as I try to do every service at Richard Foster's recommendation, I was instantly drawn to her and I suddenly saw her in a whole new light. She was so beautiful that my eyes teared up (again no surprise for me, I am easily overwhelmed). It wasn't a general awareness, but a totally different aspect, almost like a memory of who she really was...and she was stunning in the true sense of the word. So there I was next to this gloriously beautiful Elfen princess with her power radiating about and I was humbled.

I know that I was given the moment to see her as God sees her...as she really is...at least as much as my base mortal mind can contain. And there was joy. A crying heart-breaking joy. Joy that I was gifted with the moment. Joy that I know I must be so much more than I perceive as well. Joy from understanding that reality is more than we see and feel.