Right now I am sitting at a chair near the door at the Riverghetto Starbucks. I know, I know. I am supporting the man. But not really. I am sitting quite contented with my Columbia bottle of water. Its not unbreakable, like a Nalgene, but my dad likes to effectively ruin my Nalgenes by using them for his morning protein shakes, which leaves them smelling like someone threw up in them.
Actually, I like Starbucks. Sometimes when I sit here trying to read and little Asian twins run around in circles shouting, "Wahhhhhhhmomwahhhhhh " it gets a little annoying. But, for the most part, despite the outrageous prices (A latte is only espresso, milk, and a little droplet of caramel sauce. Seriously, four dollars?), the unstoppable corporate force it has become, and the fact that I have been denied a job here despite applying 47 times, I like Starbucks. I have read lots of good books here. I have written many painfully-long blogs sitting on the little round tables of my neighborhood ’Bucks.
Right now I am at a little round table at my neighborhood ’Bucks , wearing my mom’s reading glasses, partly because I think they look cool but mostly because last night a few people told me that they looked cool. When I stare at anything but the computer screen for longer than three seconds, my eyes start to cross and I feel as if I might puke in my backpack, but overall it’s been worth it. When I walked in this girl looked at me and gave me a "you look good with glasses" look. I know that look when I see it.
Sometimes I like to listen to the things that the people around me are talking about. These three girls in their upper twenties are sitting closer to the window and are expressing their frustration with God. One of the girls told a story about one of her girlfriends whose husband was killed in Iraq, and whose son had cancer. While dealing with all of this, her friend had a car accident, rendering her completely helpless to care for herself or her ill son. They wondered, and I suppose it is understandable, "Where is God in all of this?"
They went on to talk about their own personal faith struggles, how sometimes they wish God would just bless them so that they would have the ability to bless others, if that’s what He wants. I lament for them, and I just wish for clarity in their hearts. John Eldredge has said before, and I agree, that about 90% of the time we have no idea what’s going on in the world around us, and no clue how to react to this experience that’s happening to all of us. On the way here, I had a moment of clarity (about 2.3 seconds, enough time to have this thought), and said to myself, everybody’s just driving around. I understand that this is pretty obvious, but think about it. At that moment, with my windshield wipers working overtime and lots of busy shoppers and mallgoers crowding the road, how many of us were actually going somewhere with a purpose? I realize that maybe someone was going to exchange some shoes or buy, say, lightbulbs, but I’m talking about having a real purpose. How many people at that red light on Conference Drive were really living? I admittedly wasn’t. The only reason I was using gas and polluting the environment was because I was tired of sitting at my house. So I was sort of just driving around. We all just drive around.
Right now over the speakers the song Don’t Fence Me In is playing. Aside from singing it in the sixth-grade school play and it bringing up memories of Laura Butterworth (wherever you are, I hope you know that I talk about this at least once a week) tripping and falling during the climactic final song, it opens my eyes to the fences that I live in.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
I have thoughts on the B-I-B-L-E.
Once this semester, I read Genesis and took a lot of notes. These are simply my thoughts, and are not supported by anyone with legitimacy or authority, like a pastor. Oh, well.
First, I don’t think Abram or Sarai could have looked as old as they were. I mean, I think it’s entirely possible that Abram at 75 looked younger than, say, your Uncle Earl at 75. Especially Sarai. She was in her mid-70s and Abram still wrote that she was “a woman to be desired.” I have unfortunately desired a lot of women in my day and exactly none of them have even come close to birthday number five-o, much less 75. Anyway.
It always strikes me as weird what Abram does in Genesis 12. Right after saying that Sarai is a total hottie, he basically goes off and lies to save his butt, and makes Sarai sleep with Pharaoh (he must have slept with her, because it says he took her as his wife and she lived with him!). Not exactly the most chivalrous dude out there is Abram. I mean, surely he was embarrassed. He gave his wife away, took her back, left with all of Pharaoh’s crap, and sulked out of
Why did God find so much favor in Abram? Because He enjoys raising up the unexpected? He truly does work in mysterious ways.
Abram liked altars.
Then, in Genesis 14, this happened: this amazing story with Abram basically getting ticked off because his family was in trouble. So he took a band of 300 men, snuck up on five kings and their armies (which undoubtedly vastly outnumbered Abram’s gang), killed them and took back Abram’s kidnapped nephew
Ok, so I may be totally wrong about this next part, but I don’t think so. In Chapter 15, God is about to go into covenant with Abram (and with the rest of the race of man—forever), so its kind of a significant moment in history. In the last part of verse 12, “a deep sleep overcame Abram and then a sense of dread, dark and heavy.” This was when God was about to commit Himself to Abram in covenant. Fast-forward a billion years (as my Biology teacher would say) to when Jesus is on the Mount praying. Remember that Jesus is so overcome with dread and agony that he sweats blood? Jesus is about to establish God’s new covenant with mankind. Wow.
If you just read that part, you may have noticed the thing about the smoking pot and the flaming torch (and it was a pot that had smoke rising from it, not Abram smoking pot, although that might make more sense than a floating, flaming torch). Well this part is nuts. Patrick Schreiner, my excellent Bible study leader at Western, pointed this crazy verse out to us one night. He said that in those days, when a covenant was made between men, they would sacrifice a goat or a bull or whatever and cut it in half. Both agreeing parties would then walk through the split carcass, basically saying “If I break this covenant, let me be as these two halves—broken in two.”
NOW read the part about smoking pot. God Himself passes through the carcass in covenant with man. Us. Let God be broken in two if He breaks His covenant with us. Those are not my words, those are His.
In Chapter 16, we find another peculiar incident with K-Fed and Britney, um, Abram and Sarai. Sarai seems annoyed that God still hasn’t given her a child, so she whines to Abram and tells him to sleep with her maid (I guess this was common? Maybe?) Abram knows that God has promised him a son (Does Sarai know?), but did God promise him one by Sarai? Surely Abram had to be thinking about all this. Plus, after seeing that Abram pretty much lets Pharaoh do it with his wife, Sarai returns the favor. Interesting. I mean, wasn’t Sarai jealous? Weren’t things kinda awkward with her maid?
Check out verse 4. Serious girl drama. And in verse 5, the brat (there are only so many relatively nice words to use here for Sarai) Sarai blames everything on Abram!
If you read here, you’ll notice that Hagar looked down on Sarai. And wouldn’t you? She is the outcast, slave Egyptian who I’m sure Sarai is nice to but still kind of looks down upon. I mean, how can you not feel a little sense of superiority over someone you call ‘maid?’ Then, consider that Sarai is this incredibly beautiful woman—lauded in Hagar’s own country as amazingly gorgeous—who has this manly, rich, warrior husband, and she can’t have his child. So, Sarai has to majorly swallow her pride and ask Hagar to sleep with Abram to—watch this—bear Sarai a son! She’s going to count Hagar’s child as her own!
Cut to Abram. My man is in a tight spot. He gets to sleep with the young foreign mistress (and without guilt—heck his wife told him to!), then she gets pregnant with his own child! He has to have a soft spot in his heart for her. He probably shows her special affections, which undoubtedly make Hagar feel really special and even better than Sarai in some ways. Now the tides have turned! Hagar looks down on the sad, humbled Sarai! And Sarai’s ticked! So she brings Abram back into it…”it’s your fault!”
“Hey, woman! You told me to sleep with her!” Freakin’ soap opera.
Then we see where Sarai becomes abusive and “dealt harshly with her”…this is crazy. This is who God has chosen to redeem mankind with: the offspring of this dirty pirate hooker Sarai.
Now I tend to wonder if Hagar was feeling guilty at all. She was a humble servant, doing nothing more than she was told, and was probably very nice and gentle. Then, she became haughty and proud and it led to her master throwing her into the desert. You know she loved her master. She loved Sarai.
God tells her to “go back to Sarai and submit to her.” Wow. What a secret to mending a relationship—submission.
IMPORTANT!
When Hagar is exiled in the desert, he shows His unconditional compassion and mercy (For the second time? A third?). The other instances:
- Cain
- The covenant with Abram
- Calling the poor, wandering Hagar home
When God calls Hagar home, she cries out to Him, “You’re the God who sees me!” Amen.
God makes huge strides here in proclaiming His gospel of seeing and caring for the loser and outcast in this passionate pursuit of Hagar. Now, she returns home, humble and knowing she is seen and loved for who she is. No longer does she have to flaunt her pregnancy as her identity. She has Ishmael. Abram is 86.
We’ll stop here. There are lots more Abram thoughts to come!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Freakin read it.
these are only thoughts that have just recently run across the bottom-line ticker of my brain...and thus, have been spilt upon the internet for you to enjoy(?)
People used to guilt me into reading the Bible.
"People in (Enter Oppressed Country Here) are persecuted for having Bibles; can't you read yours?"
I somewhat understand the logic. But this fact that people in Turkey are forced to have their worship services secretly--but gladly do--while I simply read a chapter and check it off the to-do list, what's this really saying?
We are so dang used to hearing about Moses and Jesus and Paul and Peter! We're so numb to it! It's become an encyclopedia.
"God's Instructional Manual"
What the f is that?
Can any other instruction manuals crush a stone heart? No, it's much bigger than a manual. It's an actual story. One with a plot. One with a climax. A Hero. A Savior.
I desire to read the Bible like a book, a book highly-recommended by a friend.
"What's this called?" I'd love to ask, "The Bible?"
"Yeah. Read it."
Then i'd dive in. No preconceived notions or biases or Sunday School felt board images or VBS skit memories to recall.
Just God. And His amazing love story for us.
People used to guilt me into reading the Bible.
"People in (Enter Oppressed Country Here) are persecuted for having Bibles; can't you read yours?"
I somewhat understand the logic. But this fact that people in Turkey are forced to have their worship services secretly--but gladly do--while I simply read a chapter and check it off the to-do list, what's this really saying?
We are so dang used to hearing about Moses and Jesus and Paul and Peter! We're so numb to it! It's become an encyclopedia.
"God's Instructional Manual"
What the f is that?
Can any other instruction manuals crush a stone heart? No, it's much bigger than a manual. It's an actual story. One with a plot. One with a climax. A Hero. A Savior.
I desire to read the Bible like a book, a book highly-recommended by a friend.
"What's this called?" I'd love to ask, "The Bible?"
"Yeah. Read it."
Then i'd dive in. No preconceived notions or biases or Sunday School felt board images or VBS skit memories to recall.
Just God. And His amazing love story for us.
Payable On Death: Music Gods. Forever.
he world is in dire need of good music.
If you ascribe to your favorite local Top 40 radio station (Nashville's is 107.5 The RIVER--or maybe I'm out of touch with that, I don't know), you'll probably hear Justin Timberlake, some Britney Spears crap, 'Crank Dat' (which even I can dance to, because of the helpful instruction of 3rd-grader Alexa Williams, younger sister of Laura Williams), or good ole' Nickelback. This is bad because this music sucks.
Tune into a Saturday afternoon SEC football game on UPN (Channel 14 where I sit) and you might see decent some decent football, although Vandy's 35-7 thrashing at the hands of Auburn was harder to stomach than Britney's MTV Video Awards performance. What you will also see is a million ads promoting--WHY?!?!?!--Daughtry's latest album. The announcers gush mindlessly about Daughtry's music mid-broadcast over and over until there's nothing for an SEC football fan to do but to burn the cd or burn the cd.
I say all of this to say that what the world needs is less Big Tymers and more P.O.D. Seriously. Check 'em out.
For the better part of my high school days, I religiously listened to their coming-out-party called "Satellite." With hits like "Set It Off", "Boom", "Alive", "Youth of the Nation", "Messenjah", "Masterpiece Conspiracy" (if you didn't notice, I've named half the cd!), why wouldn't I? Their masterpiece, 1999's "The Fundamental Elements of Southtown", features my all-time P.O.D. fave, "Outcast," and a few more pit-instigators and sick rhymes. Their debut, 1994's "Snuff The Punk" (Satan's the punk, chumps!) features a song which quotes Philippians 2 and JAMS (EVERY KNEE SHALL BOW!!!).
I have quickly realized that I do not have the time to explain--nor does the English language render it possible--P.O.D.'s musical awesomeness. Like you can watch Alex Rodriguez crush a 98 m.p.h. fastball all you want but until you actually step into the batter's box you will have no clue what that is like, you also cannot explain to a musically-barren man what the sounds of P.O.D. are like.
After checking out every single cd P.O.D. has ever released (their so-so "Payable On Death" and latest "Testify", which is crappy, will make you appreciate the old stuff even more), I recommend, in no particular order, the following...
Me At The Least. These guys are my bros. They are original, they sing about Jesus, and they bring the mosh. Also, their drummer and bassist used to play for As The Noon and Metanoia. That says it all.
August Burns Red. Perfect music. You will crap your pants as you listen.
The Devil Wears Prada. Nice doods. Opposite of nice music.
War Of Ages. My dad leaps and headbangs and hollers to these guys. I do too. That's a good thing.
Paramore. Call me gay. But if you call me gay I will also call you gay because I suck at comebacks.
The Chariot. Frontman Josh Scogin is simply a god of the hardcore scene. "I was not placed upon the grass of this ever-fading earth for a standing ovation!"
Norma Jean. Probably in the top 3 of my greatest bands of all time. Seamlessly transitioned from Scogin's wonderful creation ("Bless the Martyr, Kiss the Child"), to my favorite of their albums, the technical "O God, the Aftermath" to the brutal but more concise "Redeemer." All the while keeping an amazing poetic lyrical style that seems to fit the music.
As Cities Burn. Clearly the most passionate band in history. I've never connected more to a band's lyrics or been convicted more by them. Simply amazing. They have to be experienced.
I have recently come to love Third Eye Blind and Oasis.
Also, the end of "Masterpiece Conspiracy" contains one of the sickest breakdowns in recent memory.
If you ascribe to your favorite local Top 40 radio station (Nashville's is 107.5 The RIVER--or maybe I'm out of touch with that, I don't know), you'll probably hear Justin Timberlake, some Britney Spears crap, 'Crank Dat' (which even I can dance to, because of the helpful instruction of 3rd-grader Alexa Williams, younger sister of Laura Williams), or good ole' Nickelback. This is bad because this music sucks.
Tune into a Saturday afternoon SEC football game on UPN (Channel 14 where I sit) and you might see decent some decent football, although Vandy's 35-7 thrashing at the hands of Auburn was harder to stomach than Britney's MTV Video Awards performance. What you will also see is a million ads promoting--WHY?!?!?!--Daug
I say all of this to say that what the world needs is less Big Tymers and more P.O.D. Seriously. Check 'em out.
For the better part of my high school days, I religiously listened to their coming-out-party called "Satellite." With hits like "Set It Off", "Boom", "Alive", "Youth of the Nation", "Messenjah", "Masterpiece Conspiracy" (if you didn't notice, I've named half the cd!), why wouldn't I? Their masterpiece, 1999's "The Fundamental Elements of Southtown", features my all-time P.O.D. fave, "Outcast," and a few more pit-instigators and sick rhymes. Their debut, 1994's "Snuff The Punk" (Satan's the punk, chumps!) features a song which quotes Philippians 2 and JAMS (EVERY KNEE SHALL BOW!!!).
I have quickly realized that I do not have the time to explain--nor does the English language render it possible--P.O.D.'s musical awesomeness. Like you can watch Alex Rodriguez crush a 98 m.p.h. fastball all you want but until you actually step into the batter's box you will have no clue what that is like, you also cannot explain to a musically-barren man what the sounds of P.O.D. are like.
After checking out every single cd P.O.D. has ever released (their so-so "Payable On Death" and latest "Testify", which is crappy, will make you appreciate the old stuff even more), I recommend, in no particular order, the following...
Me At The Least. These guys are my bros. They are original, they sing about Jesus, and they bring the mosh. Also, their drummer and bassist used to play for As The Noon and Metanoia. That says it all.
August Burns Red. Perfect music. You will crap your pants as you listen.
The Devil Wears Prada. Nice doods. Opposite of nice music.
War Of Ages. My dad leaps and headbangs and hollers to these guys. I do too. That's a good thing.
Paramore. Call me gay. But if you call me gay I will also call you gay because I suck at comebacks.
The Chariot. Frontman Josh Scogin is simply a god of the hardcore scene. "I was not placed upon the grass of this ever-fading earth for a standing ovation!"
Norma Jean. Probably in the top 3 of my greatest bands of all time. Seamlessly transitioned from Scogin's wonderful creation ("Bless the Martyr, Kiss the Child"), to my favorite of their albums, the technical "O God, the Aftermath" to the brutal but more concise "Redeemer." All the while keeping an amazing poetic lyrical style that seems to fit the music.
As Cities Burn. Clearly the most passionate band in history. I've never connected more to a band's lyrics or been convicted more by them. Simply amazing. They have to be experienced.
I have recently come to love Third Eye Blind and Oasis.
Also, the end of "Masterpiece Conspiracy" contains one of the sickest breakdowns in recent memory.
Go. Commodores.
I really, really like breath mints, Listerine, and menthol cigarettes. (And also animal crackers but that's not really relevant.) I do not like them for the way they make my breath smell or for the way they make my head feel. I like them for that weird, refreshing, almost unexplainable "cold" feeling. You know? Try taking in a big breath of air after having a few Certs; you'll love it!
This may explain why I like the cold so much. I mean, besides having more fashion options (Layers, my friend, layers!), why would anyone prefer a cold day over a warm one? Or a 70 degree, throw-frisbee-in-the-park day? I will answer that question with another one: how freakin sweet is it to see your breath?
As I waited on a friend tonight, I stood outside on Western's chilly campus with my hood pulled over my head and my hands deep in my pockets, and desperately tried to locate the hiding stars. After a few moments, I sighed, and there it was, the coolest, most unusual, fleeting sight: my own breath. I don't claim to know much about physical science (is that even the right term?), but I'm pretty sure that when we humans breathe we take in a little oxygen and then when we breathe out we give back a little carbon dioxide. I think that's how it works. Anyway, it is the queerest of things, breathing. We do it, what, thousands, millions of times a day? And you can go weeks or months without once ever thinking to make yourself breathe. I think that would suck if we always had to go around thinking about when we should breathe.
So, breathing. It keeps us alive, somehow. I would research it, but I really don't want to. I trust that God knows EXACTLY how it works and in fact it's so easy for Him that He didn't even think it was that big of a deal when he BREATHED it into existence. Couple lungs, a diaphragm, and a little oxygen, no big deal. But there were some other things God kind of breathed into existence, too. By speaking (is speaking not just breathing with a little noise?), God Himself gave light to the sun (a pretty crazy thought in its own right), created all the stars, and then made all kinds of wild animals and whales and sharks and birds.
I wonder, though, when He created Air. It could be in Genesis 1:6-8, when Moses writes that God created an "expanse" (Eugene Peterson calls it "sky" in The Message). I'll take Peterson's word for it, that God created Sky, thus enabling his soon-to-be-created plants, animals, and humans to breathe.
You know how people say sometimes that when there's lightning bolts God's throwing them or when there's thunder God's bowling or when there's rain God's crying? I don't necessarily believe those (although a bolt-hurling God is appealing to me), but I do believe that the wind--heck, even just stagnant air--is the breath of God. He clearly breathed this universe into creation, and what can air be, after all, if it is not the actual breath of God? The sensation and awe of inhaling God's actual breath is experienced in a rather amazing way when it is cold. The cold air on the back of my throat seems to refresh me, and always ends up reminding me of the simplicity and necessity of breathing. God's way of reminding us that, Hey, I'm here, you're breathing My breath.
Then we exhale. When its cold (again, the best time to take a big, fat, deep breath), we can actually see our breath. I have no clue how to explain it and all I can do is watch it. As soon as we start to breathe out (our breath), our exhale pollutes God's breathing out (His breath). Perhaps this is why we can see it. I tried and tried tonight to get my warm breaths to stay in the cool air for more than two seconds, but dadgum it my breaths were just too small, too insignificant.
I bet the reason that we can't see the wind and the gentler breezes and the stagnant air is that the wind and breeze and air is the never-ending breath of God. The overpowering, overflowing breath of God that is so huge it cannot be seen. Our breaths are allowed to be viewed as long as we understand that we'll get to see our breaths for 1.2 seconds before they vanish again. God's breath is not something that is meant to be seen, to be looked at, to be captured in a pretty little picture. It's more like something that wants to be felt. I think God might like cold nights too.
This may explain why I like the cold so much. I mean, besides having more fashion options (Layers, my friend, layers!), why would anyone prefer a cold day over a warm one? Or a 70 degree, throw-frisbee-in-the-park day? I will answer that question with another one: how freakin sweet is it to see your breath?
As I waited on a friend tonight, I stood outside on Western's chilly campus with my hood pulled over my head and my hands deep in my pockets, and desperately tried to locate the hiding stars. After a few moments, I sighed, and there it was, the coolest, most unusual, fleeting sight: my own breath. I don't claim to know much about physical science (is that even the right term?), but I'm pretty sure that when we humans breathe we take in a little oxygen and then when we breathe out we give back a little carbon dioxide. I think that's how it works. Anyway, it is the queerest of things, breathing. We do it, what, thousands, millions of times a day? And you can go weeks or months without once ever thinking to make yourself breathe. I think that would suck if we always had to go around thinking about when we should breathe.
So, breathing. It keeps us alive, somehow. I would research it, but I really don't want to. I trust that God knows EXACTLY how it works and in fact it's so easy for Him that He didn't even think it was that big of a deal when he BREATHED it into existence. Couple lungs, a diaphragm, and a little oxygen, no big deal. But there were some other things God kind of breathed into existence, too. By speaking (is speaking not just breathing with a little noise?), God Himself gave light to the sun (a pretty crazy thought in its own right), created all the stars, and then made all kinds of wild animals and whales and sharks and birds.
I wonder, though, when He created Air. It could be in Genesis 1:6-8, when Moses writes that God created an "expanse" (Eugene Peterson calls it "sky" in The Message). I'll take Peterson's word for it, that God created Sky, thus enabling his soon-to-be-created plants, animals, and humans to breathe.
You know how people say sometimes that when there's lightning bolts God's throwing them or when there's thunder God's bowling or when there's rain God's crying? I don't necessarily believe those (although a bolt-hurling God is appealing to me), but I do believe that the wind--heck, even just stagnant air--is the breath of God. He clearly breathed this universe into creation, and what can air be, after all, if it is not the actual breath of God? The sensation and awe of inhaling God's actual breath is experienced in a rather amazing way when it is cold. The cold air on the back of my throat seems to refresh me, and always ends up reminding me of the simplicity and necessity of breathing. God's way of reminding us that, Hey, I'm here, you're breathing My breath.
Then we exhale. When its cold (again, the best time to take a big, fat, deep breath), we can actually see our breath. I have no clue how to explain it and all I can do is watch it. As soon as we start to breathe out (our breath), our exhale pollutes God's breathing out (His breath). Perhaps this is why we can see it. I tried and tried tonight to get my warm breaths to stay in the cool air for more than two seconds, but dadgum it my breaths were just too small, too insignificant.
I bet the reason that we can't see the wind and the gentler breezes and the stagnant air is that the wind and breeze and air is the never-ending breath of God. The overpowering, overflowing breath of God that is so huge it cannot be seen. Our breaths are allowed to be viewed as long as we understand that we'll get to see our breaths for 1.2 seconds before they vanish again. God's breath is not something that is meant to be seen, to be looked at, to be captured in a pretty little picture. It's more like something that wants to be felt. I think God might like cold nights too.
Of Being Silent
Yep, I'm in Kentucky. Freakin' Kentucky.
It's been oddly foggy lately, making it quite hard to see out my car window as I drive. This could also be because my car, Randy, hasn't been washed since around my junior year of high school. Things have been weird lately, and I think the fog kind of fits.
Seth and I talked about it the other night. It sounds so cliche, but the world has so much to offer, and its so loud and busy that we can't see the next semester ahead of us, and any attempt to listen to and hear what is truly the voice of God is muffled--no, drowned out entirely--by the boisterous, look-at-us antics of the church and many of today's Christians.
I've started to read through the Old Testament, which is literally the first time I've done that since I learned the Ten Commandments with hand motions and silly riddles (3rd grade). Anyway, I've noticed--just through the first few chapters--that God speaks to those crazy, old, white-haired characters (that is what they looked like, right?) a lot. 24 times, to be exact, through the first twelve chapters alone! He tells Adam not to eat of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. He speaks to Noah and commands him to make a boat. A freakin’ huge boat. He “appears” to Abram and tells him to leave his country and his family and his father’s house. Once, its recorded, Adam and Eve simply heard the sound of God.
So who is this God? Who does He think He is coming down and making noises amid the trees, appearing to people, and making them build boats when it had never even rained?!
Okay, I know that was harsh. But this is a different God than the one I know, right?
What happened to this old, annoying, in-your-face, lets-sit-and-chat God? Pretty sure God’s never appeared to me. Seems like I’d remember that. He’s never called to me or spoke to me, and I definitely haven’t heard Him in the gardens and fields, that’s for dang sure.
Why is the God of America silent? Why is He invisible and why is it foggy outside?
I’ve never really been one for transitions and I’m finding it hard to make one here. But listen. I believe with all of my heart that God is trying to speak to you. Think it’s easy to get our attention? His best tricks don’t even work anymore! Sunsets are no longer captivating. We rarely hesitate to taste the cold air on a December night. Billions–literally, billions–of stars loom overhead every single night and go unnoticed by billions of humans. A song of King David captures God’s attention-grabbers in spectacularly beautiful fashion. Psalm 104–its unbelievable. You’ve got to check it out.
“...dressed in sunshine, all of heaven stretched out as your tent...”
“...you made a chariot out of clouds and took off on wind-wings...”
“...you started the springs and rivers, sent them flowing among the hills...”
“What a wildly wonderful world, God! You made it all, with Wisdom at your side,made earth overflow with your wonderful creations. Oh look, the deep, wide sea brimming with fish past counting, sardines, sharks, and salmon...”
Wow.
David noticed God’s cries for attention.
Right now I’m listening to The Glorious Unseen, a really cool worship band, and they have this incredibly beautiful song, “Tonight the Stars Speak.”
Tonight the stars speak of your infinite love
and it serves to remind me that what I have
means nothing at all compared to your glory
oh Lord
how long til your voice speaks clearly?
I wonder the same thing. Oh, Lord, how long til your voice speaks clearly? The voice of God. Speaking. Clearly. What a glorious thought indeed.
What if, though, God’s voice hasn’t lost its boom? What if He doesn’t always just faintly whisper?
Shane Claiborne says in the Irresistible Revolution “we’ve taken the claws off the Lion of Judah.” Have we also taken away His roar?
Most of us wake up in the morning to a noise (a harsh, beeping alarm or maybe a cool ringtone like me), pour a bowl of Cocoa Crispies, and turn on our music and Sportscenter. Then we walk to class with our iPods–while texting–and then have to sit and listen while some middle-aged dude on a power trip lectures about the Revolutionary War while we wonder what kind of revolution we got ourselves into in the first place here in America. Simply put, there’s a lot of crap going on. I am not saying in the least that iPods and sports and TV and the Internet and music and school teachers and big, loud, laser-show worship services and Myspace and Facebook and cell phones and Starbucks and shows and youth camp are of the devil. They’re just loud. I want to be quiet.
See, I really do think God’s voice is there to be heard. As I search for direction and for what it truly means to be a Christian, I have to believe that I can still hear God...if not are my prayers not hopeless?
In short, Seth and I (we’re not the only ones, even among my circle of friends) are tired. We’re searching, wondering if something exciting, something real is out there for us. We’re wondering if school really does blow or if we are really that lazy. We’re wondering if those nagging, unsatisfied desires in our heart were put there by God to be lived and experienced or put there by us as an escape from the harsh reality of four years of college and 9-5s. We know are parents are wise and that we’re young, brash, know-it-all’s. We’ve accepted the label of “weird” and have come to expect the loving pat on the back and, “Aw, listen to you, you have such a vision...but you can’t go on dreaming forever” from someone who’s settled and accepted what the world or their parents told them to be.
Look, I don’t want to rebel against my parents. I don’t want to yell and throw things and run out of the house and get a tattoo. I don’t want to slam the state of the church and run away, leaving it just as I found it. I don’t even–and this is, admittedly, a tough one to say–want to be cool or trendy. I think I really just want to be who God wants me to be. I think I really want to do what He says.
Except that...dang it...I can’t hear Him.
This summer, after spending a week at church camp where God blessed me with no cell phone service, I decided to take another week off from the cell. It was really cool, and when I turned my phone back on I had lots of hateful voicemails from friends who couldn’t get a hold of me and were pissed. It was also the first time–heck, the only time–that I’ve ever heard the voice of God speak. I sensed that, undoubtedly, I was supposed to go to Western Kentucky this fall. Could the same voice that called me here really be calling me away after only a few months? Hey, He’s done crazier things, for sure (remember that story in Numbers where the donkey talks?). I just want to hear Him.
So in about a week, Seth and I are planning a fast. Maybe a cell-phone fast, maybe an Internet fast. Maybe a food fast. Maybe all three. We don’t know yet. Understand that I tell you this not so I can appear spiritual (I’ve been tuning God out for months, how spiritual can I be, really?), but to invite you into this blessed period of shutting up. Of being silent.
The fog illustrates this well. The other night, I was driving in fog so thick that I was speeding along at around 10 miles an hour down the backroads. I couldn’t see a thing in front of me. And maybe I’m not supposed to. Maybe I’m just supposed to have faith. Maybe I’m supposed to sell everything I have, give it to the poor and follow Jesus.
But I want to hear God speak, I need to hear Him speak. I’m expecting to hear Him speak. I think that’s a good thing.
Outside the window, the fog has cleared up.
It's been oddly foggy lately, making it quite hard to see out my car window as I drive. This could also be because my car, Randy, hasn't been washed since around my junior year of high school. Things have been weird lately, and I think the fog kind of fits.
Seth and I talked about it the other night. It sounds so cliche, but the world has so much to offer, and its so loud and busy that we can't see the next semester ahead of us, and any attempt to listen to and hear what is truly the voice of God is muffled--no, drowned out entirely--by the boisterous, look-at-us antics of the church and many of today's Christians.
I've started to read through the Old Testament, which is literally the first time I've done that since I learned the Ten Commandments with hand motions and silly riddles (3rd grade). Anyway, I've noticed--just through the first few chapters--that God speaks to those crazy, old, white-haired characters (that is what they looked like, right?) a lot. 24 times, to be exact, through the first twelve chapters alone! He tells Adam not to eat of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. He speaks to Noah and commands him to make a boat. A freakin’ huge boat. He “appears” to Abram and tells him to leave his country and his family and his father’s house. Once, its recorded, Adam and Eve simply heard the sound of God.
So who is this God? Who does He think He is coming down and making noises amid the trees, appearing to people, and making them build boats when it had never even rained?!
Okay, I know that was harsh. But this is a different God than the one I know, right?
What happened to this old, annoying, in-your-face, lets-sit-and-chat God? Pretty sure God’s never appeared to me. Seems like I’d remember that. He’s never called to me or spoke to me, and I definitely haven’t heard Him in the gardens and fields, that’s for dang sure.
Why is the God of America silent? Why is He invisible and why is it foggy outside?
I’ve never really been one for transitions and I’m finding it hard to make one here. But listen. I believe with all of my heart that God is trying to speak to you. Think it’s easy to get our attention? His best tricks don’t even work anymore! Sunsets are no longer captivating. We rarely hesitate to taste the cold air on a December night. Billions–literally, billions–of stars loom overhead every single night and go unnoticed by billions of humans. A song of King David captures God’s attention-grabbers in spectacularly beautiful fashion. Psalm 104–its unbelievable. You’ve got to check it out.
“...dressed in sunshine, all of heaven stretched out as your tent...”
“...you made a chariot out of clouds and took off on wind-wings...”
“...you started the springs and rivers, sent them flowing among the hills...”
“What a wildly wonderful world, God! You made it all, with Wisdom at your side,made earth overflow with your wonderful creations. Oh look, the deep, wide sea brimming with fish past counting, sardines, sharks, and salmon...”
Wow.
David noticed God’s cries for attention.
Right now I’m listening to The Glorious Unseen, a really cool worship band, and they have this incredibly beautiful song, “Tonight the Stars Speak.”
Tonight the stars speak of your infinite love
and it serves to remind me that what I have
means nothing at all compared to your glory
oh Lord
how long til your voice speaks clearly?
I wonder the same thing. Oh, Lord, how long til your voice speaks clearly? The voice of God. Speaking. Clearly. What a glorious thought indeed.
What if, though, God’s voice hasn’t lost its boom? What if He doesn’t always just faintly whisper?
Shane Claiborne says in the Irresistible Revolution “we’ve taken the claws off the Lion of Judah.” Have we also taken away His roar?
Most of us wake up in the morning to a noise (a harsh, beeping alarm or maybe a cool ringtone like me), pour a bowl of Cocoa Crispies, and turn on our music and Sportscenter. Then we walk to class with our iPods–while texting–and then have to sit and listen while some middle-aged dude on a power trip lectures about the Revolutionary War while we wonder what kind of revolution we got ourselves into in the first place here in America. Simply put, there’s a lot of crap going on. I am not saying in the least that iPods and sports and TV and the Internet and music and school teachers and big, loud, laser-show worship services and Myspace and Facebook and cell phones and Starbucks and shows and youth camp are of the devil. They’re just loud. I want to be quiet.
See, I really do think God’s voice is there to be heard. As I search for direction and for what it truly means to be a Christian, I have to believe that I can still hear God...if not are my prayers not hopeless?
In short, Seth and I (we’re not the only ones, even among my circle of friends) are tired. We’re searching, wondering if something exciting, something real is out there for us. We’re wondering if school really does blow or if we are really that lazy. We’re wondering if those nagging, unsatisfied desires in our heart were put there by God to be lived and experienced or put there by us as an escape from the harsh reality of four years of college and 9-5s. We know are parents are wise and that we’re young, brash, know-it-all’s. We’ve accepted the label of “weird” and have come to expect the loving pat on the back and, “Aw, listen to you, you have such a vision...but you can’t go on dreaming forever” from someone who’s settled and accepted what the world or their parents told them to be.
Look, I don’t want to rebel against my parents. I don’t want to yell and throw things and run out of the house and get a tattoo. I don’t want to slam the state of the church and run away, leaving it just as I found it. I don’t even–and this is, admittedly, a tough one to say–want to be cool or trendy. I think I really just want to be who God wants me to be. I think I really want to do what He says.
Except that...dang it...I can’t hear Him.
This summer, after spending a week at church camp where God blessed me with no cell phone service, I decided to take another week off from the cell. It was really cool, and when I turned my phone back on I had lots of hateful voicemails from friends who couldn’t get a hold of me and were pissed. It was also the first time–heck, the only time–that I’ve ever heard the voice of God speak. I sensed that, undoubtedly, I was supposed to go to Western Kentucky this fall. Could the same voice that called me here really be calling me away after only a few months? Hey, He’s done crazier things, for sure (remember that story in Numbers where the donkey talks?). I just want to hear Him.
So in about a week, Seth and I are planning a fast. Maybe a cell-phone fast, maybe an Internet fast. Maybe a food fast. Maybe all three. We don’t know yet. Understand that I tell you this not so I can appear spiritual (I’ve been tuning God out for months, how spiritual can I be, really?), but to invite you into this blessed period of shutting up. Of being silent.
The fog illustrates this well. The other night, I was driving in fog so thick that I was speeding along at around 10 miles an hour down the backroads. I couldn’t see a thing in front of me. And maybe I’m not supposed to. Maybe I’m just supposed to have faith. Maybe I’m supposed to sell everything I have, give it to the poor and follow Jesus.
But I want to hear God speak, I need to hear Him speak. I’m expecting to hear Him speak. I think that’s a good thing.
Outside the window, the fog has cleared up.
Funny Joke Man!
I am weird. Or am I normal? Is it normal to be weird? I think it is.
There has to be something to write about concerning these last few days. Has to be...
So basically, around 8-9 months ago, Jeremiah and I stopped being friends. This happened because he was completely frustrated and sick of shallow relationships, and I was busy chasing after so many. He just wanted real ones. The big, loud social gatherings were killing him. Everyone at these gatherings were, for the most part, Christians, and talked a great deal about "being real" and admitting they were broken and needed Jesus and stuff. It was like we all agreed that Jesus was God and stuff without saying it and went on incessantly making Borat jokes or talking about our friend who maybe had sex with this girl and how it's not very good but yet we talk and laugh about it like it's not so bad. Even worse, our conversation would occasionally drift towards God or Jesus or something Paul wrote to a New Testament church and some people would act interested and vaguely excited and maybe even contribute to the conversation.
These types of conversations almost always make people feel really good. Because, after all, talking about faith means you have faith, right? Rambling about love and forgiveness implies that, well, the rambler loves and forgives. You see how this makes us feel so very good about ourselves?
I did this. A lot. I even wrote blogs about God and prayed for people and, when my Holy Spirit flame was lit bright enough, I would get on my knees and tell God that my life was His, and for Him to take me wherever He pleased. I had gotten so excited about the ability to be "real." I guess you could hardly blame me.
In high school, I knew that a number of my fellow FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes) officers drank more beer than the non-FCA officers at our school, just like they knew that I was messing around with my girlfriend and that I was arrogant and self-righteous and hurtful. Understand that when I say I knew or they knew this isn't hypothetical or guesswork or "I heard..." It was common knowledge! And we were supposed to be imitating Jesus! Thus, having friends who I could talk to about my struggles with girls and my insecurities and my pride was very neat and felt very right. The problem with all this is that it is a very comfortable place to stop.
We (when we are weekly or bi-weekly confessing our brokenness to friends) are different enough (Hey! Nobody talks about struggling with porn! We do!) to feel slightly uncomfortable when around "the world" (drinking, partying, and other condemned worldly crap), and this makes discomfort makes us comfortable in our little Christian realm. It's like if you're kind of weird then church will make you feel good (but try not to be too weird, like, don't admit that you struggle with homosexuality or anything). A lot of today's churches are asking their members to accept Jesus and gain accountability, all while massaging their shoulders and patting their backs.
Am I making sense?
We have twisted Romans 12:2 around so much and effed it up to say what we want it to say. I'm not trying to sound smart, really. I hate it when people do that. But this was just in the footnote of my Bible, so I'll share it. When it says "Do not be conformed to the pattern of this world..." my ESV Bible tells me that "world" is really "age" in Greek. For so long, I was made to believe that "world" meant all those who were not Christians or all those who did not make their way to a pew on Sundays. Their behavior can be characterized by loud, crude jokes, excessive drinking, lots of sex, and no regard for the moral consequences of doing any of the above. But when I see that "world" really means "age," I see that the church (especially in Nashville) can be sucked into the "patterns of this age" just as easily as the unholy. I see that we are not to conform to the patterns of the church, who betrayed Jesus and conformed to the age many ages ago.
Shane Claiborne called it "cheap grace." Jeremiah called it "shallow friendship," and I am experiencing the cheapness and the ease that is Christianity. After all, it is very easy to stand in shallow water, right? So it is easy and comfortable to exist in shallow relationships. I am after relationships that really do sacrifice and give and don't expect in return. Relationships that encourage and support and don't push an agenda. Relationships defined by listening and showing up and being there and knowing.
Jeremiah said something very beautiful about this at church this morning.
I contend that it is not enough to accept Jesus. It might be enough if we're accepting the real Jesus, but I'm afraid this isn't happening. I realize this isn't groundbreaking or anything, but we're preaching a Jesus who has blessed America and loves the USA and mysteriously guards our troops and guides their bullets to kill. We're preaching a Jesus who has given us money so we could have nice things and "give to those who don't have" and so we can go to college, get a nice job, make a lot of money, be safe and comfy, and start the process over! We preach a Jesus who doesn't really mean it when he says "Sell all you have and give it to the poor," just like he doesn't mean it when he says, "Love your enemies." Oh, he also did not mean anything by it when he said to live as a servant, or to live as if all of us were our mothers and brothers (Matt. 12:48). He probably didn't mean what he said about dropping anything to follow him (Luke 9:57), either. He didn't mean any of that. Duh.
He wants you to be comfortably uncomfortable, living with confession-booth relationships and accountability. He also wants you to be normal, and not tell your friends anything weird or scary. Like, that you're an alien or something.
There has to be something to write about concerning these last few days. Has to be...
So basically, around 8-9 months ago, Jeremiah and I stopped being friends. This happened because he was completely frustrated and sick of shallow relationships, and I was busy chasing after so many. He just wanted real ones. The big, loud social gatherings were killing him. Everyone at these gatherings were, for the most part, Christians, and talked a great deal about "being real" and admitting they were broken and needed Jesus and stuff. It was like we all agreed that Jesus was God and stuff without saying it and went on incessantly making Borat jokes or talking about our friend who maybe had sex with this girl and how it's not very good but yet we talk and laugh about it like it's not so bad. Even worse, our conversation would occasionally drift towards God or Jesus or something Paul wrote to a New Testament church and some people would act interested and vaguely excited and maybe even contribute to the conversation.
These types of conversations almost always make people feel really good. Because, after all, talking about faith means you have faith, right? Rambling about love and forgiveness implies that, well, the rambler loves and forgives. You see how this makes us feel so very good about ourselves?
I did this. A lot. I even wrote blogs about God and prayed for people and, when my Holy Spirit flame was lit bright enough, I would get on my knees and tell God that my life was His, and for Him to take me wherever He pleased. I had gotten so excited about the ability to be "real." I guess you could hardly blame me.
In high school, I knew that a number of my fellow FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes) officers drank more beer than the non-FCA officers at our school, just like they knew that I was messing around with my girlfriend and that I was arrogant and self-righteous and hurtful. Understand that when I say I knew or they knew this isn't hypothetical or guesswork or "I heard..." It was common knowledge! And we were supposed to be imitating Jesus! Thus, having friends who I could talk to about my struggles with girls and my insecurities and my pride was very neat and felt very right. The problem with all this is that it is a very comfortable place to stop.
We (when we are weekly or bi-weekly confessing our brokenness to friends) are different enough (Hey! Nobody talks about struggling with porn! We do!) to feel slightly uncomfortable when around "the world" (drinking, partying, and other condemned worldly crap), and this makes discomfort makes us comfortable in our little Christian realm. It's like if you're kind of weird then church will make you feel good (but try not to be too weird, like, don't admit that you struggle with homosexuality or anything). A lot of today's churches are asking their members to accept Jesus and gain accountability, all while massaging their shoulders and patting their backs.
Am I making sense?
We have twisted Romans 12:2 around so much and effed it up to say what we want it to say. I'm not trying to sound smart, really. I hate it when people do that. But this was just in the footnote of my Bible, so I'll share it. When it says "Do not be conformed to the pattern of this world..." my ESV Bible tells me that "world" is really "age" in Greek. For so long, I was made to believe that "world" meant all those who were not Christians or all those who did not make their way to a pew on Sundays. Their behavior can be characterized by loud, crude jokes, excessive drinking, lots of sex, and no regard for the moral consequences of doing any of the above. But when I see that "world" really means "age," I see that the church (especially in Nashville) can be sucked into the "patterns of this age" just as easily as the unholy. I see that we are not to conform to the patterns of the church, who betrayed Jesus and conformed to the age many ages ago.
Shane Claiborne called it "cheap grace." Jeremiah called it "shallow friendship," and I am experiencing the cheapness and the ease that is Christianity. After all, it is very easy to stand in shallow water, right? So it is easy and comfortable to exist in shallow relationships. I am after relationships that really do sacrifice and give and don't expect in return. Relationships that encourage and support and don't push an agenda. Relationships defined by listening and showing up and being there and knowing.
Jeremiah said something very beautiful about this at church this morning.
I contend that it is not enough to accept Jesus. It might be enough if we're accepting the real Jesus, but I'm afraid this isn't happening. I realize this isn't groundbreaking or anything, but we're preaching a Jesus who has blessed America and loves the USA and mysteriously guards our troops and guides their bullets to kill. We're preaching a Jesus who has given us money so we could have nice things and "give to those who don't have" and so we can go to college, get a nice job, make a lot of money, be safe and comfy, and start the process over! We preach a Jesus who doesn't really mean it when he says "Sell all you have and give it to the poor," just like he doesn't mean it when he says, "Love your enemies." Oh, he also did not mean anything by it when he said to live as a servant, or to live as if all of us were our mothers and brothers (Matt. 12:48). He probably didn't mean what he said about dropping anything to follow him (Luke 9:57), either. He didn't mean any of that. Duh.
He wants you to be comfortably uncomfortable, living with confession-booth relationships and accountability. He also wants you to be normal, and not tell your friends anything weird or scary. Like, that you're an alien or something.
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