Almost Unpublishable

I didn't know that working with the governmental powers that be meant you voluntarily gave away your right to freedom of speech. That's why I didn't write for a long while; I couldn't figure out what I could and could not say. When you are a foster parent, you are not supposed to acknowledge to the rest of the world that foster children live in your home (we learned that rule after-the-fact). I'm not even sure I was supposed to tell you their names if we met on the street. And having them loved on by the members of our family and church family was probably a violation of some rule somewhere. According to the state, everything that was real and true in my life for four months was just in your imagination.

But it wasn't. There were some very real children in need of a loving, safe and clean place to play and eat and learn and rest their heads. And by the grace of God, Darin and I got to provide that. They will probably never know we even existed in their lives, since they were so young, but perhaps the ministry we offered them at a critical juncture will lay a foundation that draws them to the Christ who loves them inifitely more than anyone else ever can or will. They left here knowing that a "wise man built his house upon the rock" and "little feet" should be "careful where [they] go," (and "the wheels on the bus go round and round!"). They each heard the name of Jesus from us, Sunday School teachers, nursery workers and countless other believers who held them close. Maybe those tiny seeds were planted deep enough that they'll take root in years to come. That even without daily watering, one day they'll hear the name of Jesus again and subconsciously remember that his name once brought with it happy smiles and loving arms, and they'll call upon him and run to his arms, wherever they are.

I couldn't publish this blog entry when they were with us, and for all I know I may be in trouble for it now, but I'll hire an ambulance-chasing lawyer and stand on the 1st amendment. I guess I was supposed to stick to safe topics like abortion, politics, and religion, because talking about the realities of my life, feelings and home were taboo. What a crazy world we live in. Thank goodness God's still in control; I don't have the foggiest idea what I'd do if I were in charge of cleaning up this mess.

I played the piano today. With the exception of a cumulative 15 minutes, I haven't played since June. It was cathartic to move my fingers over the keys and sing songs of joy and comfort. I have no doubt that God himself ordained those piano lessons years and years ago. He knew I'd need the soothing touch of music on this very day in 2008.

Superhero

I wonder if Jesus ever felt like a superhero. Having never been a superhero myself, I don't have an actual frame of reference for that experience, but in all the movies, shows and comic books I've seen (which isn't a lot), there's an element of loneliness. Although people appreciate their work against the forces of evil, the mystery of their power and illusiveness of their identity frightens away most people (Lois Lane being an exception, of course).

The reason I ponder this thought is due to a passage I read this morning: Luke 9:18-27. Jesus was alone, talking with the Father. What in the world were they talking about, I wonder? Could it be that Jesus was expressing his feelings over this "superhero" problem? (He'd just fed over 5000 people with 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish.) Perhaps he was struggling with the conflict between his true identity (God Incarnate) and who people thought he was (Miracle Working Rabbi-Priest Who Works On Demand). Because the next question to his most trusted friends and followers was "Who do people say I am?" Then, he asks, "Who do you say I am?"

I don't for one minute think he was seeking validation from these people he loved (God can't have an identity crisis). But I do believe he longed to hear from their lips the confession of what others and they themselves thought about him. Because although Jesus is God incarnate, he is also fully human, and, I believe, struggled with the same problems of loneliness and security in relationships. When we're feeling alone or misunderstood, we frequently go to those who know us best and love us most for their thoughts about who we are. I think Jesus was doing the same thing. He'd just finished something amazing that rocketed him to celebrity status, but he was finding it "lonely at the top." So, as we should, he went first to his Father to talk about it and then called upon the thoughts of those he trusted, knowing that (by walking with him) they were people who were in good relationship with God.

When Peter correctly answered that he knew Jesus to be the "Messiah sent from God," Jesus knew that his close friend understood the truth of who he was, even if he didn't understand all he did or even the implications of the confession. Jesus tried to explain to Peter and the other disciples what would happen to him in the days to come, if only as a warning. True friends want the best for one another; surely the disciples, when they heard these terrible prophecies lived in denial of their reality.

But then Jesus offers another heart-stopper: we, too, can be superheroes. We can sacrifice ourselves and everything we know and hold dear, to follow him. It may be a long and lonely road where we encounter people who misunderstand us and have unrealistic expectations for who we are and what we can do, but if by the testimony of our words and/or example someone comes to know him as Savior and Lord, we've not only saved a life like Superman, we've saved an eternity. Superheroes act in the best interest of others, even if it exposes them to kryptonite. But by giving up our lives for Jesus' sake, we find that we have saved ourselves. So, in spite of the loneliness or misunderstanding that may come with it, Lord, make me a superhero this week for someone who needs you to work through me. (But please don't make me wear a cape.)

The Enigma of God's Character

As we've been studying the doctrines we believe about God each Sunday night, I've found much with which I agree, and lots I'll never understand or comprehend. Most specifically, the goodness, or moral purity of God as reflected in his righteousness. My tiny mind can't comprehend the confluence of a couple of the points brought out:

• God commands only what is right and will, therefore, have a positive effect upon the believer who obeys.

• Because of His supreme righteousness and holiness, He must put His own glory first.

I totally agree with both these points individually. When viewed together, however, my narrow perspective on humanity as experienced on this planet (as opposed to some other planet, I guess!) knows full well that sometimes there isn't a win-win situation. In other words, for God to get the glory he is certainly due, I may have to experience some "un-positive" things.

For example, last week, I met a lady who recently lost her 16 year old nephew in an automobile accident. Because of the young man's life and testimony, several of his peers have begun attending her church, expressing interest in spiritual matters. In this situation, God is receiving glory (she said so), but the experience of loss has certainly not been a positive one. And the continued absence of the young man's presence is not likely to have a positive effect on her as a believer for the remainder of her life on earth.

See what I mean?

But, I also know that you can't isolate the characteristics of God from one another, because he is a whole, other, unique Being, and each of those traits must work in conjunction with one another. Although I am made in his image, I am not comprised of all that he is. And, unlike his creation (i.e. me), he can isolate the feelings he has about something from his response to it, if necessary. Nine times out of ten, my actions are prompted by a feeling I have, even if that feeling is merely a sense of responsibility, and not a "like" or "dislike" matter.

I probably look like I'm talking in circles, now.

I think the crux of the problem, though, is that I want each "positive effect" to have my hand-print, or seal of approval, according to my standard definition. If God gets glory, great, but not at my expense. I don't want to be "used," even by God. (I mean that kind of "used" where you get what you want out of people regardless of the effect on them.) But therein is the contradiction, because that type of selfishness is sin that cannot dwell in his presence, so I am therefore (logically speaking) outside the will of God when I purely desire my own will. Furthermore, I am the creation, not the Creator, and he's got a grand play of humanity to stage where I'm not the lead character!

When I was in seminary, taking systematic theology (which is a fancy way of saying the study of God in a systematic, piece-by-piece manner), we had to identify what we believed to be the root character of God from which all his other traits flowed. Although my professor based his theology of God's character around God's love, I wrote a paper centered around God's holiness. I still believe that my theory was a sound one, because only One who is holy can love perfectly and thus orchestrate time and space perfectly in that holy love. But, I think I understand better why my professor centralized the love of God. Only a loving God would desire relationship with his creation, not just their functionality. There's something reassuring in knowing that the One who must put His own glory first is so loving. For in that love he will work all things together for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose (Rom 8:28). I just don't need to expect to understand or approve of it.

Prayer

Prayer is a precious commodity nowdays in my life, and I've been blessed by two Michael Card devotionals on the subject. I thought I'd share a couple of them:

Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth. Psalm 46:10

Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer discipled a group of young men in a secret underground seminary during World War II. The regimen required students to meditate on a passage of Scripture for two hours a day.

After only a few days, some of the men complained to Bonhoeffer that their minds were wandering. It was unreasonable, they told the amused Bonhoeffer, to require this of them when they had so many worries at home. He told them to stop trying to fight it. “Follow your mind wherever it goes,” he said. “Follow it until it stops and then, wherever it stops, make that person or problem a matter for prayer. The struggling only leads to more noise and inner turmoil.”

I know I'm guilty of their rationale. If my mind wanders in prayer, I assume I am mistakenly negligent toward God. I never considered that God may be directing my wandering mind for the specific purpose and intent of enabling me to commit all my thoughts to him. For every thought to be captive in obedience (2 Corinthians 10:5). I guess that's God's logical antidote for worry. If I'm dwelling on an issue or person, even subconsciously, when I allow that to be brought in full light and attention into his presence, I recognize my need for his intervention and/or my active obedience to whatever his instruction may be.

The other thing of which I'm terribly guilty is doing more talking than listening in my communication with God:

One of those days Jesus went out to a mountainside to pray,and spent the night praying to God. Luke 6:12

Though Jesus’ divinity possessed the very mind of God, his humanity continually sought out the Father in all-night prayer sessions. In the account of those sessions we hear very few words, so we can assume that there was much listening. But not listening for answers, for information. Prayer, for Jesus, seems to have been a time for simply sharing the presence of his Father, listening to the silence of his breathing. When his cousin John is murdered, he flees to the arms of prayer. When he is confronted with the conflict of wills between his Father and himself, it is precisely his Father he flees to in the garden.

Jesus’ life of prayer teaches us that we do not merely listen for words; we must learn to listen to the silence.

Silence is golden, unless we're waiting to hear from the Lord isn't it? I've always known that the most genuine friendships in my life are those in which, from time-to-time, we can be silent together in assured peace and contentment. Where neither is expecting the other to accomplish something, entertain, or even interact verbally. Why would I expect anything different from my heavenly father? Isn't he my closest friend and confidant? Can't he just "be" with me without having expectations imposed upon him, demands made of him and constant noise from my mouth interrupting our time together?

Help me hear the "silence of [your] breathing" Lord.