Category: spiritual (Page 7 of 10)

One of them is how geography works within the greater Story. Any good literature teacher will tell you that “setting” is a key component to story (and as I write that, I’m prone to wonder what Don Miller would chime in as well). It’s an element often not discussed when we dig out a passage, but one I think that if pondered, would give the Bible a bit more colour (see the Brittish spelling? That’s in honour of Adele. I dreamt in her accent after watching the pre-Grammy special on her). 

For example, Egypt and Assyria. They take on almost human properties – both ladies, I believe – who appear in Israel’s growth process. Egypt is the land of escape and bondage. There seems to be a tendency that when life is difficult in Israel – like, say, a famine – Egypt always has what’s needed to survive. There’s a real shine to what she has going on. Like baby weight is never an issue and she wears hoop earrings to the grocery store. “Come on over,” she prrrrs, “I’ll show you how it’s done.” 

But Israel always looses herself there. The shine and sparkle lead to entrapment. She becomes a slave to it all and looses her freedom to decide. Israel eventually ends up on Dr. Phil, where God confronts her and says, “You have the power to decide on your next tomorrow.” And with the boost, she finally escapes to freedom again, after a makover in the Red Sea.

Then there’s Assyria. She shows up a bit more in the Prophets, which would be my first land of more study if the extra hours really did show up. But when Assyria makes her presence known, it’s typically because Israel got all huffy about God and decided to do things on her own. Like a teenager who keeps coming home after curfew, despite numerous warnings from parents that a) you should obey and b) it’s not a wise idea because nothing good happens after 11, she suddenly finds herself in jail after a night of joyriding. And Assyria is the one who puts her under lock-and-key. Assyria also takes on that arch nemesis feel, boasting about how now that Israel is doing time, Assyria will go and steal her boyfriend. (Yes, this analogy is veering dangerously close to The Young and the Restless). Finally, after enough tears and letters, God arrives, pays the bail, and Israel gets to go home, but her head hangs a little low, her swagger a little muted. 

These characters of Egypt and Assyria simply play the role that God put them in. No more that we can blame Edward Norton for taking on creepy-guy roles like in Fear, can we blame these characters for guiding the story of Israel. But in general, the attitude toward these folks is one of disgust. Because they’ve not really been alleys in the past, they don’t make the Israel’s friend list. So it goes for those who build in our sanctification rather than our confidence boosting. 

But hidden away in the prophet Isaiah (20:24-45), we read: On that Day, Israel will take its place alongside Egypt and Assyria, sharing the blessing from the center. God-of-the-Angel-Armies, who blessed Israel, will generously bless them all: “Blessed be Egypt, my people! … Blessed by Assyria, work of my hands! … Blessed be Israel, my heritage!” 

In the day we seem to be leaning toward, God’s going to share with the characters who haven’t always rubbed us the right way. When we arrive, we won’t be alone on the podium. Those competitors who were racing alongside, perhaps even taunting us or trash talking along the way, will get to share in our glory. 

Jesus spoke so much about “love your enemy” and it’s one of those tough mandates that we enjoy more in theory than in practice. I think the tendency is to leave it other-worldly. Like when someone cuts you off in traffic and, from the safety of your own car, you just “let” them go first. But the tough stuff of loving people who rub you the wrong way, or simply don’t help you when you find yourself in a jam, those are the enemies that often don’t get love. We might be able to rustle up some apathy, but love?

But if we can’t love them now, what makes us think we’ll do any better when we share space with them in heaven? God doesn’t just rid of us challenges in the celestial world. Heaven is seeming more to me as the place where we’ve finally “arrived.” Today is another day that we’re journeying toward What Is To Come. And Jesus made it clear that today is another day that we can live in the ways he’s shown us. It’s time to let go of the fact that “that guy” or “She” has done something less than edifying to you and realize that they will share the kingdom as well. How will you love them for it? 

It’s a beautiful picture of peace, the Shalom idea of wholeness, how it should be. 

And at the end: Neither animal nor human will hurt or kill on my holy mountain. The whole earth will be brimming with knowing God-alive, a living knowledge of God, ocean-deep, ocean-wide. 

So often we focus on the part we want – peace – and miss the power behind it. When we cease to live in fear, it will be because those we share space with will be brimming of knowledge of God-alive. Once you see that everything was made by and for God, you treat it differently. It’s no longer a person to battle, an obstacle to overcome. It’s another piece of God’s kingdom, blessed in the same way you are. In that day, we’ll stop creating enemies. 

“But what happens when we live God’s way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard – things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.” (Galatians 5:22-23, emphasis mine). 

So. That’s what that was. 

Those 3 years of quiet. Of wondering if I’d lost my mind or my faith or my direction. The prayers of concern that what I’d felt and known and took confidence in passed as a fancy, the product of a price paid to the local traveling salesman. 

The disgust and cynicism toward others who love the God I love, but at the moment heard from him and had interaction. Frustration when given simple answers to “have faith” and “God is good, all the time”. Those mantras didn’t fit with my experience. 

Then there was the phase of self-blame. It’s my fault. I don’t read the Bible enough. I used to get up and read it several days a week, devour it and find all kinds of ways it spoke truth into my life. I have journals full of thoughts and inspirations, covering the prior 8 years. For the past 3 years, the same journal had a few new pages scribbled, mostly a sermon note or a yet another attempt to get “back in the swing of things.”

But still. Nothing. Crickets. 

If I someone were to take my story and insert it to the Old Testament, they’d ascribe my season to The Time of Findlay. Bible writers like to assign location to events and feelings and changes; my marker is the 3 years we spent in this wonderful town. The irony of it all is that I loved my time in that place and would move back in a heartbeat. But it also holds memory of the time of the Dark Night. 

You’d have thought that after the first, oh, YEAR, that I’d think back to my seminary days and recollect the “dark night of the soul” or “cloud of unknowing” and then talk myself through the process to speed it along. But it never crossed my mind once that such a period is normal, even common, in the life of faith. Instead, I just stumbled through. Hoping. And crying every time we sang the right song in church (and by “right song” I mean the third one of the set. Any of them could do it.)

But as I begin to arise out of the pit – to hit my quota of Biblical imagery and language – I must give kudos to practices that often get a bad reputation in Christian circles – the art and act of rote practice. 

Often in the name of authenticity we honor the experience and the feeling that accompanies faith to the expense of the practice. During Lent we’re encouraged that if nothing strikes us, then to not necessarily give something up for the sake of doing it. We should be “spirit led.” Mindless practice takes on a reputation of evil, the antithesis of “saved by grace.” 

We may be saved by grace, but we are grown and strengthened through practice. 

Throughout the past several years the only thing I could do was, as Jen Hatmaker puts it, the next best thing. Sometimes that was simply rolling out of bed at 8 on a Sunday morning and making an appearance. To sing the words and hope they were true. To wait. 

Foster puts it: What we learned to do in the light of God’s love, we also do in the dark of God’s absence. We ask and continue to ask even though there is no answer. We seek and continue to seek even though we do not find. We knock and continue to knock even though the door remains shut. It is this constant, longing love that produces a firmness of life orientation within us.

My daughter loves to sing and dance. She’ll sing and sing and sometimes I listen. Sometimes I don’t speak or move because I want continue to hear that voice. I know that if I jump into the picture, the moment would be over. But the song wouldn’t be complete. 

 “…being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 5:6)