Everything appeared crisp and clear. Every turn of the soccer ball. Each individual ray from the line of street lights. Each object in that small park with its own particular detail appeared enlarged, magnified even, as an insect observed through a magnifying glass. On this particular night I viewed the world in high definition.
I could see clearly the expressions of happy couples on the benches skirting the park. Each girl's joy uniquely revealed by means of her own individual facial features. And their counterparts each brandishing that same soul-searching gaze that every man knows, whether as a genuine reflection of his inner man or a contrived act, the perfection of the artful diversion designed to mask deeper motives.
Not too far off was an enclosed area where there was a football match underway. Nothing too serious, but scrappy football at its best. As I studied these teenagers, nothing escaped my vision. The highlight of the night was a brief scuff over a disputed goal. With perfect clarity I had seen the ball bend just inside a black shoe marking the goal post. From my distant vantage point, I had not missed the shooter's frustration with the disagreement over a legitimate goal. Nor did my eyes miss the knowing look on the goalie's face as he adamantly argued against the goal. With force he made his case, but his eyes were revealing. Taking pleasure in the other boy's fury, he was well aware the goal was true. Despite the intensity of the argument, these friends were soon back to the game with angry words a thing of the past.
Panning across the park to the street view, cars moved rhythmically through the large roundabout. Here the traffic flows similar to a Handelian movement. Each musician knows when to play and with what dynamics, and, subsequently, each knows precisely when to rest. Weaving in and out, each vehicle smoothly made its round and flowed on to the next destination. I marveled at the clarity of brake lights fading off to distant streets. Taxis and buses, bikes and strollers filled the square and carried on with their part in the sonata.
This is life. No better and no worse than it always has been. To them, this life is simple. To understand it is to flow with it, to be caught up in the various melodies and crescendos that life offers. Yet sitting on my park bench seeing it all afresh through new glasses, I see with greater clarity, but still cannot seem to follow the rhythm.
Across the street is a cafe. This is where the men go. They watch Champions League football, talk business, and relax with old friends over a coffee. And before they were old enough to do so, their fathers were here. And one day their sons will come here. In the same way, the teenagers playing football have always done so. Every summer they can remember was spent forever perfecting that shot, practicing this move, and playing with a certain team.
And here I sit. On the outside looking in. My father did not have a favorite cafe where everyone knew his boy. That special one in which we watched our first football game together. When I go to a cafe no one knows me, or my father or his. I did not grow up watching Champions League or playing football. None of these boys or their brothers did I run around with on endless summer nights. As a virus invading the body seems my existence in this African life. It is unknown, foreign. To the natural inhabitants and defenders of the body, it could appear a threat or simply be ignored.
Though a new pair of glasses offers greater clarity of vision, at least one great composer has created beautiful music without such an advantage. This piece I am now learning is driven by a different beat; a new style for me, but hardly new in itself. All great movements find their beauty and rhythm in an ordered complexity, a culture that each individual musician must perfect over a lifetime.
Life is too intricate to enter into on a whim. Adjustments must be made gradually. Unwritten rules discovered with experience. Dynamics explored through feel and often dictated by varying circumstances. An outsider cannot step in here and play first violin. He must defer to those who are more familiar with the part.
With new glasses and new vision, I look over the sheet music with greater clarity. Details come into focus that were once too blurry for me to make out. The most important of which is scribbled in the right hand corner: "second violin". Those who play second violin recognize and accept that sight is only one piece of the pie, a pie that will never be natural to them. Those who continue striving to play first violin without the talent to do so merely bring undo negative attention on themselves from the surrounding symphony.
At no other time in my life has my vision become more clear. Had I not come to live in Africa, my eyes would have never been good enough to see just how much of the world was still blurry. I can now see more clearly the rhythm of life, though I struggle to follow. I can see the unique qualities of the beat, but it does not flow through me. And I can read each individual note as it lies on the page, though I will never play them as well as my neighbor. But, at least now I am on the same page.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Holiness: What Do I Really Long For?
I have thoughts about God. But, of course, so do you. You see, all of us have thoughts about God. Even my friends who subscribe to the new atheist movement. We suppress the truth of God as revealed by His invisible attributes, His eternal power and His divine nature. Or, we submit to Him as Lord and Savior.
Now despite my suppression or submission, if my thoughts about God are not proper than they're pointless. For if my thoughts about God are not the primary thoughts of my life, they really don't count for much. Unless my thinking on God is my best thinking, my most inspired thinking, and the thinking that produces my most aesthetically-oriented word choice to reflect the beauty I claim to grasp, my thoughts on God are not true to life. For, if He truly is who He has revealed Himself to be, my only response must be to fall before Him with Isaiah and cry out "WOE! Woe is me for I am a man of unclean lips."
And it is true. But it is only the first leaf to fall in a vast forest of flaming, golden trees. Not only are my lips unclean, but consequently my heart. And if my heart is unclean, clearly the countless desires that pass to and from that heart each and every day are as tainted as the once white snow that is now an eyesore with its bountiful amalgamations and reproductions of the various shades of brown compounded by each successive plowing; snow that was once gifted with a glorious purity.
Now despite my suppression or submission, if my thoughts about God are not proper than they're pointless. For if my thoughts about God are not the primary thoughts of my life, they really don't count for much. Unless my thinking on God is my best thinking, my most inspired thinking, and the thinking that produces my most aesthetically-oriented word choice to reflect the beauty I claim to grasp, my thoughts on God are not true to life. For, if He truly is who He has revealed Himself to be, my only response must be to fall before Him with Isaiah and cry out "WOE! Woe is me for I am a man of unclean lips."
And it is true. But it is only the first leaf to fall in a vast forest of flaming, golden trees. Not only are my lips unclean, but consequently my heart. And if my heart is unclean, clearly the countless desires that pass to and from that heart each and every day are as tainted as the once white snow that is now an eyesore with its bountiful amalgamations and reproductions of the various shades of brown compounded by each successive plowing; snow that was once gifted with a glorious purity.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Stick to the Playbook
As a student of the world, I can't help but continually make observations and notes about everything. In professional sports, the best players spend hours pouring over game tape. They look for strengths, weaknesses, and overall quirks of the opponent. As Christians, I say we study our opponents, but we also must inspect our own team from time to time.
Now, like anyone else, I have a strong preference for my team. I am convinced that my team has a leg up on the others, namely the truth. But every team has its weaknesses. Some teams have more while others have less. Some teams could be great, but they lack identity.
A football team built for a strong ground-and-pound run offense will not flourish by spreading out five wide and expecting the quarterback to become Joe Montana. Likewise, a team built around Peyton Manning, is at a large disadvantage if he gets injured and the onus to win falls on the ground game and defense. So it is with the team whose identity is built on certain principles, but when its opponent comes Sunday morning the players begin to model a different style of play.
The same is true now in the faith world. As followers of Jesus, we have what other teams don't: grace. Our lives are to be saturated in the joy of knowing this amazing, unique grace. Our doctrine should be built on the immovable, unshakable foundation of grace. The greatest gift Christians have been given is grace. So why in the world would we ever want anything else? How could we start taking pages out of the other teams' playbooks?
This mindset has particularly detrimental consequences for the work being done in the Arab world. For too long we have been guilty of replacing Islamic hadiths, rules and fear with our pharisaical, Christianized ones. We teach Muslim background believers to forget the 5 pillars of Islam and hold to the pillars of Christianity:
1. Read your Bible every day.
2. Pray before every meal.
3. Give 10%.
4. Fast, but not during Ramadan.
We take one checklist for building up good works, and unwittingly exchange it for a whole new checklist. We go from fear to fear. But what does the Messiah say? “Perfect love drives out fear!” We must stop instilling fear and move to providing hope. This is the whole point of the Old Testament. “Look, you Jews, there is hope! His name is Messiah! And He is coming!!” And then we get to the New Testament and do we see, “Look! It’s Jesus! Now do this, this, that, and a few of these things and he’ll love you”?
No! This isn't the way it works. Jesus says, “If you love me, you will obey what I command.” He does not say “You must love me AND obey my commands.” My pastor in college once said, "Good works don't lead us to heaven, they follow us to heaven." The writer of Hebrews says, "Now where there is forgiveness of these things, there is no longer any offering for sin." (10:18) There is only one thing we can do to please God and that is trust Him as Abraham trusted Him. From the point of salvation we have nothing to offer. There is nothing we can do to please God or to lose His favor. Jesus has already done it all for us.
John tells us that “He came to the world to save the world, not to bring judgment upon the world.” Judgment is for later and Jesus comes to make our judgment a joke! You see, Muslims believe the Day of Judgment will be a large scale with weights comparable to your bad deeds and your good deeds. But, as Anselm of Canterbury has pointed out, one bad deed is not just a bad deed. One bad deed is rebellion against an infinite God and can not be covered over with any number good deeds. So when the Christian walks up to the proverbial scale and sees the many, many bad deeds sitting on the one side, he can rest in his assurance that the infinite weight of Jesus' good work more than compensates the evil. In fact, when Jesus’ good work sits on the opposite side of the scale, every shameful act I ever committed is transferred to Jesus’ scale.
It is grace! Grace is the whole idea behind the good news. That a loving, but uncompromising God wanted so much for the world and its inhabitants to be restored to Eden, to perfection, that He gave His one and only Son to pay for us. He pays our price. And He pays at His own expense. He doesn’t go out and take someone else’s trading chips to cover our cost, He pays with His own blood. This is grace. That we get what Jesus deserved and He takes what we deserved. We deserve to die, but live. He deserved to live, but died. And being the one perfect, acceptable sacrifice, God raised Him to life completing the perfect sacrifice.
Many act like discipleship begins with rules, I disagree! Discipleship begins with a proper, all-encompassing understanding of grace. That where sin once reigned, grace abounds all the more. Not the more I sin, the more pergatory I must endure or the more good points I must obtain. It is only by God’s grace that we are changed. Only by His grace that we are made new. That we follow Him, love Him, obey Him, tell about Him. Only by grace can one man say, “I am the chief of sinners!” and yet be assured of his reserved place in eternity where He will enjoy God forever.
No, our team is strong. I choose to stick to my own playbook, thank you.
Now, like anyone else, I have a strong preference for my team. I am convinced that my team has a leg up on the others, namely the truth. But every team has its weaknesses. Some teams have more while others have less. Some teams could be great, but they lack identity.
A football team built for a strong ground-and-pound run offense will not flourish by spreading out five wide and expecting the quarterback to become Joe Montana. Likewise, a team built around Peyton Manning, is at a large disadvantage if he gets injured and the onus to win falls on the ground game and defense. So it is with the team whose identity is built on certain principles, but when its opponent comes Sunday morning the players begin to model a different style of play.
The same is true now in the faith world. As followers of Jesus, we have what other teams don't: grace. Our lives are to be saturated in the joy of knowing this amazing, unique grace. Our doctrine should be built on the immovable, unshakable foundation of grace. The greatest gift Christians have been given is grace. So why in the world would we ever want anything else? How could we start taking pages out of the other teams' playbooks?
This mindset has particularly detrimental consequences for the work being done in the Arab world. For too long we have been guilty of replacing Islamic hadiths, rules and fear with our pharisaical, Christianized ones. We teach Muslim background believers to forget the 5 pillars of Islam and hold to the pillars of Christianity:
1. Read your Bible every day.
2. Pray before every meal.
3. Give 10%.
4. Fast, but not during Ramadan.
We take one checklist for building up good works, and unwittingly exchange it for a whole new checklist. We go from fear to fear. But what does the Messiah say? “Perfect love drives out fear!” We must stop instilling fear and move to providing hope. This is the whole point of the Old Testament. “Look, you Jews, there is hope! His name is Messiah! And He is coming!!” And then we get to the New Testament and do we see, “Look! It’s Jesus! Now do this, this, that, and a few of these things and he’ll love you”?
No! This isn't the way it works. Jesus says, “If you love me, you will obey what I command.” He does not say “You must love me AND obey my commands.” My pastor in college once said, "Good works don't lead us to heaven, they follow us to heaven." The writer of Hebrews says, "Now where there is forgiveness of these things, there is no longer any offering for sin." (10:18) There is only one thing we can do to please God and that is trust Him as Abraham trusted Him. From the point of salvation we have nothing to offer. There is nothing we can do to please God or to lose His favor. Jesus has already done it all for us.
John tells us that “He came to the world to save the world, not to bring judgment upon the world.” Judgment is for later and Jesus comes to make our judgment a joke! You see, Muslims believe the Day of Judgment will be a large scale with weights comparable to your bad deeds and your good deeds. But, as Anselm of Canterbury has pointed out, one bad deed is not just a bad deed. One bad deed is rebellion against an infinite God and can not be covered over with any number good deeds. So when the Christian walks up to the proverbial scale and sees the many, many bad deeds sitting on the one side, he can rest in his assurance that the infinite weight of Jesus' good work more than compensates the evil. In fact, when Jesus’ good work sits on the opposite side of the scale, every shameful act I ever committed is transferred to Jesus’ scale.
It is grace! Grace is the whole idea behind the good news. That a loving, but uncompromising God wanted so much for the world and its inhabitants to be restored to Eden, to perfection, that He gave His one and only Son to pay for us. He pays our price. And He pays at His own expense. He doesn’t go out and take someone else’s trading chips to cover our cost, He pays with His own blood. This is grace. That we get what Jesus deserved and He takes what we deserved. We deserve to die, but live. He deserved to live, but died. And being the one perfect, acceptable sacrifice, God raised Him to life completing the perfect sacrifice.
Many act like discipleship begins with rules, I disagree! Discipleship begins with a proper, all-encompassing understanding of grace. That where sin once reigned, grace abounds all the more. Not the more I sin, the more pergatory I must endure or the more good points I must obtain. It is only by God’s grace that we are changed. Only by His grace that we are made new. That we follow Him, love Him, obey Him, tell about Him. Only by grace can one man say, “I am the chief of sinners!” and yet be assured of his reserved place in eternity where He will enjoy God forever.
No, our team is strong. I choose to stick to my own playbook, thank you.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Tomorrow
Darkness surrounded me. Reality began crumbling beneath my feet as I vacillated between two worlds. Seeking to immerse myself in bliss, my only remaining memory, I found myself fighting harder as other memories returned slowly reshaping my world. The more desperately I reached for this bliss the easier it slipped through my fingers. Grasping for everything I had known only moments before, an unbearable siren cut through the fog. At first unrecognizable, it seemed to come right up next to me.
Reality set in at 6:05am as I flung my arm at the alarm clock. Groaning, I turned over seeking one last hit of bliss. I would give anything for one last high. But it was over. I sat up and stared for several minutes through the bedroom window. Darkness had firmly gripped each stronghold of the night hours, but now a lone ray of light beamed across the far mountain peak signaling the long awaited invasion.
Jogging the old, littered streets I watched as the consuming shadows retreated one by one with the arrival of the dayspring. One ray after another appeared over the horizon as I ran the empty streets of this new, unknown city. With each mile the retreat was more sure as the strength of the day grew. A new day. Light had come to conquer the darkness.
Three years ago, I walked these very streets. I knew nothing of the culture, the language, or the people. I was just one more ugly American walking streets that didn't belong to him. Just one more inexperienced college student trying to wrap his mind around an ever-changing world. One more young, wide-eyed Christian claiming to know a thing or two about the Great Commission, but time would determine the level of that commitment.
As I jog into the new day, I am thankful for a new breath, a new morning, a new opportunity. Just as today will not be the same as yesterday, I am not the same person as three years ago. I am not the same American. Not the same student. Nor the same Christian.
What a difference three years can make. I can’t help but wonder, will I visit this city again in three years? And what then will I think of myself? Perhaps there will be disappointment over the battles lost and ground ceded. Or, perhaps like today, I will praise God for the growth He has steadily wrought in my life. Time will tell, but there is much to do these next few years. One thing is true, I have not reached the proverbial “there”. I never will in this life, but that won't stop me from running hard.
Paul tells us to “work out [our] salvation with fear and trembling.” How I long to see my salvation continue down this path of fear and trembling! As I look back three years, the road was difficult, but as I am continually made to be more like my Savior, the fight is worth the casualties. The road is long and there are always more miles to cover.
Today, with all its struggles and victories, will not last. Tomorrow is forever a ripe, new day.
Reality set in at 6:05am as I flung my arm at the alarm clock. Groaning, I turned over seeking one last hit of bliss. I would give anything for one last high. But it was over. I sat up and stared for several minutes through the bedroom window. Darkness had firmly gripped each stronghold of the night hours, but now a lone ray of light beamed across the far mountain peak signaling the long awaited invasion.
Jogging the old, littered streets I watched as the consuming shadows retreated one by one with the arrival of the dayspring. One ray after another appeared over the horizon as I ran the empty streets of this new, unknown city. With each mile the retreat was more sure as the strength of the day grew. A new day. Light had come to conquer the darkness.
Three years ago, I walked these very streets. I knew nothing of the culture, the language, or the people. I was just one more ugly American walking streets that didn't belong to him. Just one more inexperienced college student trying to wrap his mind around an ever-changing world. One more young, wide-eyed Christian claiming to know a thing or two about the Great Commission, but time would determine the level of that commitment.
As I jog into the new day, I am thankful for a new breath, a new morning, a new opportunity. Just as today will not be the same as yesterday, I am not the same person as three years ago. I am not the same American. Not the same student. Nor the same Christian.
What a difference three years can make. I can’t help but wonder, will I visit this city again in three years? And what then will I think of myself? Perhaps there will be disappointment over the battles lost and ground ceded. Or, perhaps like today, I will praise God for the growth He has steadily wrought in my life. Time will tell, but there is much to do these next few years. One thing is true, I have not reached the proverbial “there”. I never will in this life, but that won't stop me from running hard.
Paul tells us to “work out [our] salvation with fear and trembling.” How I long to see my salvation continue down this path of fear and trembling! As I look back three years, the road was difficult, but as I am continually made to be more like my Savior, the fight is worth the casualties. The road is long and there are always more miles to cover.
Today, with all its struggles and victories, will not last. Tomorrow is forever a ripe, new day.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
A Wake-up Call
Staring through the dark, the motivation to move seemed overwhelming. The slightest move or shift might procure for me several hours of sleeplessness before sunrise. As consciousness grew, so did the realization that I might need a pit stop before finishing my journey. But, depending on the time, perhaps I could wait until morning. With these concessions, I finally made the effort to reach across to the cell phone lying on the end table. 3:45am.
Wait? What time is it? I opened my eyes to darkness wondering what time it really was. Grogginess consumed my mind, but the throb of a full bladder grew as I awoke more fully. But could I make it? What time is it? With these concessions, I finally made the effort to reach across to the cell phone lying on the end table. 1:30am.
But, no that can't be. Breathing deeply, I allowed my eyes to open and begin to adjust to the deep dark surrounding me. Is this real? I reached to my cell phone. 5:45am. And I waited. Could I still be dreaming? As my body acclimated to the waking world, I continued to ponder which reality was right. Perhaps I will wake one more time.
Infinite and finite. Fantasy and reality. Two parallel lines can go on for eternity without touching, yet be separated by a hair's width. While the two pieces of any paradox can seem infinitely separate, there is often an intrinsic connection which prevents each from being the true antithesis of the other. For instance the dream world and the real world seem to be mutually exclusive in their sensations and the laws that govern them. Yet, a line of connection, however thin it may be, runs through the two and intertwines them as a stitch on a quilt. The subconscious, dwelling in the infinite realm of fantasy, works together with the conscious, which dwells in the finite world of reality, to influence the whole self. These two influences profoundly affect one another both in the dreaming world and in the waking world.
As a high school football player, two weeks of football camp was exhausting. It was exhausting not only in reality, but my dream world also suffered under the extreme stress. My reality was three 2 1/2 hour practices every day in 100-degree heat. My subconscious endured a similar fate as I tossed and turned each night. Sweep left: pull, block the outside linebacker to the sideline or log up and block the inside linebacker to the post. Dive right: block the defensive back inside or, secondary objective, block the defensive back straight ahead. Waggle left: cup block to defend the quarterback. All night, every night. Hit after hit after hit. The sun beating down, sticky, wet pads rubbing against my skin, and tired, achy legs.
Recently, I had one of those experiences that left the lines blurred. A dream, but not. Fantasy became reality, or something close to it. The rules were suspended as the dream world so closely resembled the real world. Reality seemed to invade my subconscious. Each sensation, the gentle breeze rustling through my hair, warmth from the sun resting on my skin, and her touch, these seemed no substitute for the waking world. Not so much did these resemble, but seemed to take on reality. The one giveaway was she had no name, but she was there, she was close. She was more sure than anything. We walked together, laughing and talking about all the important and trivial things in the world. And as her hand reached for mine, I fell asleep, back into the waking world.
Am I still sleeping? Will I soon wake up to the normal 9-5 at the office? A wife? Kids? After all, dreams are more often than not of the fantastic sort. And the world in which I presently reside seems far more fantastic than the dream world I remember. As I sit waking, or dreaming, wherever I may be, I am a 20-something-year-old bachelor living in Africa spending most of my days speaking Arabic. I spend each week preparing to begin exploration of large sections of mountainous terrain to the south. Can this world be any more fantastic?
Kierkegaard suggests that the most important thing in life is to know oneself and to want to be oneself. In his book, The Sickness Unto Death, he writes that not knowing oneself is despair and the beginning of realizing one is in despair is to begin to know oneself. Unfortunately, most of us don't know that we are in despair, yet this itself is a form of despair.
Furthermore, this "revelation" and "fulfillment" comes in light of a balance of various paradoxical concepts. Kierkegaard writes that man is a synthesis of the finite and the infinite, though most men do not acknowledge and live in regard to both of these. To dwell in one without the other is the essential definition of this despair that every man endures until he is awoken from "spiritlessness" by the Holy Spirit of the Creator.
The despair of the finite is to lack infinity, to "dare not to believe in himself, find being himself too risky, find it much easier and safer to be like the others, to become a copy, a number, along with the crowd." This is to lack possibility and hope, to live wholly in the material world. On the other hand, the despair of the infinite is to lack the finite, to be carried away "into the infinite in such a way that it only leads him away from himself and thus prevents him from coming back to himself." This is to live boundlessly in the fantastic, forgetting, or "losing", oneself.
So then, are those things of my subconscious dream world bad? Seminary. Marriage. Family. Of course not, but it isn't reality for me. It may be possibility. It may be my desire for the future. But to live in the fantastic at the cost of reality, to allow the infinite to run unconstrained by the finite, this only leads to despair. To "live life abundantly" will be to truly take hold of both necessity and possibility, finite and infinite, reality and hope.
According to the Westminster Shorter Catechism, "Man's chief end is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever." This is only done when one is founded on the Creator, first and foremost. In Matthew 6:33, Jesus says, "But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you." This is the challenge of every man.
So what are the options? The life of despair. This results when one knows not himself (ignorance or not) nor his Creator. Despair in this life continues increasingly and unbearably throughout eternity. Or, the abundant life. To know oneself in light of the great and glorious Creator. Knowing Him leads to truly knowing oneself.
So you have to ask the question: "Who am I?" Do you know? Let's face it, we deceive ourselves all the time. This week, I was exposed. Indicted by the pure honesty of the subconscious, the imbalanced reality I had been living in was called to the carpet. Fantasy, future, and hope without limit, without constraint and grounding in the present circumstances and their Creator, leads only to despair. It's time to recenter, and that means going back to the Word of God.
I guess I can consider this a wake-up call.
Wait? What time is it? I opened my eyes to darkness wondering what time it really was. Grogginess consumed my mind, but the throb of a full bladder grew as I awoke more fully. But could I make it? What time is it? With these concessions, I finally made the effort to reach across to the cell phone lying on the end table. 1:30am.
But, no that can't be. Breathing deeply, I allowed my eyes to open and begin to adjust to the deep dark surrounding me. Is this real? I reached to my cell phone. 5:45am. And I waited. Could I still be dreaming? As my body acclimated to the waking world, I continued to ponder which reality was right. Perhaps I will wake one more time.
Infinite and finite. Fantasy and reality. Two parallel lines can go on for eternity without touching, yet be separated by a hair's width. While the two pieces of any paradox can seem infinitely separate, there is often an intrinsic connection which prevents each from being the true antithesis of the other. For instance the dream world and the real world seem to be mutually exclusive in their sensations and the laws that govern them. Yet, a line of connection, however thin it may be, runs through the two and intertwines them as a stitch on a quilt. The subconscious, dwelling in the infinite realm of fantasy, works together with the conscious, which dwells in the finite world of reality, to influence the whole self. These two influences profoundly affect one another both in the dreaming world and in the waking world.
As a high school football player, two weeks of football camp was exhausting. It was exhausting not only in reality, but my dream world also suffered under the extreme stress. My reality was three 2 1/2 hour practices every day in 100-degree heat. My subconscious endured a similar fate as I tossed and turned each night. Sweep left: pull, block the outside linebacker to the sideline or log up and block the inside linebacker to the post. Dive right: block the defensive back inside or, secondary objective, block the defensive back straight ahead. Waggle left: cup block to defend the quarterback. All night, every night. Hit after hit after hit. The sun beating down, sticky, wet pads rubbing against my skin, and tired, achy legs.
Recently, I had one of those experiences that left the lines blurred. A dream, but not. Fantasy became reality, or something close to it. The rules were suspended as the dream world so closely resembled the real world. Reality seemed to invade my subconscious. Each sensation, the gentle breeze rustling through my hair, warmth from the sun resting on my skin, and her touch, these seemed no substitute for the waking world. Not so much did these resemble, but seemed to take on reality. The one giveaway was she had no name, but she was there, she was close. She was more sure than anything. We walked together, laughing and talking about all the important and trivial things in the world. And as her hand reached for mine, I fell asleep, back into the waking world.
Am I still sleeping? Will I soon wake up to the normal 9-5 at the office? A wife? Kids? After all, dreams are more often than not of the fantastic sort. And the world in which I presently reside seems far more fantastic than the dream world I remember. As I sit waking, or dreaming, wherever I may be, I am a 20-something-year-old bachelor living in Africa spending most of my days speaking Arabic. I spend each week preparing to begin exploration of large sections of mountainous terrain to the south. Can this world be any more fantastic?
Kierkegaard suggests that the most important thing in life is to know oneself and to want to be oneself. In his book, The Sickness Unto Death, he writes that not knowing oneself is despair and the beginning of realizing one is in despair is to begin to know oneself. Unfortunately, most of us don't know that we are in despair, yet this itself is a form of despair.
"Such things cause little stir in the world; for in the world a self is what one least asks after... The biggest danger, that of losing oneself, can pass off in the world as quietly as if it were nothing; every other loss, an arm, a leg, five dollars, a wife, etc, is bound to be noticed."So what does it mean to know oneself, to not live in despair?
"This then is the formula which describes the state of the self when despair is completely eradicated: in relating to oneself and in wanting to be itself, the self is grounded transparently in the power that established it."Discovering one's true identity and joyfully taking hold of that identity is preceded by returning to proper relationship with the Creator. Consequently, with the acquisition and acceptance of this knowledge comes the joy to pursue one's identity to its fullness, and one has all eternity for this endeavor. Everything else in life must be balanced in relation to that relationship.
Furthermore, this "revelation" and "fulfillment" comes in light of a balance of various paradoxical concepts. Kierkegaard writes that man is a synthesis of the finite and the infinite, though most men do not acknowledge and live in regard to both of these. To dwell in one without the other is the essential definition of this despair that every man endures until he is awoken from "spiritlessness" by the Holy Spirit of the Creator.
The despair of the finite is to lack infinity, to "dare not to believe in himself, find being himself too risky, find it much easier and safer to be like the others, to become a copy, a number, along with the crowd." This is to lack possibility and hope, to live wholly in the material world. On the other hand, the despair of the infinite is to lack the finite, to be carried away "into the infinite in such a way that it only leads him away from himself and thus prevents him from coming back to himself." This is to live boundlessly in the fantastic, forgetting, or "losing", oneself.
So then, are those things of my subconscious dream world bad? Seminary. Marriage. Family. Of course not, but it isn't reality for me. It may be possibility. It may be my desire for the future. But to live in the fantastic at the cost of reality, to allow the infinite to run unconstrained by the finite, this only leads to despair. To "live life abundantly" will be to truly take hold of both necessity and possibility, finite and infinite, reality and hope.
According to the Westminster Shorter Catechism, "Man's chief end is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever." This is only done when one is founded on the Creator, first and foremost. In Matthew 6:33, Jesus says, "But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you." This is the challenge of every man.
So what are the options? The life of despair. This results when one knows not himself (ignorance or not) nor his Creator. Despair in this life continues increasingly and unbearably throughout eternity. Or, the abundant life. To know oneself in light of the great and glorious Creator. Knowing Him leads to truly knowing oneself.
So you have to ask the question: "Who am I?" Do you know? Let's face it, we deceive ourselves all the time. This week, I was exposed. Indicted by the pure honesty of the subconscious, the imbalanced reality I had been living in was called to the carpet. Fantasy, future, and hope without limit, without constraint and grounding in the present circumstances and their Creator, leads only to despair. It's time to recenter, and that means going back to the Word of God.
I guess I can consider this a wake-up call.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
The Lamb of God (or, Stories For the Village)
In recent weeks, I had the opportunity to accompany several friends to a remote village for the Islamic holiday, Eid l'Kubir (The Big Celebration). Here, I spent another week with my good friend Sa'id, a brother for about five years now. He is the lone Christian in his family, but more and more his wife and mother are beginning to develop strong interest in the stories we tell. This particular week two stories seemed particularly appropriate: Abraham's sacrifice and Jesus, the lamb of God.
For a moment, contemplate with me the typical holiday season in America. There are several major events that lead up to Christmas. Thanksgiving begins everything with copious amounts of turkey, mashed potatoes, and a healthy portion of pie. A more modern Thanksgiving tradition has been added in the form of several primetime football games. Immediately following Thanksgiving, the official Christmas music season begins. Perhaps that next week the tree goes up, the greens are hung, and lights are placed outside most homes. Finally, Christmas Eve often involves a trip to the local church, the opening of a few gifts, and setting out cookies and milk for the phantom gift giver. And then, what every child counts the days for, Christmas.
As a kid, I remember waking up early every Christmas, often long before my parents. For several hours I would anxiously meander around the house watching cartoons or counting pine needles. I would always attempt a facade of nonchalance when my parents slippered feet finally appeared atop the staircase. And with a sudden burst of excitement, the family was ushered in and presents were torn into. Lunch would ensue followed by hours of fiddling with various gizmos and gadgets and their endless manuals.
For the Muslim, the atmosphere is very similar. Forty days of Ramadan end with a night of power. All the mosques fill as this is the one night of the year the prayers go straight to God. Next is the three day celebration where we eat, eat, and then eat some more. The final celebration occurs a month and a half later. This is called the Big celebration and often lasts several days. The average family will have saved for several months for that $500-$1,000 sheep. The wealthier families will purchase several. In the days before the celebration, every city, town, and village fills with the cries of millions of sheep.
On the actual celebration day, everyone wakes up early in anticipation. For hours the family mulls around anxiously watching television or counting spots. Out of a facade of indifference erupts all the bottled up excitement as the father finally goes to get his knife. At 10am the throat is slit. The streets, sewers, and rivers fill with blood as the sheep are hung to drain. Throughout the rest of the day the celebration continues as the sheep are prepared for feasting. For the next three days, families eats together and make the various trips to the mosque for special prayers times.
As I have asked many Muslims about this specific festival, the universal understanding is that the meaning comes from God's provision for Abraham of a sacrifice on the mount. But this is as deep as the understanding often goes. Why we continue to slaughter sheep every year is simply a matter of tradition. Therefore, the first story we told in the village was the story about Abraham and his only son. This is a point of agreement between Christians and Muslims.
The second story, was given to me to tell. This is what I shared, and the interest was sincere on the part of our Muslim friends as the story was explained.
"About 900 years after David, came John. He came proclaiming and said, 'Repent from your sins, the kingdom of God is close!' People came to him confessing their sins and being baptized at his hands and he told them, 'Do works in keeping with repentance. Do not say to yourselves, 'We have Abraham as our father!' I tell you, God can make these rocks the children of Abraham. The axe is laid at the root of the tree. And every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.'"
"One day John saw Jesus coming and said, 'Behold, the lamb of God come to bear the sin of the world!' Just as the son of Abraham needed someone to be sacrificed in his place in order to deliver him from death, so all men need a sacrifice to deliver them from death. When Adam ate from the forbidden tree, he died spiritually. The relationship between him and God was broken. All men sin."
"About 600 years before Jesus, the prophet Isaiah said, 'All of us like sheep have gone astray. We have wandered from the path. But God has put on him all our sins. Yet he did not open his mouth. Like a sheep led to the slaughter. Like a sheep silent before his shearers, he did not open his mouth.' Jesus fulfilled the prophecy that says, 'I am the lamb of God that bears the sin of the world!'"
For a moment, contemplate with me the typical holiday season in America. There are several major events that lead up to Christmas. Thanksgiving begins everything with copious amounts of turkey, mashed potatoes, and a healthy portion of pie. A more modern Thanksgiving tradition has been added in the form of several primetime football games. Immediately following Thanksgiving, the official Christmas music season begins. Perhaps that next week the tree goes up, the greens are hung, and lights are placed outside most homes. Finally, Christmas Eve often involves a trip to the local church, the opening of a few gifts, and setting out cookies and milk for the phantom gift giver. And then, what every child counts the days for, Christmas.
As a kid, I remember waking up early every Christmas, often long before my parents. For several hours I would anxiously meander around the house watching cartoons or counting pine needles. I would always attempt a facade of nonchalance when my parents slippered feet finally appeared atop the staircase. And with a sudden burst of excitement, the family was ushered in and presents were torn into. Lunch would ensue followed by hours of fiddling with various gizmos and gadgets and their endless manuals.
For the Muslim, the atmosphere is very similar. Forty days of Ramadan end with a night of power. All the mosques fill as this is the one night of the year the prayers go straight to God. Next is the three day celebration where we eat, eat, and then eat some more. The final celebration occurs a month and a half later. This is called the Big celebration and often lasts several days. The average family will have saved for several months for that $500-$1,000 sheep. The wealthier families will purchase several. In the days before the celebration, every city, town, and village fills with the cries of millions of sheep.
On the actual celebration day, everyone wakes up early in anticipation. For hours the family mulls around anxiously watching television or counting spots. Out of a facade of indifference erupts all the bottled up excitement as the father finally goes to get his knife. At 10am the throat is slit. The streets, sewers, and rivers fill with blood as the sheep are hung to drain. Throughout the rest of the day the celebration continues as the sheep are prepared for feasting. For the next three days, families eats together and make the various trips to the mosque for special prayers times.
As I have asked many Muslims about this specific festival, the universal understanding is that the meaning comes from God's provision for Abraham of a sacrifice on the mount. But this is as deep as the understanding often goes. Why we continue to slaughter sheep every year is simply a matter of tradition. Therefore, the first story we told in the village was the story about Abraham and his only son. This is a point of agreement between Christians and Muslims.
The second story, was given to me to tell. This is what I shared, and the interest was sincere on the part of our Muslim friends as the story was explained.
"About 900 years after David, came John. He came proclaiming and said, 'Repent from your sins, the kingdom of God is close!' People came to him confessing their sins and being baptized at his hands and he told them, 'Do works in keeping with repentance. Do not say to yourselves, 'We have Abraham as our father!' I tell you, God can make these rocks the children of Abraham. The axe is laid at the root of the tree. And every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.'"
"One day John saw Jesus coming and said, 'Behold, the lamb of God come to bear the sin of the world!' Just as the son of Abraham needed someone to be sacrificed in his place in order to deliver him from death, so all men need a sacrifice to deliver them from death. When Adam ate from the forbidden tree, he died spiritually. The relationship between him and God was broken. All men sin."
"About 600 years before Jesus, the prophet Isaiah said, 'All of us like sheep have gone astray. We have wandered from the path. But God has put on him all our sins. Yet he did not open his mouth. Like a sheep led to the slaughter. Like a sheep silent before his shearers, he did not open his mouth.' Jesus fulfilled the prophecy that says, 'I am the lamb of God that bears the sin of the world!'"
Thursday, October 14, 2010
From Nietzsche to Christ
Gospel proclamation will be foundational to any spiritually thriving group of worshippers. I am a firm believer of this. And while I would never force one particular method upon someone, I am a strong proponent of going from Creation to Christ. What a beautiful picture we have from the Father of creation, fall, redemption, and restoration, the perfect end to His perfect plan. This is a major goal of mine: to be able to present this story in Arabic. I want so badly for people to see the big picture of God's goodness, faithfulness, and eternal plan culminating in both, not either/or, mercy and justice.
So when I write that my greatest experience, to date, in North Africa was not built on the Creation to Cross story it might come as a surprise. At the very least, it shocked me like that electric fence I was in too much of a hurry to notice (true story). In lieu of using my usual story, I inadvertently stumbled into what I never considered an option: the Nietzsche to Christ model.
On a normal day, in a normal restaurant, under normal circumstances I sat waiting for my lunch. After sharing the usual small talk and joking around with friends, I had settled in at my small table on the second floor. And as was my custom, I began to read. And what book was I reading when my friend reappeared? None other than Nietzsche's Genealogy of Morality.
Now why is it that I still expect God to do the expected? For some reason I simply refuse to believe that God does big things without consulting me first. Here I am always wanting him to stay true to my plans and provisions when His have been made long before. I smugly wait for him to use all my confounding theological and philosophical arguments, thinking for some reason that they've never been thrown down in an argument before. I suppose, at the very least, I expect him to give me a heads up before he does something that rocks my whole world.
But, of course, God waited for His moment. And His moment wasn't as I read Tolstoy with his winsome development and portrayal of the human character marked by its sundry deficiencies. It wasn't while I read Dostoevsky's Brothers Karamazov with its vast and deep panorama of redemption. Nor in the midst of Newbigin's treatise on applying the gospel to postmodernism did God open the door. He waited for Nietzsche, the guy who claimed He was dead! The anti-God, anti-Christianity, anti-metaphysical, even, philosopher who inadvertently contributed to the rise of Nazism.
"Hey! You're food's ready. What is that you're reading?" He approached me, surprisingly curious.
"Oh, its just a book on philosophy," I said indicating the book he now held in his hands investigating, "I was just doing some studying."
"What does this man say?" he asked.
Attempting to dismiss the conversation, I briefly explained some of Nietzsche's major points on how to evaluate and assign meaning to morality. "He is just talking a lot about how we can decide what is good and bad," I concluded, hoping to move away from the technical language that philosophy would inevitably entail.
And then he asked the question that marked the conversational turning point: "Don't you know what is good and bad?"
Still not fully realizing the opportunity presented to me, I quickly scanned the room. Finding that my friend and I were alone, I answered hesitantly, "Well, I know what God says is right and wrong through the Kitab M'qudus (Holy Book), but its good to read those who don't believe like me so I can understand how the world thinks. But I believe and trust the Kitab M'qudus. And you have the Qu'ran to tell this as well, right?" I watched him hoping for further interest, but expecting yet another verbal lashing about how there is no one but Muhammad and the Bible is ridiculous and changed and wrong and full of lies, etc, etc, etc.
"The Kitab M'qudus?," he answered slowly, then more directly, "Well there is the Qu'ran, but I have the New Testament."
My eyes did the talking for me, "WHAT!?" Any remnant of passivity and nonchalance dripped from my face as I turned pale. As though I had drifted off, I attempted to refix my gaze and restore my mouth from its gaping state. Any attempt to suppress this immense upheaval of emotion was met with miserable failure. Awkwardly, I turned my wide, beaming eyes to the floor, diminished an aggressive grin to a sort of half-smirk, and brought my voice down a pitch or two, "Did you say New Testament???"
He could barely contain his own smile at my total lack of inhibition, but resting his index finger on his pursed lips gave me a long ssssshhhhhhh. In a whisper, I reiterated, "Wait, did you just say New Testament?," fully expecting him at any moment to burst out laughing and start off on another joke.
But this would not be the case, his solemn confirmation was cold, clean water bringing refreshment to my long, arduous journey through the desert, "Yes, my wife and I both read and study the New Testament."
"BROTHER!," I whisper-yelled as my face erupted with all the emotion I was working so hard to maintain. My face showed everything from the mile-long smile of joy all the way across the spectrum to tear-filled eyes that couldn't explain to me from which emotional well they had sprung. I was totally perplexed with a wave of various and conflicting emotions.
With a deep, humble smile, he responded with a genuine, but emphatic "Yes."
So when I write that my greatest experience, to date, in North Africa was not built on the Creation to Cross story it might come as a surprise. At the very least, it shocked me like that electric fence I was in too much of a hurry to notice (true story). In lieu of using my usual story, I inadvertently stumbled into what I never considered an option: the Nietzsche to Christ model.
On a normal day, in a normal restaurant, under normal circumstances I sat waiting for my lunch. After sharing the usual small talk and joking around with friends, I had settled in at my small table on the second floor. And as was my custom, I began to read. And what book was I reading when my friend reappeared? None other than Nietzsche's Genealogy of Morality.
Now why is it that I still expect God to do the expected? For some reason I simply refuse to believe that God does big things without consulting me first. Here I am always wanting him to stay true to my plans and provisions when His have been made long before. I smugly wait for him to use all my confounding theological and philosophical arguments, thinking for some reason that they've never been thrown down in an argument before. I suppose, at the very least, I expect him to give me a heads up before he does something that rocks my whole world.
But, of course, God waited for His moment. And His moment wasn't as I read Tolstoy with his winsome development and portrayal of the human character marked by its sundry deficiencies. It wasn't while I read Dostoevsky's Brothers Karamazov with its vast and deep panorama of redemption. Nor in the midst of Newbigin's treatise on applying the gospel to postmodernism did God open the door. He waited for Nietzsche, the guy who claimed He was dead! The anti-God, anti-Christianity, anti-metaphysical, even, philosopher who inadvertently contributed to the rise of Nazism.
"Hey! You're food's ready. What is that you're reading?" He approached me, surprisingly curious.
"Oh, its just a book on philosophy," I said indicating the book he now held in his hands investigating, "I was just doing some studying."
"What does this man say?" he asked.
Attempting to dismiss the conversation, I briefly explained some of Nietzsche's major points on how to evaluate and assign meaning to morality. "He is just talking a lot about how we can decide what is good and bad," I concluded, hoping to move away from the technical language that philosophy would inevitably entail.
And then he asked the question that marked the conversational turning point: "Don't you know what is good and bad?"
Still not fully realizing the opportunity presented to me, I quickly scanned the room. Finding that my friend and I were alone, I answered hesitantly, "Well, I know what God says is right and wrong through the Kitab M'qudus (Holy Book), but its good to read those who don't believe like me so I can understand how the world thinks. But I believe and trust the Kitab M'qudus. And you have the Qu'ran to tell this as well, right?" I watched him hoping for further interest, but expecting yet another verbal lashing about how there is no one but Muhammad and the Bible is ridiculous and changed and wrong and full of lies, etc, etc, etc.
"The Kitab M'qudus?," he answered slowly, then more directly, "Well there is the Qu'ran, but I have the New Testament."
My eyes did the talking for me, "WHAT!?" Any remnant of passivity and nonchalance dripped from my face as I turned pale. As though I had drifted off, I attempted to refix my gaze and restore my mouth from its gaping state. Any attempt to suppress this immense upheaval of emotion was met with miserable failure. Awkwardly, I turned my wide, beaming eyes to the floor, diminished an aggressive grin to a sort of half-smirk, and brought my voice down a pitch or two, "Did you say New Testament???"
He could barely contain his own smile at my total lack of inhibition, but resting his index finger on his pursed lips gave me a long ssssshhhhhhh. In a whisper, I reiterated, "Wait, did you just say New Testament?," fully expecting him at any moment to burst out laughing and start off on another joke.
But this would not be the case, his solemn confirmation was cold, clean water bringing refreshment to my long, arduous journey through the desert, "Yes, my wife and I both read and study the New Testament."
"BROTHER!," I whisper-yelled as my face erupted with all the emotion I was working so hard to maintain. My face showed everything from the mile-long smile of joy all the way across the spectrum to tear-filled eyes that couldn't explain to me from which emotional well they had sprung. I was totally perplexed with a wave of various and conflicting emotions.
With a deep, humble smile, he responded with a genuine, but emphatic "Yes."
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