i have been reading too much lately and some of it is about the church and the role of the church in the world. i pulled a book off the shelf by gerhard lohfink. he is advocating that the salvation of God demands a concrete place in time and history. he values the work of God as a revolution that needs a place inside history, in the lives of people and cultures. the revolution of salvation is not an abstract ideal, it is a "radical alteration of the whole society..."
"It can only be that God begins in a small way, at one single place in the world. There must be a place, visible, tangible, where the salvation of the world can begin: that is, where the world becomes what it is supposed to be according to God's plan. Beginning in that place, the new thing can spread abroad, but not through persuasion, not through indoctrination, not through violence.
Everyone must have the opportunity to come and see. All must have the chance to behold and test this new thing. Then, if they want to, then can allow themselves to be drawn into the history of salvation that God is creating...."
with that quote i think of what God is up to. i think about the church. i think about living a dream to reach others with the message of salvation and the way it is lived and portrayed as salt and light. i think of incarnation. i think of how he uses people and uses communities who try to be Jesus in concrete places in tangible ways. i think of the word becoming flesh and a baby born in a barn.
with that quote i think of what God is up to and i still want to be a part of it all.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
sayers' jesus
dorothy sayers was a writer i ran into years ago at a place where faith and creativity meet. i loved the way she awakens the familiar with a perspective that screams in the dark...so i paid attention and read her work and wondered what it means.
"The people who hanged Christ never, to do them justice, accused him of being a bore - on the contrary; they though Him too dynamic to be safe. It has been left for later generations to muffle up that shattering personality and surround Him with an atmosphere of tedium. We have very efficiently pared the claws of the Lion of Judah, certified Him "meek and mild," recommended Him as a fitting household pet for pale curates and pious old ladies. To those who knew Him, however, He in no way suggested a milk-and-water person; they objected to Him as a dangerous firebrand.
True, He was tender to the unfortunate, patient with honest inquirers, and humble before Heaven; but He insulted respectable clergymen by calling them hypocrites; He referred to King Herod as 'that fox'; He went to parties in disreputable company and was looked upon as a 'gluttonous man and a winebibber, a friend of publicans and sinners'; He assaulted indignant tradesmen and threw them and their belongings out of the Temple; He drove a coach and horses through a number of sacrosanct and hoary regulations; He cured diseases by any means that came handy, with a shocking casualness in the matter of other people's pigs and property; He showed no deference for wealth or social position; when confronted with neat dialectical traps he displayed a paradoxical humour that affronted serious-minded people, and He retorted by asking disagreeably searching questions that could not be answered by rule of thumb.
He was emphatically not a dull man in His human lifetime, and if He was God, there can be nothing dull about God either. But he had a 'daily beauty in His life that made us ugly,' and officialdom felt that the established order of things would be more secure without Him. So they did away with God in the name of peace and quietness."
"The people who hanged Christ never, to do them justice, accused him of being a bore - on the contrary; they though Him too dynamic to be safe. It has been left for later generations to muffle up that shattering personality and surround Him with an atmosphere of tedium. We have very efficiently pared the claws of the Lion of Judah, certified Him "meek and mild," recommended Him as a fitting household pet for pale curates and pious old ladies. To those who knew Him, however, He in no way suggested a milk-and-water person; they objected to Him as a dangerous firebrand.
True, He was tender to the unfortunate, patient with honest inquirers, and humble before Heaven; but He insulted respectable clergymen by calling them hypocrites; He referred to King Herod as 'that fox'; He went to parties in disreputable company and was looked upon as a 'gluttonous man and a winebibber, a friend of publicans and sinners'; He assaulted indignant tradesmen and threw them and their belongings out of the Temple; He drove a coach and horses through a number of sacrosanct and hoary regulations; He cured diseases by any means that came handy, with a shocking casualness in the matter of other people's pigs and property; He showed no deference for wealth or social position; when confronted with neat dialectical traps he displayed a paradoxical humour that affronted serious-minded people, and He retorted by asking disagreeably searching questions that could not be answered by rule of thumb.
He was emphatically not a dull man in His human lifetime, and if He was God, there can be nothing dull about God either. But he had a 'daily beauty in His life that made us ugly,' and officialdom felt that the established order of things would be more secure without Him. So they did away with God in the name of peace and quietness."
xmaspoem
we always put our tree up at the end of thanksgiving weekend. i like christmas. i was thinking about this poem a few weeks ago as we finished getting a tree selected and distingushed for the season.
the poem says something about simplicity, about the importance of place, about humility, and about the birth of a savior. these are some of the important themes of the season. it is a poem by wendell berry and it is from A Timbered Choir...
Our Christmas tree is
not electrified, is not
covered with little lights
calling attention to themselves
(we have had enough
of little lights calling attention
to themselves). Our tree
is a cedar cut here, one
of the fragrances of our place,
hung with painted cones
and paper stars folded
long ago to praise our tree,
Christ come into our world.
the poem says something about simplicity, about the importance of place, about humility, and about the birth of a savior. these are some of the important themes of the season. it is a poem by wendell berry and it is from A Timbered Choir...
Our Christmas tree is
not electrified, is not
covered with little lights
calling attention to themselves
(we have had enough
of little lights calling attention
to themselves). Our tree
is a cedar cut here, one
of the fragrances of our place,
hung with painted cones
and paper stars folded
long ago to praise our tree,
Christ come into our world.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
the questions of the world
anyone can feel pain, loneliness, joy, laughter, anger...
one does not have to have faith in God to experience what is true and real about this world. we are all alive. so often in various art forms one finds the artist able to share or represent certain features of life with great accuaracy and passion. in one sense it doesn't matter what you believe or don't believe, everyone can ask the questions of life if they will have the courage.
good art has often asked the right questions.
while reading a novel called Tinkers by paul harding i was thinking about this.
"Your cold mornings are filled with the heartache about the fact that although we are not at ease in this world, it is all we have, that it is ours but that it is full of strife, so that all we can call our own is strife; but even that is better than nothing at all, isn't it? And as you split frost-laced wood with numb hands, rejoice that your uncertainty is God's will and His grace toward you and that that is beautiful, and part of a greater certainty, as your own father always said in his sermons and to your at home. And as the ax bites into the wood, be comforted in the fact that the ache in your heart and the confusion in your soul means that you are still alive, still human, and still open to the beauty of the world, even though you have done nothing to deserve it. And when you resent the ache in your heart, remember: You will be dead and buried soon enough."
then it goes on with a character reflecting...
"Howard resented the ache in his heart. He resented that it was there every morning when he woke up, that it remained at least until he had dressed and had some hot coffee, if not until he had taken stock of the goods in his brush cart, and fed and hitched Prince Edward, if not until his rounds were done, if his dreams were not tormented by it. He resented equally the ache and resentment itself. He resented his resentment because it was a sign of his own limitations of spirit and humility, no matter that he understood that such was each man's burden. He resented the ache because it was uninvited, seemed imposed, a sentence, and, despite the encouragement he gave himself every morning, it baffled him because it was there whether the day was good or bad, whether he witnessed major kindness or minor transgression, suffered sourceless grief or spontaneous joy."
i was thinking about this.
it felt a little familiar to me.
whatever is true and real in this world is connected to a God who created, according to believers. the only real difference between us and those who don't include God in the conversation is the particular hope we hang onto - hope that is filled with the answers and the reasons we possess. we spend our lives feeling the same things, having similiar experiences, and they include questions and doubts...and maybe an ache at times or sometimes more than others.
i remember an honest line from the bible, a man saying 'i believe, help my unbelief.'
i like to hear the stories of people with real questions.
i like art that is honest.
i like people who are honest.
i like having some answers to go with the questions.
one does not have to have faith in God to experience what is true and real about this world. we are all alive. so often in various art forms one finds the artist able to share or represent certain features of life with great accuaracy and passion. in one sense it doesn't matter what you believe or don't believe, everyone can ask the questions of life if they will have the courage.
good art has often asked the right questions.
while reading a novel called Tinkers by paul harding i was thinking about this.
"Your cold mornings are filled with the heartache about the fact that although we are not at ease in this world, it is all we have, that it is ours but that it is full of strife, so that all we can call our own is strife; but even that is better than nothing at all, isn't it? And as you split frost-laced wood with numb hands, rejoice that your uncertainty is God's will and His grace toward you and that that is beautiful, and part of a greater certainty, as your own father always said in his sermons and to your at home. And as the ax bites into the wood, be comforted in the fact that the ache in your heart and the confusion in your soul means that you are still alive, still human, and still open to the beauty of the world, even though you have done nothing to deserve it. And when you resent the ache in your heart, remember: You will be dead and buried soon enough."
then it goes on with a character reflecting...
"Howard resented the ache in his heart. He resented that it was there every morning when he woke up, that it remained at least until he had dressed and had some hot coffee, if not until he had taken stock of the goods in his brush cart, and fed and hitched Prince Edward, if not until his rounds were done, if his dreams were not tormented by it. He resented equally the ache and resentment itself. He resented his resentment because it was a sign of his own limitations of spirit and humility, no matter that he understood that such was each man's burden. He resented the ache because it was uninvited, seemed imposed, a sentence, and, despite the encouragement he gave himself every morning, it baffled him because it was there whether the day was good or bad, whether he witnessed major kindness or minor transgression, suffered sourceless grief or spontaneous joy."
i was thinking about this.
it felt a little familiar to me.
whatever is true and real in this world is connected to a God who created, according to believers. the only real difference between us and those who don't include God in the conversation is the particular hope we hang onto - hope that is filled with the answers and the reasons we possess. we spend our lives feeling the same things, having similiar experiences, and they include questions and doubts...and maybe an ache at times or sometimes more than others.
i remember an honest line from the bible, a man saying 'i believe, help my unbelief.'
i like to hear the stories of people with real questions.
i like art that is honest.
i like people who are honest.
i like having some answers to go with the questions.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
nouwen
henri nouwen woke me up this morning with this...
"Those who think that they have arrived, have lost their way. Those who think they have reached their goal, have missed it. Those who think they are saints, are demons. An important part of the spiritual life is to keep longing, waiting, hoping, expecting. In the long run, some voluntary penance becomes necessary to help us remember that we are not yet fulfilled. A good criticism, a frustrating day, an empty stomach, or tired eyes might help to reawaken our expectation and deepen our prayer: Come Lord Jesus, come."
(The Genesee Diary)
as i was writing in my journal i was thinking about 'longing, waiting, hoping, expecting' in a world where it is largely assumed i can get what i want - now. there is an assumption that we can be satisfied customers. we think we can have it all, including a guarantee.
nouwen reminded me that some of the best things are yet to come.
there is a part of me that must remain unsatisfied.
there is a part of me that must remain hungry.
there is a part of me that must anticipate on my tiptoes.
there is a part of me that lives in the now, but not yet, and that part needs to stop complaining and keep running.
in place of complaining i must see this as a promise...like a gift on xmas eve before the other gifts are received on xmas day when the best is shared.
no matter what needs to be done and can be done...no matter what is necessary for today...no matter where we must have unwavering commitment to as we make things happen on earth as they are in heaven...there is still heaven and all the other promises that will arrive like xmas when maranatha is realized.
open whatever you are given.
be grateful no matter what.
don't stop longing, waiting, hoping, expecting.
life will daily remind us.
life will wear on us like sandpaper on wood.
life at times can be a lot like heaven or a lot like hell, but it isn't.
after i read nouwen i thought of hebrews 12:1-3...keep running...
"Those who think that they have arrived, have lost their way. Those who think they have reached their goal, have missed it. Those who think they are saints, are demons. An important part of the spiritual life is to keep longing, waiting, hoping, expecting. In the long run, some voluntary penance becomes necessary to help us remember that we are not yet fulfilled. A good criticism, a frustrating day, an empty stomach, or tired eyes might help to reawaken our expectation and deepen our prayer: Come Lord Jesus, come."
(The Genesee Diary)
as i was writing in my journal i was thinking about 'longing, waiting, hoping, expecting' in a world where it is largely assumed i can get what i want - now. there is an assumption that we can be satisfied customers. we think we can have it all, including a guarantee.
nouwen reminded me that some of the best things are yet to come.
there is a part of me that must remain unsatisfied.
there is a part of me that must remain hungry.
there is a part of me that must anticipate on my tiptoes.
there is a part of me that lives in the now, but not yet, and that part needs to stop complaining and keep running.
in place of complaining i must see this as a promise...like a gift on xmas eve before the other gifts are received on xmas day when the best is shared.
no matter what needs to be done and can be done...no matter what is necessary for today...no matter where we must have unwavering commitment to as we make things happen on earth as they are in heaven...there is still heaven and all the other promises that will arrive like xmas when maranatha is realized.
open whatever you are given.
be grateful no matter what.
don't stop longing, waiting, hoping, expecting.
life will daily remind us.
life will wear on us like sandpaper on wood.
life at times can be a lot like heaven or a lot like hell, but it isn't.
after i read nouwen i thought of hebrews 12:1-3...keep running...
architecture
frank lloyd wright said:
"Architecture is born in the heart"
it makes me think of the buildings he has created.
it makes me think of cities and their constructed skylines.
it makes me think of realized dreams that began on a drawing board as the architect pencils the conceptions of a dream...a dream of so many possibilities.
as he speaks of the relationship of the internal and the external in regard to the creation of physical spaces, i was thinking about how grace creates new lives.
this is something i believe.
this is something i believe more real than concrete is hard.
i don't know how many things i know for sure, but this is one of them.
i believe in new creations because something new has happened in the heart.
i believe in resurrection, i believe in newness, i believe all the promise can come true, i believe in his power and presence, i believe in grace.
on my best days i know this is true.
on my worst days i believe, help my unbelief.
the external can be crafted skillfully from morality, evil, and everything in-between...but grace can work something that is seen that comes from the inside out when it happens right.
God may be the only one who knows that interior space well enough to judge what is constructed or seen by the world. he is familiar with the inmost places, that interior place, the heart of things...it becomes a drawing board where things are creatively conceived and come to life. he knows the inside well, he is creative, and it is a little sobering to admit that he can access the external.
on our best days the architecture of our lives is created by a heart that has experienced his grace...
a city on a hill cannot be hidden.
"Architecture is born in the heart"
it makes me think of the buildings he has created.
it makes me think of cities and their constructed skylines.
it makes me think of realized dreams that began on a drawing board as the architect pencils the conceptions of a dream...a dream of so many possibilities.
as he speaks of the relationship of the internal and the external in regard to the creation of physical spaces, i was thinking about how grace creates new lives.
this is something i believe.
this is something i believe more real than concrete is hard.
i don't know how many things i know for sure, but this is one of them.
i believe in new creations because something new has happened in the heart.
i believe in resurrection, i believe in newness, i believe all the promise can come true, i believe in his power and presence, i believe in grace.
on my best days i know this is true.
on my worst days i believe, help my unbelief.
the external can be crafted skillfully from morality, evil, and everything in-between...but grace can work something that is seen that comes from the inside out when it happens right.
God may be the only one who knows that interior space well enough to judge what is constructed or seen by the world. he is familiar with the inmost places, that interior place, the heart of things...it becomes a drawing board where things are creatively conceived and come to life. he knows the inside well, he is creative, and it is a little sobering to admit that he can access the external.
on our best days the architecture of our lives is created by a heart that has experienced his grace...
a city on a hill cannot be hidden.
without words
i keep thinking about the experience of being without words - but so full of emotions.
is it saying something about me?
is it saying something about the moment?
is it someone else saying something to me?
is it the moment saying something to me?
is it something familiar?
is it something unfamiliar?
is it one of these things or maybe a couple?
is it possibly all of these things?
i remember toward the end of the book of job, he covers his mouth after spending time offering up question after question. when God shows up job speaks of 'things too wonderful for me to know.' he will be quiet and listen because he has seen and felt, and it brings humility.
as i held my new grandson max in my arms the words began to disappear, my vocabulary thinned out, my syntax vanished, adjectives felt impotent, participles dangled and everything fell into a space too full to understand. the one word i am hanging on with white-knuckles is the word 'humility.'
i don't know of everything that was happening emotionally as i held him, yet at the same time it seems recognizable. i know this...but in a different way. yet even if i could see the shape of things partially, or run my hand along the contoured edge of something, or make out what is focused and unfocused at the same time...i don't know if it can be said in words - even if it seems somehow familiar but also very different, at the same time.
what is the relationship of humility and paradox?
what is the relationship between grandson and grandpa?
i remember holding my own children - it was the first time i had held a baby. there was a part of me that wanted to reserve that space, those moments...so i actually tried not to hold other babies. that sounds odd but it is true. it is a strange preference or unusual conviction to reserve the actual physical space for my own children that mirrored something in my heart - just for them.
now i remember holding my grandchild, a boy named max.
now i anticipate holding my next grandchild who is arriving in september.
now i am struggling with the words as a imagine giving them a space in my arms and in my life...a space reserved just for them that no one else can have.
it seems to be a glorious, magnanimous, undoing in the heart that falls back into itself with such intensity and force and joy...it is all those things and more, more joy than my heart or my arms can hold.
is it saying something about me?
is it saying something about the moment?
is it someone else saying something to me?
is it the moment saying something to me?
is it something familiar?
is it something unfamiliar?
is it one of these things or maybe a couple?
is it possibly all of these things?
i remember toward the end of the book of job, he covers his mouth after spending time offering up question after question. when God shows up job speaks of 'things too wonderful for me to know.' he will be quiet and listen because he has seen and felt, and it brings humility.
as i held my new grandson max in my arms the words began to disappear, my vocabulary thinned out, my syntax vanished, adjectives felt impotent, participles dangled and everything fell into a space too full to understand. the one word i am hanging on with white-knuckles is the word 'humility.'
i don't know of everything that was happening emotionally as i held him, yet at the same time it seems recognizable. i know this...but in a different way. yet even if i could see the shape of things partially, or run my hand along the contoured edge of something, or make out what is focused and unfocused at the same time...i don't know if it can be said in words - even if it seems somehow familiar but also very different, at the same time.
what is the relationship of humility and paradox?
what is the relationship between grandson and grandpa?
i remember holding my own children - it was the first time i had held a baby. there was a part of me that wanted to reserve that space, those moments...so i actually tried not to hold other babies. that sounds odd but it is true. it is a strange preference or unusual conviction to reserve the actual physical space for my own children that mirrored something in my heart - just for them.
now i remember holding my grandchild, a boy named max.
now i anticipate holding my next grandchild who is arriving in september.
now i am struggling with the words as a imagine giving them a space in my arms and in my life...a space reserved just for them that no one else can have.
it seems to be a glorious, magnanimous, undoing in the heart that falls back into itself with such intensity and force and joy...it is all those things and more, more joy than my heart or my arms can hold.
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