open spaces

For each finite thing I saw an end –
            but your command is exceedingly broad.   Psalm 119:96

Broad. Wide. Spacious.

This is the Psalmist’s experience of the “commands,” the “mitzvot” of the Lord. I’m struck by how little we really see. Think about it – what “mitzvot” would the Psalmist be experiencing as so “broad” and “spacious”? Leviticus? Numbers? Deuteronomy? I’m pretty sure we feel pretty cramped in those legal spaces. But he sees something more far reaching than the Great Plains.

We mimic Jesus announcing with such bravado, “Strait is the gate and narrow is the way that leads to life and few there be that find it.” We, of course, include ourselves in that “narrow few.” Yet perhaps the very narrowness of which Jesus speaks, perhaps the very reason so few find this way to life, is that so few of us, relatively speaking, have the capaciousness of soul to truly take in the wide open spaces of God and his “mitzvot.” Most of us, religious and irregilious, are far too busy constructing our constricting little boxed explanations for life and the world and vigorously defending them.

But the psalmist has found a plain. A wide open space full of possibilities.

Western intellectuals that we are, we often affirm confidently that every statement of Scripture has but one interpretation if understood correctly (and guess who has that correct interpretation?). It’s almost as if we think a word is equal to no more than the sum of its letters and a sentence no more than the sum of its words.

Really?

I’m struck by how little we really see.

Paul, rabbi that he was, could look at a seemingly straightforward statement like Deuteronomy 25:4 “Don’t muzzle the ox when it’s treading out the grain” and see something much more. “Doth God take care for oxen? Or saith he it altogether for our sakes? For our sakes, no doubt, this is written: that he that ploweth should plow in hope; and that he that thresheth in hope should be a partaker in his hope” says Paul (on a day when he was feeling very Shakespearian…1 Corinthians 9:9-10). Paul moves from ox and threshing to hope and gospel and messenger. Judged by our typical “what did the original author intend” measuring rod, that seems a bit of a leap. And it is – but only for those who don’t yet know the famed wisdom of Rafiki and who don’t know how to “look harder.”

Paul sees two “layers” in Deuteronomy 25:4 and then went so far as to say that the lower layer was “altogether” what God had really meant all along.

Paul saw two layers. Other rabbis said that every word of the Torah had 70 faces and 600,000 meanings. Maybe they overstate the case. Maybe they didn’t count nearly high enough. Perhaps we need to ask ourselves just how inspired the Word really is if we view it in such definable, finite terms. The infinite God giving us a finite revelation. Such a finite Word seems hardly “living and active”…seems more like a specimen jar and smells of formaldehyde.

Open spaces.

Reminds me of Alan Jacobs description of C.S. Lewis in The Narnian:

Lewis’ mind was above all characterized by a willingness to be enchanted and it was his openness to enchantment that held together the various strands of his life – his delight in laughter, his willingness to accept a world made by a good and loving God, and (in some ways above all) his willingness to submit to the charms of a wonderful story, whether written by an Italian poet of the sixteenth century, by Beatrix Potter or by himself. What is “secretly present in what he said about anything” is an openness to delight, to the sense that there’s more to the world than meets the jaundiced eye, to the possibility that anything could happen to someone who is ready to meet that anything. For someone with eyes to see and the courage to explore, even an old wardrobe full of musty coats could be the doorway into another world.

Or even an old Book filled with what some consider but musty words.

Mattie's Psalm

God of vengeance, O Lord,
    God of vengeance, shine forth!
Rise up, O judge of the earth,
    bring down on the proud requital.
How long the wicked, O Lord,
    how long will the wicked exult?
They utter arrogance, speak it,
    all the wrongdoers bandy boasts.
Your people, O Lord, they crush,
    and your estate they abuse.
Widow and sojourner they kill,
    and orphans they murder.
And they say, “Yah will not see,
    and the God of Jacob will not heed.”
Take heed, you brutes in the people,
    and you fools, when will you be wise?”
Who plants the ear, will He not hear?
      Who fashions the eye, will He not look?
The chastiser of nations, will He not punish,
    Who teaches humankind knowledge?

                                               Psalm 94:1-11 Robert Alter’s translation

I had the pleasure this morning of “murmuring” Psalm 94, among others.

Having just viewed True Grit this past weekend, I couldn’t help but see Psalm 94 coming out of Mattie Ross’ mouth – the fiesty 14 year old girl who narrates the story.

First, on the film, I’m trying to remember the last time I found myself just basking in such cinematic beauty. I haven’t seen everything thing the Coen brother’s have done, but I’ve seen some of their more quirky pieces (Raising Arizona, O Brother Where Art Thou) and have thoroughly enjoyed them. This film definitely bears their mark, but they’ve ventured into new territory for them (from what I’ve seen) and done it masterfully. I saw the original theatrical version with the Duke on the big screen forty years ago and so I knew where the story was going (this time with the Dude), and how it would end. And I loved every minute watching it get there. It’s not so much a re-making of the 1969 film but a re-creation of the story, with a few telling differences. This one was far more, well, gritty. And overlaid atop that grittiness was a soundtrack that stirred me to the depths with its simple, haunting subtleties and it drew me in as I watched, Mattie’s theme throughout being strains of the classic hymn Leaning on the Everlasting Arms. It was simply beautiful.

Hope that doesn’t oversell it.

But this story of a young girl seeking justice after her father’s murder suddenly sprung before me in the words of the Psalm I was muttering this morning. David and his fellow psalmists didn’t live in the Old West, but we could say that they lived in an Old East that had much in common with it.

And it just makes me think.

Yes, I grasp the transforming nature of the cross and Jesus’ prayer, “Father, forgive them they know not what they do.” I get the injunction to “as much as it lies within you, live in peace with all men” and it’s ultimate follow-up in Paul’s classic challenge to us to “overcome evil with good.” I understand that as followers of Christ we are in the business of “being killed all day long” rather than doing the killing (too bad the Church has forgotten that through much of its history).

But as I hear the heavenly strains of beheaded souls under the altar in Revelation 6 crying out their own, “How long, O Lord?” I still feel the relevance of Psalm 94 in a world that despite our seemingly civilized manners feels very much practically like an Old Testament world.

I don’t think that means we necessarily all start packing pistols and setting out for justice – though to be fair, Mattie didn’t set out as a vigilante seeking to take vengeance like an “avenger of blood” of old, she turns to the law and employs a marshal, and when she does shoot it’s only in self-defense. In the same way Psalm 94 is not crying out for bloody crusade or jihad – but for the divine intervention of justice in human affairs – which is what the Marshal Cogburns of the world are for.

But I do think it means that perhaps by “outlawing” the sentiments expressed in psalms like this (just try praying this psalm in your next small group meeting or church gathering and see what response you get) we have surrendered to a phony, unbibilcal Christian “niceness” evidencing more an emasculated spirituality that conforms to current cultural norms than embracing a truly biblically informed maturity shaped by Christ.

Perhaps such spiritual emasculation is what can make us cringe at the thought of the torments of hell. The fictional Rooster Cogburn doesn’t strike me as one who would flinch at the thought of it for the likes of a Tom Chaney – and as I’ve waded through most of the gospel of Matthew in the past few days, neither does Jesus seem too. Yes he is meek and lowly of heart, but that very statement in Matthew 11:29 comes on the heels of “Woe to you Chorazin! Woe to you Bethsaida! Woe to you Capernaum! You think you will be exalted to heaven? You will be cast down to hell.” Makes me think we need to look at that word “meek” again. Now, the very suggestion of parallels between Rooster Cogburn and Jesus Christ no doubt raises an eyebrow or two, but hands down I would choose to stand with either of them in a fight! And the fact is, that’s what we all have on our hands in this world. Reminds me of the classic comment about Aslan – “He’s not safe – but he’s good.” Why do we always seem to be so either/or, so dualistic? He is the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world or he is the Lion of the tribe of Judah. Why do we seem to have such difficulty grasping both, such difficulty “considering the kindness and the severity of God”?

Just wondering about a spirituality that doesn’t have room for such an image of Jesus Christ, of a God who is the “chastiser of nations” – or for Mattie’s psalm of vengeance – as much as I wonder about one that only knows how to play that tune.

Selah.

Psalms - they ain't pretty

Reading the Psalms has been a gritty, invigorating romp.


Part of it has been the pure enjoyment of Robert Alter’s translation of the Psalms. Alter is a foremost Hebrew scholar, and though I’m sure our views differ on many things, he does a wondeful job of catching the pithy Hebrew rhythms of the Psalms, which is the goal of his work. I came to realize I had never really experienced the Psalms until I did so in Hebrew for the first time some twenty years ago. Alter does the best I’ve seen of someone actually catching those Hebrew movements in English.

Though he lauds the beauty of the classic rendering of the King James Version, ultimately he finds it wanting for the simple reason that it is, well, too pretty. The Psalms are not pretty prayers and praise-pieces. They are pithy and pointed and rough, a gutteral sampling of the Hebrew psyche in prayer and worship. They are not refined poetic set-pieces of theology and devotion, they are a roiling and rolling expression of humanity grasping and gasping after God in the midst of a life that all too often makes little sense. More earthy than heavenly – or perhaps better, heavenly glories expressed in earthy rhythms. Heaven meets earth in a sloppy wet kiss. The line from the popular song has stirred more than a few frowns, but it’s not a bad description of the messiness and untidy nature of these ancient Hebrew songs. They are real. As a child I remember being struck by the oddity of seeing men get up to lead congregational prayers and witnessing their voice change and their words suddenly sound very unlike themselves at all. Such men could be reciting and praying seemingly Psalmlike with a King James’ air, but those listening in are hearing more of Shakespeare’s rhythms than the strumming of David.

Which stands as a reminder to me. Prayer and praise are not a performance public or private or otherwise. They are the gritty movements of our own heart and body and tongue as we like the deer pant after the living God in moments high and low. No subject is off-limits, no emotion taboo. If it happens on earth, heaven bends to hear the earthy strains of prayer and praise that issue from it.

The book of Psalms is quoted in the New Testament more frequently than any other Old Testament book (Isaiah is a close second, as I recall). Which means that Jesus and Paul lived in these pages. These Psalms were their climbing companions. When we, like the disciples, would ask either of them to “teach us to pray” they both would ultimately point us here (note that the “Lord’s prayer” that Jesus taught his disciples to pray is just as pithy and pointed, which is why we have remembered and passed it on for nearly two millenia).

May our experience of the Psalms free us from the seeming devoutness of flowery sacred speak, and into the gritty and earthy movements of truly inspired prayer and praise and poetry marked by our own rhythms as we would dare open our mouths in answering speech to God.

judgment valley

Consider the kindness and the severity of God. Romans 11:22

Judgment. Hellfire and brimstone. Second death.

Most of us could go all day without dwelling on those words with their harshness, their sobering reality. Surely God has gotten over all that fire and brimstone stuff, we may muse. Angry God has given way to Nice God. Or perhaps we might think we’ve matured in our understanding of God to the point where we see beyond the fiery demonstrations to the kinder, gentler Man behind the curtain.

I would be happy if there were no hell below us. If there were no harsh “Depart from me I never knew you” verdicts. No lake of fire, no second death, no place where “the fire is not quenched and their worm dieth not.” If when caught up to meet Him we were told Hell is cancelled, that grace has finally trumped everything and everyone; no eternal conscious torment for anyone; instead of the lake of fire there’s only the glassy sea…I wouldn’t complain as I snuggled into Abba’s arms.

But the prophet holds a double-edged sword of a future glory and of a gory fate. There is agony and ecstasy. There is delight and bright day as surely as there is doom and damnation. Isaiah has the redeemed of Zion gazing upon the bodies of the slain. Zechariah has skin melting off bodies and eyes rotting in sockets (definitely one of the lovelier pictures from the prophets). Joel sees the nations called to gather in “Judgment Valley”:

"In those days, yes, at that very time when I put life back together again for Judah and Jerusalem,
I'll assemble all the godless nations.
   I'll lead them down into Judgment Valley
And put them all on trial, and judge them one and all
   because of their treatment of my own people Israel.
They scattered my people all over the pagan world
   and grabbed my land for themselves.
They threw dice for my people
   and used them for barter.
They would trade a boy for a whore,
   sell a girl for a bottle of wine when they wanted a drink.

Let the pagan nations set out
   for Judgment Valley.
There I'll take my place at the bench
   and judge all the surrounding nations. Joel 3:1-3, 12

Blessing and curse. Life and judgment. Kindness and severity. Light and darkness. I can’t escape the theme!  And throughout this journey there were plenty of those who wanted to – those generally called “false prophets” by the true, false prophets who beat a drum of “Peace, peace” while the world crumbled around them. Even in Malachi’s day, a people plucked out of the furnace of captivity found themselves gravitating towards a judgment free universe, and God said it wore him out (his first line is a great line for all preachers and bloggers!):

You make God tired with all your talk.

   "How do we tire him out?" you ask.

   By saying, "God loves sinners and sin alike. God loves all."
And also by saying, "Judgment? God's too nice to judge."  Malachi 2:17

Maybe we do want God as the ultimate Santa. Sure, Santa may only leave you coal, but at least he doesn’t turn you into coal! But Malachi quickly turns up the alarm when we’d much rather hit the “snooze” (again) dashing our images of a God “who’s too nice to judge”:

"Yes, I'm on my way to visit you with Judgment. I'll present compelling evidence against sorcerers, adulterers, liars, those who exploit workers, those who take advantage of widows and orphans, those who are inhospitable to the homeless—anyone and everyone who doesn't honor me." A Message from God-of-the-Angel-Armies. Malachi 3:5

We can debate about such judgment being temporal or eternal, about the nature of hell (is it darkness, is it fire, are there worms, is it a lake, etc. etc.), whether judgment’s fire is one that consumes or one that purifies or one that torments forever. Maybe it’s none of these. Maybe it’s all of them.

But regardless, Judgment Valley, the Valley of Decision remains before us, the theme picked up by Jesus and the rest of the New Testament. “These will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life,” says the Savior to whom all judgment has been given by the Father. And in one of his more extended “rants” on hell, Jesus warns his disciples:

“Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him if a great millstone were hung around his neck and he were thrown into the sea. And if your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life crippled than with two hands to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire. And if your foot causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life lame than with two feet to be thrown into hell. And if your eye causes you to sin, tear it out. It is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than with two eyes to be thrown into hell, ‘where their worm does not die and the fire is not quenched.’ For everyone will be salted with fire. Salt is good, but if the salt has lost its saltiness, how will you make it salty again? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.” Mark 9:42-50 ESV

Still waiting to see these words on a Christian calendar – or featured on a Thomas Kinkade painting. It’s a harsh reality that I see mirrored in the world around us.

True, hell has been used as a manipulative tool of religion to build vast religious empires; and true, we need to pay closer attention to just who consistently is said will be there or who will be judged, whether here or there.

But to take the Book seriously and the vistas it shows, I with Paul and the rest of the prophets find myself compelled to “consider the kindness and the severity of God.” And in so doing I find myself driven headlong into kindness as I step across the threshold of my home onto these streets…

waking up is hard to do

Consider this: there’s not much point to Christianity without Christ, and there’s not much point to Christ without resurrection…Christianity, to put it baldly, is a religion of waking up.
Robert Rowland Smith,
Breakfast with Socrates

“Awake, O sleeper,

        and arise from the dead,

  and Christ will shine on you.”  Ephesians 5:14 ESV

Christianity is a religion of waking up.

I really hadn’t expected deep truths and insights from what I had figured would be a light and entertaining read, but Robert Rowland Smith’s Breakfast with Socrates has been a pleasant surprise. It is light and entertaining, but right there in the first chapter on “Waking Up” (literally just waking up in the morning – the premise of the book is to go through the ordinary activities of our ordinary day accompanied by the wisdom of Socrates and others) I found myself stumbling across some wonderful insights.

"Christianity is a religion of waking up."

Funny thing is that no sooner had I read those words than I picked up the book of Haggai and came across these words:

"Take a good, hard look at your life.
   Think it over.
You have spent a lot of money,
   but you haven't much to show for it.
You keep filling your plates,
   but you never get filled up.
You keep drinking and drinking and drinking,
   but you're always thirsty.
You put on layer after layer of clothes,
   but you can't get warm.
And the people who work for you,
   what are they getting out of it?
Not much—
   a leaky, rusted-out bucket, that's what.

That's why God-of-the-Angel-Armies said:

   "Take a good, hard look at your life.
   Think it over."   Haggai 1:5-7  Message

The prophet Haggai issues a prophetic wake-up call to a generation that has grown lethargic and discouraged. They started this great work of rebuilding the temple, but when opposition appeared (literally, right on the scene) they stopped, and then shifted gears to building everything but the temple they had begun. Fine houses for themselves, fields being farmed and worked, and with each passing day they glance less and less over at the stump that was the temple. The funny thing was, of course, that the harder they worked, the less progress and profit they seemed to make.

Is it just me or does this story have a familiar ring to it? And I was floored by the pointedness of Haggai’s soul-searching questions. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s the holidays.

Then I read on in Breakfast with Socrates and came upon this little gem (still on the subject of waking up):

The word for truth is aletheia,from which in English we get the word lethargy. But see how the Greek word is a-letheia rather than letheia; that is, truth is the opposite of lethargy. And what is the opposite of lethargy, if not waking up? The truth lies in being awake and throwing off the sheets. In a certain sense, you’re the most truly yourself when you awake. It’s hard to wake up inauthentically.

Wow.

What a connection. Truth and being awake -- truth the antithesis of lethargy.

And how we love sleep, turning in our beds like a door on its hinges.

Sleeping brain.

Slumbering heart.

Dreamy dozing – but you can just never remember any of the dreams.

And then comes a tapping. Is it a finger on a table? Water dripping in the sink? Or is it the prophet’s voice repeating over us, “Consider your ways.”

Waking up is hard to do at times – harder for some than for others.

But once awake in this God-alive world filled with its God-inspired colors, hearing the Voice, feeling the Breeze on your face, filling your soul as you are becoming most truly yourself – how utterly impossible to even consider going back to sleep.

beholding the glory

Zechariah has been a good read this week.

The four riders; the horns and the blacksmiths smashing them; the man with the tape measure; the adversary rebuked and Joshua’s new clothes (what a picture, Revelation 12!); the lampstand and the two olive trees; the flying scroll (at least Zechariah didn’t have to make a meal out of his scroll); the woman in a basket; the four chariots.

A rich prophetic tapestry for a people who needed an infusion of hope.

Haggai and Zechariah were the tag team that got Israel moving again after a twenty year stall upon their return home. Haggai was terse, a man of few words. Zechariah lingered with vivid colors and dramatic images. Between the two of them, they sparked a fresh revival.

Revival is an interesting word in our religious heritage and lingo. Often we primarily associate it with fiery meetings with wild charismatic manifestations. Our focus tends to be on what’s happening under the tent (or roof). It’s been a while since I read it, but Jonathan Edwards, who had a bit of experience with revivals happening under such tents, commented at length that the sign of a true, genuine revival is what you would see on the streets and in the homes a year later when you went back and visited. As Wilberforce would have put it, you would have witnessed a radical “reformation of manners” among the people.

Zechariah’s passionate message stirred a people to stay, to build, and to weather the uncertainties of their times. The temple was completed, and they moved forward – and readily received the next “workers on the wall” that God would send: Ezra the priestly scribe and then Nehemiah the cupbearer turned builder and governor. Each brought their physical and spiritual building among them – some of who were more ready than others. And then they waited.

As the voice of the prophets stilled, and the pagan nations remained over them, they waited.

As temple was desecrated, the hammer of revolution was raised, and miraculous lights were lit on holy ground reconsecrated, they waited.

Zechariah didn’t have the elaborate Ezekiel vision of a new temple stretching on chapter after chapter, but I caught his breathless excitement over what would happen “on the big day”:

What a day that will be!
No more cold nights – in fact, no more nights! The Day is coming – the timing will be God’s – when it will be continuous day. Every evening will be a fresh morning.

What a day that will be!

Fresh flowing rivers out of Jerusalem, half to the eastern sea, half to the western sea, flowing year-round, summer and winter!

God will be king over all the earth, one God and only one.

What a day that will be.

Zechariah 14:6-9 (The Message, of course)

How we need Zechariah hearts among us, in us, stirring holy imagination, enflaming our hearts, firing our minds, and delivering us from souless eyes that see only a darkened and wanting landscape. Delivering us from the inward turn of skepticism and critical carping as we turn inward upon ourselves with our backs to a cold world of night. Giving us Spirit eyes to see the glories of the Big Day already blooming all around us, glowing from downcast and dim faces just waiting to be awakened.

Eyes beholding the Glory.

Restorationists

And the name of the city from that time on shall be, The Lord is There. Ezekiel 48:35

Ezekiel was off-putting to me at first.

Perhaps it’s just because I so identified with the earthiness of Jeremiah; his miry pit and tears and running debate with God; with his (for me) effective redefining of what a real, successful ministry looks like (a bit counter to what is in vogue amongst us). I greatly identify with Jeremiah’s teary and earthy groanings!

But then comes Ezekiel with his spectacular, technicolor dazzling light show – so seemingly ethereal and detached and “out there.” It was actually hard for me to get into it on many levels this time around. But ultimately, the other-worldly notes he strikes complete this combined symphony he shares with Jeremiah beautifully. Both prophets do their share of “dream smashing,” and both hit the notes of future restoration; what I noticed this time around is how Jeremiah excels in the former, while Ezekiel soars in the latter. It was hard for me to make the transition at first (perhaps I’m not alone in that). I like the drama of smashing a pot – but these weird visions are another matter beginning with the first vision “of the appearance of the likeness of the glory of the Lord” that leaves many confused and others speculating about everything from LSD to UFOs.

And then the coup de grâce: the final vision occupying the last nine chapters of Ezekiel – a section through which in my own dullness I’ve generally had to repeatedly poke myself to remain alert while reading it. It feels like Exodus again. Not the dramatic chapters of plagues unleashed, of bondage broken, of a sea parted, of an oppressor routed, of a people freed. No, it’s the more tedious (to me) chapters of tabernacle description and construction. Back again in the land of many cubits.

Why all the minute details? Outer court and inner court, east gate and north gate and south gate, vestibule and priestly chambers, altars and sacrifices. Many get lost in all the details – details not nearly finding their fulfillment in the reality of the rebuilt temple of Zerubbabel – or even in the gloriously refurbished and refinished temple of Herod (finished practically days before its complete desolation). Old timers wept at the foundation of Zerubbabel’s rebuilt temple years after Ezekiel’s time; it just didn’t measure up to Solomon’s before or to the expectations of Ezekiel’s vision. Herod’s temple had the style and flash, but when it went up in flames, so did any thought that this was it either. So, many of us await another temple; we call it a millenial temple, and proceed to eschatological debates over timing and scenarios. And while I have no problem with a millenial temple or anything else that God wants to build during a future millenium or at any other time, I see something much bigger, much closer.

Ezekiel was measuring a dream. And like his first vision, I wonder if this one also is but “the appearance of the likeness of the glory of the Lord.” What was so vividly taken away from them and destroyed is now vividly re-envisioned with a glory that caused even Solomon’s to pale. It may not be the dreamscape we would envision and design as dream architects, but Ezekiel’s vision on his mountain is a marvelous extrapolation of Moses’ vision in Exodus – a vision which gave Moses a working plan to build something that would reflect the heavenly pattern he had seen upon his mountain.

In Ezekiel’s temple vision, I see more than a meticulous plan for a future temple that we are all waiting to happen some day (and in the meantime, we’ll happily fill the time with arguing over how and where and when, or even engage in political manouverings to make it happen). This temple vision is not merely an eschatological curiosity, an end time’s bone thrown to an impatient crowd lined up outside the door; it’s a call to overt action rather than merely passive viewing. It’s a vision that sustained a generation of returning Israelites as they returned home and built up the waste places of what was once home. The temple vision is a vision of restoration – a restoration of justice and righteousness and truth and beauty and holiness. A restoration begun by a generation of returning Israelites; a restoration continued now in our generation, our culture, our time in present day followers of the Prince who has come.

Another interesting intersection.

Friends had me sit down with them and watch the 2007 film Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. I would never have suspected an Ezekiel connection. But there it was. (I’m not going into detail about that film, you’ll just have to watch it if you wish to fully appreciate this paragraph). Mr. Magorium sees seemingly endless, colorful, kinetic, kaleidoscopic possibilties where others see only a plain block of wood. The “Mutant” blindly calculates numbers, while children’s eyes see magic unfolding right before them and they enter joyously into creative play. Replace Mr. Magorium and the children with us, magic with the kingdom of God, and the toystore with the big, wide world all around us, and you just might see Ezekiel’s ever deepening river flowing through your own neighborhood. Through ghetto streets and red light districts and war zones and famine & disease stricken lands. And “wherever the river goes, every living creature that swarms will live, and there will be very many fish. For this water goes there, that the waters of the sea may become fresh; so everything will live where the river goes.” Ever deepening holiness, spreading everywhere. Through us. Unstoppable.

We’re not talking about escapism, wishful thinking or even wild-eyed imagination. We’re talking about Elisha eyes that instead of barren hills see the surrounding mountains filled with divine possibilities and then call those divine possibilities into being (prayer) through our own creative acts in engaging with our culture and our world (faith expressing itself by love). And even the dead-end Salt Sea becomes Galilee with such a diversity of teeming life that the Great Sea looks on with envy. The most arid and brown landscape has treelined streets whose branches are filled with life-giving fruit, and the very touch of their leaves brings healing. And there is always a tree. Always. Fully repenting of our first parent’s sin, we turn from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and it withers away. Always do we reach for and share the fruit from the growing forest of the tree of life. It’s shade is never far, its fruit always near.

How sad to keep this temple vision bottled up as we debate its contents.

How sad to think of this primarily as a river other there, some day.

The river is here, and the forest is spreading.

I look out my window. I see the man or woman standing on the street corner holding a sign. I see today’s headlines. I see my own daughter in her wheelchair. Do I see the river? Will I move in its currents? Will it flow from within me to the pain that I encounter daily? Or does the bitterness of a Salt Sea seemingly rising to high tide still sting and blind my eyes?

dream smashing

I've been ruminating on Ezekiel for a month now as we approach the half-way mark in this 1189 journey; and so some thoughts on Ezekiel and Jeremiah, smashing dreams and visions of dramatic restoration...

After earthy Jeremiah, Ezekiel seems so other-worldly, so out of touch.

Jeremiah is among survivors in the land holding on to forlorn hope and dreams that their nation could still make it somehow – just one more political maneuver, just one more alliance; after all, God wouldn’t allow his own house to be torn down, would he? Ezekiel is among an early batch of exiled Israeli captives in Babylon, who are holding on to pipe dreams of their own of a last minute turn-around, the ultimate come-from-behind win that would soon have them all home. Both prophets essentially engage in a prophetic ministry of dream-smashing. False dreams, that is. And each goes about it in their own unique way.

Jeremiah takes the elders of the people to the potter’s house where he literally smashes an earthen pot beyond all hope of reassembly or restoration. God takes Ezekiel on something of a magic carpet ride as he is repeatedly caught up into celestial visions often involving a portable divine throne, a holy dais of sorts, borne about by four creatures with multiple faces, covered with eyes, possessing two sets of wings, and then there’s that whole “wheel within a wheel” thing – all of this being not the literal person and throne of God but “the appearance of the likeness of the glory of the Lord.” This is a glory that comes to him in captivity; a glory that is dynamic and mobile, not static; a glory that he witnesses departing, step by step, from the Jerusalem temple – explaining its ensuing destruction by the Babylonians. Some five centuries later,that glory would descend once again into a rebuilt temple (another false dream that would be smashed) in the ultimate likeness and appearance of God in the face of Jesus.

Dream smashing.

What an odd (and uncomfortable for most) way to begin the process of restoration in a society. For restoration is the ultimate work and vision of Jeremiah and Ezekiel – and of Christ followers today. It’s where this whole story of creation and fall and redemption and restoration is headed. Gabe Lyons in his book The Next Christians highlights this four beat story and observes that to a large degree Christianity has myopically focused on the middle two notes of “fall and redemption” as if the story were simply about being saved from sin and then ultimately getting out of here. But fall and redemption are only half the story – and his thesis is that the “next Christians” are those who embrace the whole story with all four glorious notes. Lyons describes Christians as “restorers” or restorationists who engage culture as opposed to isolationists who withdraw or collaborators who blend in. He says that such restorationists have a natural reflex to respond to brokenness “as if they see right through the moment and into a future that bears a mystical resemblance to the pristine state of the past. Then they work to create that future. Their unique vision enables them to face some of the greatest problems in our world without even a flinch.”

And here’s the thing. To see right through the moment into a future that bears a mystical resemblance to the pristine state of the past (let’s call this the kingdom of God) requires us to challenge and, yes, smash the false dreams of the present rather than coddling those dreams or showing people how they can incorporate God into those dreams (or worse, as the false prophets of Jeremiah’s and Ezekiel’s day, to claim those false dreams as being from God himself to begin with). Do I really need to spell out the implications of this for Christians today when we come to the “American Dream”?

To wake up and see what was and thus to engage our current scene not as mere critics but as partners, co-creators with God of what could be, of what is and will be (the kingdom of God!), means the dream we're currently buying into needs to collapse (yes, we need a major "kick"!). And so Jeremiah comes with a commission to “pluck up and to break down, to destroy and to overthrow,” and only then “to build and to plant.” He tried to awaken a slumbering generation with the sound of a breaking pot.

And while Jeremiah smashes the pot and is lifted out of the miry pit, Ezekiel in all of his antics is quite literally flying high as he tries to rouse an exiled generation with the dream that should have owned and shaped them from the beginning.

to be continued...

a successful life

So Johanan the son of Kareah and all the commanders of the forces and all the people did not obey the voice of the LORD, to remain in the land of Judah. But Johanan the son of Kareah and all the commanders of the forces took all the remnant of Judah who had returned to live in the land of Judah from all the nations to which they had been driven— the men, the women, the children, the princesses, and every person whom Nebuzaradan the captain of the guard had left with Gedaliah the son of Ahikam, son of Shaphan; also Jeremiah the prophet and Baruch the son of Neriah. And they came into the land of Egypt, for they did not obey the voice of the LORD. And they arrived at Tahpanhes. (Jeremiah 43:4-7 ESV)

What kind of an ending is that?

The hapless prophet is carried off against his wishes and counsel into another Egyptian bondage. More stern words of coming judgment, of the relentless pursuit of the Babylonian sword after a faithless and fickle people.

We would instinctively write a happier ending. We crave resolution. We demand the tying up of loose ends. But this is like a bad movie, the camera panning out as Jeremiah wails in Tahpanhes and then the screen darkens and the credits roll. Or wait, there are no credits. There’s not even a dramatic THE END. Jeremiah just fades, leaving us hanging, wondering...

I’ve always been struck by the seemingly utterly fruitless and unsuccessful nature of Jeremiah’s ministry.

He didn’t build anything.

He didn’t end up with a faithful band of followers around him. (Though he did have Baruch, for whom Jeremiah’s final word is “Do you seek great things? Seek them not.” What a timeless word for ministry!)

Flaccid kings never took his counsel.

Everyone judged his motives.

No one listened to him.

He was a prophet to the nations…but he never travelled anywhere…except to Egypt at the end of his life against his will.

The first edition of his book was cut up piece by piece and thrown into the fire.

No further copies were sought – though he made one anyway.

The stains from the muddy pit that was Jeremiah’s life ultimately left indelibly upon him the marks of a true saint; his muddied footprints the outline of a truly successful life.

Oh to one day be worthy of carrying those sandals…

letter to the Exiles

This is what the LORD Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: "Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the LORD for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper."  Yes, this is what the LORD Almighty, the God of Israel, says: "Do not let the prophets and diviners among you deceive you. Do not listen to the dreams you encourage them to have. They are prophesying lies to you in my name. I have not sent them," declares the LORD. (Jeremiah 29:4-9 ESV)

The only place you have to be human is where you are right now.
Eugene Peterson

Jeremiah continues taking me to some deep places.

Not necessarily deep as in somber or sad, but just deep, earthy places.

I see the reflection of my religious self too readily in the faces of men such as Pashhur and the other false prophets (how I would love to just see the faces of others in that profile!). So much of what passes for what should be the radical message of Christianity is an exercise in sanctified escapism. Cordoned off from the world behind cathedral walls we "heal our wounds slightly" while telling ourselves not to get too comfortable here in this world that we are so quickly passing through. Protracted denial. Holy avoidance. Desperate prayers of deliverance from present realities meant to be encountered not escaped. What contrasting fare is found in Jeremiah's letter to the exiles already in Babylon. This is the setting of one of our favorite verses to quote: "I know the plans I have for you - plans to prosper you, and not to harm you; plans to give you a future and a hope." These were plans and a future and a hope that would only mature into reality as they settled in where they were. In exile. Dig deep into Babylonian soil. Get your hands dirty with it. Pray for it. Get used to it. So much of our religion of whatever color or stripe is an effort to escape from where we are, trading in present exiled tediums or terrors for that future and a hope somewhere over the rainbow of our dreams. And in so doing we miss the face of God to be seen and embraced and kissed right here in these exiled places of even our greatest pain, debilitating disappointments and oppressive doldrums.

Peterson's Run With the Horses once again resecures its place on my shelf with its timely and poignant reminder:

Jeremiah's letter is a rebuke and a challenge: "Quit sitting around feeling sorry for yourselves. The aim of the person of faith is not to be as comfortable as possible but to live as deeply and thoroughly as possible - to deal with the reality of life, discover truth, create beauty, act out love. You didn't do it when you were in Jerusalem. Why don't you try doing it here, in Babylon? Don't listen to the lying prophets who make an irresponsible living by selling you false hopes. You are in Babylon for a long time. You better make the best of it. Don't just get along, waiting for some miraculous intervention. Build houses, plant gardens, marry husbands, marry wives, have children, pray for the wholeness of Babylon, and do everything you can to develop that wholeness. The only place you have to be human is where you are right now. The only opportunity you will ever have to live by faith is in the circumstances you are provided this very day: this house you live in, this family your find yourself in, this job you have been given (or not), the weather conditions that prevail at this moment." 

Exile (being where we don't want to be with people we don't want to be with) forces a decision: Will I focus my attention on what is wrong with the world and feel sorry for myself? Or will I focus my energies on how I can live at my best in this place I find myself? It is always easier to complain about problems than to engage in careers of virtue. George Eliot in her novel Felix Holt has a brilliantly appropriate comment on this quesiton: "Everything's wrong says he. That's a big text. But does he want to make everything right? Not he. He'd lose his text."

Oh may my fingers be ruddy and red with the Babylonian soil of my exile as true hope dawns and beckons me on...and to cease from escapist fantasies.

reworked

The word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD: “Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will let you hear my words.” So I went down to the potter's house, and there he was working at his wheel. And the vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter's hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do. (Jeremiah 18:1-4 ESV)


The potter’s house fascinates me.

I love how the Lord can turn our eyes into ears, placing before us common objects and occupations that become sacraments – earthy intersections of divine truths undergirding all of life.

I see the potter sitting at his wheel as it spins and spins. The clay literally rises, seemingly taking on a life of its own as his muddy hands shape and press. I watch his hand reach inside the object, this pot, this vessel that will become a unique combination of beauty and utility. It rises, it broadens, it narrows, all according to the movement of his hands. What will it be? What will be its final form? My anticipation rises. Expectation soars. I hold my breath waiting for the culmination of the potter and his spinning wheel.

And then it happens.

It is undone.

The work of beauty collapses upon itself in a heap.

Seeming failure.

A mere unformed lump.

Without form and void.

I look to the potter. Is he crushed? Is he in anguish over his collapsed work? Does he kick over the wheel and pound the clay with an angry fist? Does he throw up his hands in despair or bow his head in shame? No. With a knowing and playful smile he gathers up the clay.

And he reworks it.

He reworks it into another vessel “as it seemed good to the potter to do.”

I’m not sure which version of me we’re up to at this point. Is it Mike 2.0, 3.0, 4.0? I don’t know. But no doubt about it: I have been reworked. Multiple times. Yet no matter what the reworking might entail or into what type of vessel I might be shaped this time or next time or the time after that, the clay that is me retains a continuity, a consistency. Thankfully I remain clay! May the wheel never turn to reveal me as cement quickly hardening and set. And the thought now occurs to me: Is it not in our departure from this world that we are finally “fired”? Is it not then and only then that we reach our completed form, the final shape of beauty marked by his hands?

How happy at the time I thought I was with Mike 1.0. How at the time I wished to be “fired” and set right then for the rest of my days. But then with watery hands, he reworked me. Mike 2.0. This version of me pleases me less. I feel marred and spoiled, but still the wheel spins, still his hands shape. Why does he keep going? Why does he make me thus? I despair and cry and languish on the wheel and surrender hope in being other than what and where and how I am. But then down I come. Reworked yet again. The wheel turns again. Behold the reworking which is becoming Mike 3.0.

Onward spins the wheel.

Revolution.

Change.

Reshaping.

Reworked yet again, the latest version of me.

Have I finally learned to be clay in his hands?

Have I learned, as much as clay can learn?

Have I stopped trying to trade spots with the potter?

Have I given up trying to be the potter for others?

Am I willing to be reworked again?

And then yet again?

And onward spins the wheel…

put away the knife

It was the ninth month, and the king was sitting in the winter house, and there was a fire burning in the fire pot before him. As Jehudi read three or four columns, the king would cut them off with a knife and throw them into the fire in the fire pot, until the entire scroll was consumed in the fire that was in the fire pot. (Jeremiah 36:22-23 ESV)

Do not quench the Spirit. Do not despise prophecies, but test everything; hold fast what is good. Abstain from every form of evil. (1 Thessalonians 5:19-22 ESV)

Read not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, but to weigh and consider.
Sir Francis Bacon


I am running ahead a bit in Jeremiah. He makes it hard not too.

What a compelling picture!

A king sitting by a burning fire pot, literally cutting into pieces and burning these words brought by Blessing (Baruch).

How easy to cut up words from viewpoints off our grid rather than really hearing and seeing what is in them.

Reading the newly released book Republocrat: Confessions of a Liberal Conservative by Carl Trueman managed to put me square into Jehoiakim’s chair – or at least to wonder just how well, in fact, I fit there far too often still. Trueman’s “confessions” deal with both politics and religion, and so what he "confesses" as to one realm very nicely (and uncomfortably) applies to the other. Here are some excerpts from his chapter entitled “Not-So-Fantastic Mr. Fox” under a section entitled “Let’s Use Our God-Given Critical Faculties.” Put away your knife, step away from the fire, and consider:

When it comes to listening to the news, Christians should be eclectic in their approach and not depend merely on those pundits who simply confirm their view of the world while self-evidently using terminology, logic, and standard rules of evidence and argumentation in sloppy, tendentious, and sometimes frankly dishonest ways, such as Mr. Beck and his “welfare means totalitarianism” claims. There is a sense in which we are dependent for our view of the wider world on those media that give us access to the world, so surely it is incumbent on us to make sure that we expose ourselves to a variety of viewpoints on the great issues of the day….

Either human beings are critical creatures, provided with brains that allow them to think for themselves, or they are mere sponge-like receptors who believe whatever they are told by a third party. Biblically speaking, it would seem like the former is the case. Luke, for example, constructed his history by talking with eyewitnesses, and we can presume he used only those sources that he found reliable while discounting the rest. When the Bereans heard the gospel, they searched the Scriptures to see whether the things they heard were so. Critical faculties were engaged in both instances.

When Christianity was starting to penetrate the Roman Empire in the second century, there were a number of thinkers, called by scholars the Greek Apologists, who took it on themselves to argue the case for Christianity in the public square. One of their most powerful arguments was that Christians, far from subverting public order (and that, of course, was, at the time, a profoundly unChristian public order), actually make the very best citizens in terms of hard work, loyalty, and civil obedience. Later, Calvin made essentially the same point in the prefatory letter to his Institutes of the Christian Religion. Today, our obligation is no different: we are called to be good citizens in this world, and in a democratic society, that involves having as many well-thought-out and informed opinions on the things that really matter as time allows. It is incumbent on us not to surround ourselves with things that confirm our prejudices but seek to listen to a variety of viewpoints. The listening is not an end in itself, as so many postmodern conversationalists would have it; the purpose is to become more informed and to have better-grounded and better-argued opinions. But that can happen only when watching the news becomes more than just having our gut convictions continually confirmed.

This is the essence of true Word havering.

He that hath ears…put away the knife and truly hear some different perspectives. You just might learn something. And while you're at it, you just might enjoy picking up Trueman's book.

Bon appetit.

how long before I see well?

And the word of the LORD came to me, saying, “Jeremiah, what do you see?” And I said, “I see an almond branch.” Then the LORD said to me, “You have seen well, for I am watching over my word to perform it.” The word of the LORD came to me a second time, saying, “What do you see?” And I said, “I see a boiling pot, facing away from the north.” Then the LORD said to me, “Out of the north disaster shall be let loose upon all the inhabitants of the land.” (Jeremiah 1:11-14 ESV)


"The two visions, the blossoming almond branch and the pot of boiling water, were Jeremiah’s Harvard and Yale. The single-image visions burned themselves deep into the retina of his faith. By means of these visions he kept his balance and sanity and passion in the theater of God’s glory and through the holocaust of human sin."
Peterson, Run with the Horses

“What do you see, Jeremiah?”

Reading this opening chapter of Jeremiah through the years, I generally found myself shrugging my shoulders at the sight before Jeremiah. An almond branch. A boilling pot. So what? And so I would move on. Actually, that was my initial response to a whole lot of what I was reading – and often still is. The fact is, I think the greatest personal challenge I face is the challenge to really see. I feel I have a ways to go before hearing the Lord’s response to Jeremiah: “You have seen well.”

But as Peterson points out quite effectively, this twin vision was what transformed insecure prophet into an immovable rock in his generation. In fact “insecure” really isn’t strong enough – no more than our tepid translation that would put the words, “Ah, Lord” in Jeremiah’s mouth. “Ah” would really need to be something along the lines of “NOOOOOOOOOOO!” (slow motion, deep gutteral pain and disbelief – set before your eyes the greatest tragedy you have ever witnessed and then hear the painful exclamation that would escape your lips; that’s “Ah”).

Jeremiah was terrified.

And into his gloom and terror, yes, God spoke the assurance that he was with him, that he was putting his words in his mouth, that he had set him as a prophet to the nations. But he didn’t just tell him, he showed him. He gave him these two life-defining and sustaining visions. Budding hope and expectation in God’s faithfulness, and defined and limited calamity over which God is sovereign, both forever connected in Jeremiah’s consciousness every time he saw the early blossoming of the almond trees in Israel – blossoms forming while everything else around was still grey and dead – and every time he saw a pot of boiling water.

“I am watching over my word to perform it.”

Blossoming hope and expectation before the prospect of unavoidable, scalding pain – pain that would be poured out.

It takes me back to Habakkuk’s concluding song: “Though the fig tree does not blossom…yet I will rejoice in the Lord.” Jeremiah faced the crisis not just of a generation, but of the ages, one that simply could not and would not be avoided. No deep stashes of food would sustain anyone; no futures of gold and silver would tide them over through it. All would be swept away – including, it would seem, Jeremiah. But even in Egyptian exile he would see the almond branch blossom after the boiling pot had been fully poured out. Hope would remain.

Looking at that almond branch today, vividly brought home the question: how well do I see?

How easily do I teeter when exposed to whispered or headlined terrors and threats?

Why do I so naturally default to the negative, the cynical, the pessimistic, the suspicious?

How long will I allow fears to pull me inward, to isolate and divide and insulate within myself and between myself and others as I play cloak and dagger games in my own mind like some pathetic, second rate MacBeth?

How long will I cave in to the madness of society, of swirling politics and religion and human posturing and pontificating?

How long before I see well?

Why is it so hard to see the almond branch blooming?

named

The words of Jeremiah, the son of Hilkiah, one of the priests who were in Anathoth in the land of Benjamin, to whom the word of the LORD came in the days of Josiah the son of Amon, king of Judah, in the thirteenth year of his reign. It came also in the days of Jehoiakim the son of Josiah, king of Judah, and until the end of the eleventh year of Zedekiah, the son of Josiah, king of Judah, until the captivity of Jerusalem in the fifth month. (Jeremiah 1:1-3 ESV)


Oh the bittersweetness of Jeremiah.

Each time through the Bible it’s like another family reunion. It’s like I see faces across the room and then when they are before me, there’s that sudden lightning bolt of recognition, followed by the warm embrace, shared memories, laughter and tears.

There’s a sweeping grandeur to Isaiah that is unparalleled in the rest of the book. But if Isaiah soars to sublime heights, wafting on wings of servant songs and majestic dirges of doom, Jeremiah swoons and sweeps low in rich and earthy hues.

If Isaiah inspires me, Jeremiah feeds me.

Accompanying me on this journey as something of a guide and companion is Eugene Peterson in his book Running with the Horses. What a blessed excuse indeed to take this journey again, Peterson in hand! And so, to start, an excerpt early on as he observes the litany of personal names with which Jeremiah begins…

At our birth we are named, not numbered. The name is that part of speech by which we are recognized as a person. We are not classified as a species of animal. We are not labeled as a compound of chemicals. We are not assessed for our economic potential and given a cash value. We are named. What we are named is not as significant as that we are named.

Jeremiah’s impressive stature as a human being – Ewald calls him the “most human prophet” – and the developing vitality of that humanness for sixty years have their source in his naming, along with the centered seriousness with which he took his name and the names of others. “To be called by his true name is part of any listener’s process of becoming his true self. We have to receive a name by others; this is part of the process of being fully born.” Jeremiah was named and immersed in names. He was never reduced to a role or absorbed into a sociological trend or catapulted into a historical crisis. His identity and significance developed from the event of naming and his response to naming. The world of Jeremiah does not open with a description of the scenery or a sketch of the culture but with eight personal names.

Anytime we move from personal names to abstract labels or graphs or statistics, we are less in touch with reality and diminished in our capacity to deal with what is best and at the center of life. Yet we are encouraged on every side to do just that. In many areas of life the accurate transmission of our social-security number is more important than the integrity with which we live. In many sectors of the economy the title that we hold is more important than our ability to do certain work. In many situations the public image that people have of us is more important than the personal relations that we develop with them. Every time that we go along with this movement from the personal to the impersonal, from the immediate to the remote, from the concrete to the abstract, we are diminished, we are less. Resistance is required if we will retain our humanity.

The call of Jeremiah is a call to just such resistance.

How easily do we reduce Jeremiah’s own words to statistics – so many chapters and verses and words and letters; word dissected and then graphed on Pritchard’s scale. But it is his voice, his heart that must be heard and felt and sensed. Pathos and pulse and passion.

Do we dare diminish him?

Do we dare diminish others, joining with the sweep of our culture’s impersonal hand leaving behind mere stats and files and summaries like so much ash in a jar?

Do we dare allow ourselves to be so diminished?

in wrath remember mercy

The LORD is a jealous and avenging God;
   the LORD is avenging and wrathful;
the LORD takes vengeance on his adversaries
   and keeps wrath for his enemies.
The LORD is slow to anger and great in power,
   and the LORD will by no means clear the guilty.
His way is in whirlwind and storm,
   and the clouds are the dust of his feet.
He rebukes the sea and makes it dry;
   he dries up all the rivers;
Bashan and Carmel wither;
   the bloom of Lebanon withers.
The mountains quake before him;
   the hills melt;
the earth heaves before him,
   the world and all who dwell in it.

Who can stand before his indignation?
Who can endure the heat of his anger?
His wrath is poured out like fire,
and the rocks are broken into pieces by him.
The LORD is good,
a stronghold in the day of trouble;
he knows those who take refuge in him.
But with an overflowing flood
he will make a complete end of the adversaries,
and will pursue his enemies into darkness.

(Nahum 1:2-8 ESV)


I sat in the Boise airport last night, reading first Nahum then Habakkuk.

I got tingles.

My sandals are off my feet.

I can hardly bring myself to gaze at the burning bush aflame before me in these prophet words.

Holy.

Let’s just say I had no problem getting on the plane after reading them. No problem with this trip to LA for my nephew’s funeral.

I gladly take refuge in you.

What rhythms!

Alternating rhythms of wrath and mercy. And yet I feel no incongruity. No need or even desire to harmonize these two. They both belong. Even in the great epistle of gospel and grace that we know as Romans, wrath and mercy meet in the same dance.

Two arrogant, windbag regimes spread like a cancer across the ancient world, bringing oppression and pain and death in their power plays. And both now scramble, “the chariots race madly through the streets and rush to and fro through the squares” as the mighty fall before the Mighty.

“Behold his soul is puffed up; it is not upright within him, but the righteous shall live by his faith.”

Arrogance, oppression, violence, flagrant disregard for human beings made in the image of God that mean no more than fodder for empire. Dehumanizing. Self-aggrandizing. All signs that clearly mark the wrath bound road.

“But the righteous man will live by his faith.” Simple trust and deepening worth, justice and mercy. The only signs of religion along this path of refuge, of wholeness, of salvation in all its rich hues is in the “religion” of Micah: “And what does the Lord require of you but to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?” The righteous man will live by his faith.

All of us take one path or the other. We walk by faith or by sight. We follow the ways of this dog-eat-dog world, using and being used, abusing and being abused, treating as mere objects, as personal stepping stones those whom he has made precious, who reflect his glory. Or we walk as He walked, we go about doing good and healing all who are oppressed by the devil; lives of simple faith and hope and love, “good measure, pressed down, shaken together.”

I think we can be eager in our immaturity to speak of hell and damnation and judgment – until we look in this mirror and perhaps are given pause to ponder (in your mercy, O Lord!) – does our very religion make objects of people he loves and longs for? Theological chess pieces moved about – or worse, tipped over, ripped apart, discarded, resigned to the flames of our own skewed visions? On which path is my religion found? Where would Habakkuk see me?

And the final gift in the reading for me? A new prayer from Habakkuk: “In wrath, remember mercy.”

Pray it.

Speak it.

Live it.

on pastoring...the real shepherd

He will tend his flock like a shepherd;
he will gather the lambs in his arms;
he will carry them in his bosom,
and gently lead those that are with young.
(Isaiah 40:12 ESV)

The rest of the story of Amanda's lamb...

Finally the day came to select the lamb. Amanda’s dad took her to the breeder, where she promptly fell in love with the first lamb that gave a “baa!” as she approached. But her dad and the breeder selected five other lambs, each approximately equal in quality and allowed Amanda to choose from this limited number. She described her selection of her lamb, telling me she chose the one the “looked at me with love in her eyes.”


When the lamb was brought home, Amanda’s dad docked its tail and put the ointment in its eyes. Her dad was in the barn twice a day to milk their goats. On weekends while Amanda played in the yard with her sisters, her dad mended broken fences and did the various other chores that were too large for a young girl to do. Amanda’s job was to help clean the barn, feed and water the lamb, and halter train it. Amanda learned that tending a lamb was a lot more work than she had bargained for. And yes, the lamb would bleat for her every morning and afternoon. One day Amanda rolled her eyes and told me, “She does that ALL the time!”

Over the winter months the sheep grew quite large. By spring the ewe’s head reached Amanda’s chest, and she weighed more than Amanda did. It was time to shear the ewe for the first time. Amanda’s dad decided he would do the job because his daughter was too small. He took the shears and entered the pen. The sheep took one look at him and thought to itself, “I know that man, and I know he is not going to touch me with that tool in his hand.” And the chase was on. Around and around the pen Amanda’s dad chased the ewe, trying to get it cornered so he could shear it. Now Amanda’s dad is over 6 foot tall and had handled goats for years, so he had the strength necessary for the job, but he could not corner the sheep. Amanda’s dad felt that if his reach were a little longer he’d be able to accomplish his goal, so he took 2X4’s to extend his reach. The sheep was too fast even for a longer reach. He tried grabbing the sheep as it ran past him but had trouble getting his fingers into the wool. Once he finally got his fingers into the wool, only to be dragged across the pen until the sheep knocked him to the ground. After 40 minutes or more, Amanda’s dad decided he needed some help, and he knew who need to be there helping him. He went inside and called Amanda.

Amanda could tell her dad was pretty heated, so she quietly followed him out to the pen. Her dad entered the pen ahead of her, leaving the gate open behind him. The sheep was immediately on guard. As Amanda pushed her way through the gate, the sheep saw its opportunity and began to run as fast as it could toward the open gate. Amanda’s dad leapt for the sheep and yelled for Amanda to get out of the way. Amanda froze in fear as the sheep barreled towards her. Just inches away from Amanda, the sheep skidded to a stop, then put its face in Amanda’s chest and trembled. Amanda reached down, stroked the sheep’s ears and talked to it, calling it by name. As long as Amanda talked to the sheep, her dad could shear it; when Amanda’s attention wandered off, the sheep began to kick and jump away from the shears.

The sheep knew who its shepherd truly was, whom it could run to in troubled times, whom it could trust. It wasn’t the man who did so much to and for it, but the little girl who did things with it, the one who cared for it and loved it. When Amanda’s dad came into the house, he smelled of sweat; when Amanda came into the house, she smelled of sheep. Maybe that’s the truest test of a shepherd.

on pastoring...part 1

Behold, the Lord GOD comes with might,
     and his arm rules for him;
behold, his reward is with him,
     and his recompense before him.
He will tend his flock like a shepherd;
     he will gather the lambs in his arms;
he will carry them in his bosom,
     and gently lead those that are with young. (Isaiah 40:10-11 ESV)

She forgot the rings.

Our trip to Kauai had two key purposes: a celebration in advance of our 30th anniversary, and being present for our friends at their wedding on the shores of the island.

It was a beautiful Friday morning – our first on the island. We had driven half-way around Kauai, it seemed, with plenty of time to reach the beach where the officiant, photographer, and florist would be waiting. We didn’t know it at the time, but we were almost there, when we received a text from our friends driving in a separate vehicle ahead of us that they forgot the rings. They were going to drive back to the hotel, get the rings and make some calls to make sure that everyone would wait. Meanwhile, as they rushed back, that’s just what we did – we waited.

We had quite providentially stopped at a scenic overview of the Hanalei National Wildlife Refuge. And we soaked it in. Kauai is one of the world’s wettest locations (the wettest point on earth, Mt. Waialeale, is located on Kauai, and receives an astounding 460 inches of rainfall each year). And it shows. So many shades of green! Deep, vibrant, verdent green! Everywhere. We soaked in the view as we waited for our frenzied friends (everything turned out fine, the officiant was still waiting along with the photographer and the florist, and the wedding went on as they had planned and dreamt).

Quite fittingly, Kauai was where I read Isaiah 40-52 as part of the ongoing Project 1189 (reading through all 1,189 chapters of the Bible in two years). And even as the island lingers in my heart and soul, so does Isaiah with its many scenic overviews, beginning with the passage quoted above.

Isaiah 40:10-11 immediately seized my attention with its seeming incongruity of strength and might in verse 10 and the tenderness and soft touch of verse 11. But what strikes me as I take in this rich scenic overview – for me starting in Isaiah 40 – is that there is no incongruity here at all, except in our own minds and cultural perspective. Typically (or should I say stereotypically) tenderness is regarded as feminine and weak (at least by men). We men are all over “his arm rules for him” leading us to a crescendo of testosterone by the end of verse 10, while, for us, verse 11 sputters out, an ignominious dud (it has to be a female nursery worker’s verse!).

But connecting both verses is the statement, “he will lead his flock like a shepherd.”

Shepherd is the crucial link.

It would seem there is something of “masculine” might and the ruling arm in a biblical shepherd. You need go no further than David, seeing a precious lamb about to be snatched away by a ravenous bear or lion. Does he drop the predator, Goliath-like, with a well-aimed stone? No, he gets up close and personal in a very hands-on approach, grabbing each intruder in turn “by the beard” and then beating its bloody brains out with a club. Now that’s a ruling arm. But as I observe the picture more closely, there’s really not much here of the (again, stereotypical) masculine western man out to provide food for his family or a trophy for his wall. It’s more like a momma bear being robbed of her cubs. David is furious at the predator’s intrusion, but not because of potential financial or numerical loss or even trespassing on his domain. It’s because of the lamb – the one he gathers in his arms and carries “in his bosom.” The shepherd knows the sheep by name – and can recongize and distinguish them by touch and even by smell. And the sheep know his voice – because he is constantly among them using it, calling them by name, singing over them, laughing, warning, lecturing, cajoling.

He would lay down his life for any of them and he would leave all of them to go find one that was missing (the needs of the one outweighing at that moment the needs of the many).

It was only later in David’s life that he lost this shepherd’s heart when he as king stood on the balcony of his accomplishments enjoying his own scenic overview of Bathsheba’s courtyard – and then became the prowling predator himself, singling out and pursuing another’s lamb and ruthlessly making the kill.

As it was in Hanalei, there is so much to be seen here in this Isaianic inspired view. Much of God as our Shepherd; much concerning myself as one called “pastor/shepherd” following his lead and walking in his pastoring ways.

It’s quite a view.

It’s going to take a few posts to unpack and explore what I’m seeing…and what I’m saying every time I introduce myself as “pastor.”