Work It Out

Have you ever forgotten what it's like to be new? Not the "I've never been here before, but I've got five friends over there waiting for me" but the wide-eyed, sweat forming, panic inducing, awkward conversation new. I never cease to amaze myself at how quickly I come full circle back to thinking I've got it all figured out.

Good thing God likes to give me a good push when I'm off balance.

Reality of the situation is my ego runs so far ahead of me I get lost. I stop at the gas station and they tell me it passed three days ago. I think I have it all figured out far too often. Then I'm brought to a rude awakening when brick wall meets face. There isn't much give there, I learn very quickly how ignorant I really am.

How do I get to that place? How do I forget what it's like to be a child? To ask questions, to listen, to absorb. To cry when it hurts, laugh when it's funny, and wear my heart on my sleeve. Pouting and all. I spend so much time trying to grow up I forget learning is the point of the journey.

It takes practice. It takes sweat, blood and tears to really get a handle on things. It takes the willingness to listen to those who are much further along than you and constantly be reevaluating. I'm so inadequate, so far short of the mark. I get in the way too often. When I need to listen, I nod my head and pretend I knew it all along.

Help remove me from this equation. Though it pains me to say it, humble me.

What Do I Know of Holy?

Addison Road - What Do I Know of Holy?

I made You promises a thousand times

I tried to hear from Heaven

But I talked the whole time

I think I made You too small

I never feared You at all No

If You touched my face would I know You?

Looked into my eyes could I behold You?

What do I know of You

Who spoke me into motion?

Where have I even stood

But the shore along Your ocean?

Are You fire? Are You fury?

Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?

What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

I guess I thought that I had figured You out

I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about

How You were mighty to save

Those were only empty words on a page

Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be

The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees

What do I know of You

Who spoke me into motion?

Where have I even stood

But the shore along Your ocean?

Are You fire? Are You fury?

Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?

What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?

And a God who gave life "its" name?

What do I know of Holy?

Of the One who the angels praise?

All creation knows Your name

On earth and heaven above

What do I know of this love?

What do I know of You

Who spoke me into motion?

Where have I even stood

But the shore along Your ocean?

Are You fire? Are You fury?

Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?

What do I know? What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of Holy?

Every once in awhile, something catches me in just the right way. Knocks the wind right out of my lungs, and pulls my feet out from under me, leaving me laying on the ground staring straight up at the endless sky. As clouds meander overhead, my head is busy attempting to reconcile the events of the previous seconds.

What do we know of God? Who can accurately portray infinite? Who dare to say they have tamed a wild lion?

We put him into a little box, wrap a string around it, and declare it right, perfect, and pretty. And then we leave it to gather dust. Occassionally, that box taps us on the shoulder and pulls us out of our own prison back into the wide world. We talk about mighty, while we picture a quaint old man who cares for us.

From time to time, when we are least expecting it, the thunder rolls in, the lightning strikes, and we are jolted into a realization that we knew nothing. All that talk of power, might, wonder rushes through our bodies, and our only possible reaction is to fall to our knees, begging mercy.

My heart opens up, and my eyes flutter open. I'm staring at that same blue sky, with those same meandering clouds. Only now, I'm seeing them in colour for the first time, bursting forth with life. My only fear is that it will fade, and it will be far too long before I remember who it is that I worship.

Bring me to my knees.

Priorities

"If you want to give it all you've got," Jesus replied, "go sell your possessions; give everything to the poor. All your wealth will then be in heaven. Then come follow me."

Fiction is such a powerful tool. It's exceptionally easy to tell someone exactly what they need to hear, straight on. It's a whole other to teach the principles behind what you are saying. Something about stories captures the imagination, and roots itself deeply in our memories. Be it that we should look deeper than a title (Aladdin), or that we should never get caught up in worshipping an object, rather than God (The Last Battle), they teach us lessons in ways that engrain themselves on our psyche.

It never ceases to amaze me, then, the unrecognized allegories that surround us everyday. I'm in the process of reading through The Lord of the Rings, and the company has just entered Moria. The fear that besets each of them before they enter through that gate is so... familiar. They've tried another path and were blocked by an unseen force, and so they have to pick a much more dangerous path, or give up.

As they travel through, there is an overarching sense of dread. Like holding your breathe after entering the water and not knowing when you're going to come up for air again. Each step is another towards their impending doom. Each step is a necessary one if they are to complete their mission, and thus makes the risks worthwhile.

Occasionally I pause in moments like these and wondering to myself, what sort of missions are guiding my footsteps. Is it the pursuit of money? Fame? Friends? More and more... stuff? I am so easily distracted from my original intent, so easily pulled back onto the path for the Wraiths to find me.

Lost.

I'm sure that's exactly how the rich young man felt after coming to Jesus showing a deep sign of devotion and being left wanting. Imagine what that must have been like. You step out in a crowd of people, positively shimmering with religious zeal to follow this God-man, and in an instant he unravels your entire being and leaves you naked and exposed before this crowed. Most embarrassingly, he just asked the pointed questions, the decision was in your hands the entire time.

This story stands out to me as a tree amidst the Serengeti because of how relevant it is. There is nothing disingenuous about either side here. The man truly wants to follow Jesus, and in turn Jesus tells him what it will cost. Everything. Nothing on earth, everything in heaven. "Put your trust entirely in me," Jesus says.

Miniscule. That's how big I feel when I ponder how much I'm asked to give up related to how much He did give up. Everything. Nothing in heaven, everything on earth. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

I wonder if I'd be willing to pass through the darkness of Moria. My desire is that I'd be willing to go to the ends of the earth, but when the rubber hits the road, would I? If He asked me to give up everything to follow Him, would I?

Priorities shining like a noonday sun.

Help me to put all of them on You. Help me to put all my treasures in heaven, nothing on earth.

Stories

I can't speak for everyone... but my theology is a narrative one. The story of creation, of a fall, of a people chosen to rise out of the ashes of that fallen world like a phoenix. From that Phoenix a glimmer of hope, looking forward to the future King and Messiah. The ultimate striking down of that messiah and a party as the forces of evil thought they had struck their final blow. Imagine their surprise when Aslan appeared at their gates not as a conquered slave, but as a victorious king, shining all the brighter to claim the key to death. Imagine their surprise as he bid them goodbye to return, risen on the third day. And imagine their malice as he ascended to his rightful place beside his Father, only strengthened by their s0-called victory.

It's a story upon which so many other are fashioned. Be it Frodo, Rand, Aslan and the Pevensie children, Neo or any other numerous protagonists. The story of redemption runs through our blood. It's engrained upon our hearts, as we long to emulate what our souls cry out for. As they weep within us to be set free to chase after their ultimate goal, we suppress them; calling them foolish.

These stories intertwine. Goodness knows I've skittered across a plethora of stories within the past two years, all across the globe. Those stories continue long after I my chapter has ended, and I can only hope that the words left on those pages are ones that will influence the ongoing crescendo of their lives. I've met people in pain. People in joy. People eraptured by love. Those desperate to meet their saviour, and those scorn his very existance.

Whatever fibres they choose to weave with, it fascinates me that we are constantly telling a story. Be it a short story, or a long epic, we tell our journies with words, with actions. My story will soon take me in a new direction, to a new place. One tension in my story begins to resolve as my life and my heart align. A new beginning as I start to pastor a new group. It's a scary story, and the outcome is uncertain. But I approach that tension with the knowledge that I'll spend plenty of time on my knees and let the Author do the writing for me. It is time for me to be a character in my own story.

What sort of story are you telling?

Have Faith

As I reread through the gospels... it continues to amaze me how much weight Jesus puts in individual's faith through his day to day actions. In nearly (if not all) every miracle, the individual's faith is the hinge upon whether Jesus performs the miracle or not. Whether they be Jew or gentile, their faith was paramount to the outcome. Take this as an example:

The Faith of a Syrophoenician Woman

24Jesus left that place and went to the vicinity of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know it; yet he could not keep his presence secret. 25In fact, as soon as she heard about him, a woman whose little daughter was possessed by an evil spirit came and fell at his feet. 26The woman was a Greek, born in Syrian Phoenicia. She begged Jesus to drive the demon out of her daughter.

27"First let the children eat all they want," he told her, "for it is not right to take the children's bread and toss it to their dogs."

28"Yes, Lord," she replied, "but even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs."

29Then he told her, "For such a reply, you may go; the demon has left your daughter."

30She went home and found her child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.

Even though in many ways it appears that Jesus is putting her away, she has heard of this Jewish Rabbi who could heal the lame, blind, diseased and possessed. It is entirely likely that this was her last hope, having tried everything else, and that faith, knowing of the relationship between Jews and their neighbours that causes Jesus to heal her daughter.

The implications are staggering, when put in context. Numerous times Jesus turns people away because the measure of their faith comes up short. Other times he challenges them, only for their faith to stand. In one case, the man asking even begs Jesus to provide him with the faith to believe.

I often wonder if I have that desperation in my life. Do I really need it? Is it really my air? My water? Or am I coming back out of habit? It's a danger I have to be aware of constantly, and one that reminds me of what a great God I serve! I merely need to have faith.

Light

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

There is something I must confess. I have not always been a believer in this passage. I have wrestled with it in some very deep ways. How can someone who promises so much strife and turmoil also promise to give me rest? How can I trust such clear dissonance coming from the same mouth. It is like two separate pieces of music, in different keys, being played simultaneously. Oh, my foolish thoughts.

I have another confession to make. These very thoughts arise out of my own wrecklessness, my own selfish pride. In my spiritual superiority, I forgot the most important thing: I am weak. I have attempted to carry on a relationship without communication. I have fought bitterly for rights that are not my own. I have lost my first love, and with it the security that it brings. It is time I reclaim it.

Jesus is saying here that if I would only trust him, I would lose sight of all the other things. I may be worried about money, but in reality I make more than 90% of the world! I may be concerned about where I live, but I have a roof over my head, a warm bed, and food. So what do I have to worry about? My Father in heaven is watching over me.

That relationship I have been neglecting is coming back. It takes time. It takes intentionality. It takes work. Of all the things I dedicate my time to, I can't think of a better one to pour myself over, to dig in deep and beg for more. I want to be in head first, with no way out. I want to be bound so I could not escape. I want to be starstruck so the world fades away. I want to trust.

I have been weary. In my own selfish pride, I have thought I was above being weak, all while thinking I was acting weak. I am a helpless babe, and I need the rest to grow. Thanks be to God that I have that place, time, and love to do just that.

Uncertain

Hebrews 6:13-15

When God made his promise to Abraham, since there was
no one greater for him to swear by, he swore by himself,
saying, "I will surely bless you and give you many
descendants." And so after waiting patiently, Abraham
received what was promised.

It's a sure thing. There's not a doubt in your mind. You've thought out every possible angle, and then... it slips through. Like dry sand through your fingers, it sifts through and you're left with nothing but a dry residue to remind you anything ever happened. It's frustrating, infuriating.

I feel I've spent the past 2 years of my life in a constant state of flux. The undulating rhythm of my life pushing me up, dragging me down. Sprawling vista's; deep chasms. The sun beaming down on my face, warming my cold skin; the damp walls leeching every warmth from my heart. Frustrating.

Perhaps you've felt like this? Each step a labour. Every breath a chore. But you keep moving forward, each day.

With my hope faltering, and my outlook becoming ever shallow, I realize that it's moments like these that test one's resolve. A hurricane is not weathered when you're boarding the place up. Each board placed makes a difference, each sandbag laid prepares for the ensuing floods. But regardless of the preparations you makes, it's when the winds test your work. When the water seeps through, and trees are uprooted that you find what lays deep in your heart. Some cower, some freeze in fear, or form an icy resolve, and others rise to the challenge, digging into energy deep within them to press through the worst of the storm and pick up the pieces.

I've had a bit of all of them inside of me. I've cowered, frozen, fallen within myself, and I hope that I can yet rise to this challenge. But like any other moment, I'm not enough. I'm always back to square one, my energy spent, my heart broken, and my vision dulled. I'm so short sighted. I long to be home, to be away from these struggles, this constant warfare that I am so terrible at. I want to be free, free to fly, free to discover what it means to live this life.

Weight... dragging me down. Threatening to pull me under. And with every passing day I am drawn to my own iniquities. My own failings. No matter how 'good' I may be, I'll never be good enough.

I'll never be good enough.

There's a lesson I need to learn. It's not about me. It was never about me. But I long so much for it to be about me. Each day, attempting to pull my skin off like Eustace. Tearing at my scales, longing for the boy I used to be. But it's not I that should pull those scales off. I need God. I need those promises, those moments when He rips me deeper than I ever thought possible, when my heart, mind and body cry out for relief. I hate even saying it, but I need it. Make me bleed, take my life, as long as I can be free. Whatever the cost, wherever the journey, I want to be free.

But I'm so ... uncertain.

Fragile

What a precarious position we find ourselves in. A slick precipice on either side, the thick rain pouring in waves upon you, with only the flashes of the distant lightning to guide your feet. It seemed like only yesterday that I was skipping freely among the daisies and gliding my hands over the tall grass with a smile in my heart, and a laugh in my throat.

I am jealous of my memories. I covet their innocence and their free spirit. Not a care in the world, not even of where I would sleep that night. Surely the birds that listlessly careened around me would lead me to a sanctuary where I could lay my head.

Now my head lays in my calloused hands. Tears streak down my grimy face. A shudder crawls it's way maliciously up my body as the cold seeps in. My legs mock me in their cramped state, as if they know what the future will hold.

There was a time when I would call that carefree person foolish. How could you act so free with the midnight clouds billowing over the horizon, snaking their way towards you. Surely you could not be dumb enough to not anticipate the battles that lie in wait for you, the traps that nip at your ankles wanting to drag you into their subterranean lair. This is a fight for your life, and hardly a time to enjoy the gentle breeze before it grows into a gale.

Then it pierced me like an arrow. Who is the fool? The one who spends the day occupied with where his food is going to be found or whether he will be safe when he lays his head down? Or the one who lets those things worry about themselves and keeps his eyes up. How often do you find those with their heads in the clouds suffocating beneath your feet?

I am the fool. The deep chasms on either side are nothing but landscapes created out of the schisms in my own mind. I'm in the meadow. The scent of the flowers seems so distant in my nostrils, yet their proximity seems to comfort me. The rain soaks me to the bone, but I hear the sonnet of the birds dancing about me and the warmth begins to kindle inside, roaring to life. My legs are atrophied not from the journey, but from sitting. I have forgotten how to use them. The days when I would dance and leap to be one step closer faded away when I allowed my foot to be still, and my ankle entangled.

A glimpse. A ray of light through my clouds. Irradiating me with the truth that has been so absent. "Your sins are forgiven. Get up, take your mat and go home."

I am in the meadow once more.

It is a fragile state of mind we exist in. Draw not your strength from your own wells, for they run dry. Drink of the Living Water, and you will never thirst again. Put your heads firmly in the clouds and pray that it is never yanked to earth.

In my innocence, I wish to be enlightened. In my 'enlightenment' I wish to be innocent. What a foolish man I am.

Soft

I wonder what it would have been like to be Jesus. Each and everyday, walking around Israel, meeting people that desperately need your help. Teaching them all, touching some, healing less. How much of their pain would have he felt directly? Would it have been frustrating to see all these people and know that you just don't have time to talk to everyone, to help everyone.

What would have his relationship with God have been like? Was it personal? Did it come and go? Did he memorize scripture as a boy? Was it all in his head? From the early tales we have of Jesus in the court in Jerusalem, it's pretty clear he has wise far beyond his years in interpreting the scriptures, but did he ever become apathetic?

While a lot of the answers to these questions are clear in mixing his humanity and divinity, and even more of them become unclear in that mix, it's important to remember that Jesus experienced many of the same feelings we have, if not all of them.

In the past few weeks, I have been learning that I need to be soft again. Soft in all the right places, and let the calluses that have grown fade. I'd be lying if I said Fiji didn't do a number on me; didn't threaten my spirituality. It was a trying experience, a time in the desert, and while I knew that God walked me through each and every moment, including the months afterwards, it left me tired.

I'm still tired. But the time has come for me to wake up and no longer use that as an excuse or a crutch, but instead to use it as my catalyst. Time to dig in deep, to remember my roots, and revive the parts that have dried and withered. Remember that if I am going to be soft to one thing, receptive to one voice, it's God's. That means more time in the Word, more time on my knees (literally), and more time meditating after both of those things.

This is my commitment.

Pushing the Boundaries

Here's a thought. How much time do we actually sit down to think?






Did you just graze over that? Or did you stop to really think how much time you spend just meditating on the day or particular topics. It's alarming how much of our days we fill with white noise, background something or other that will ensure we don't have to think or be concerned with what is really going on.

Take that and apply it to the upcoming generation. The ones who grew up with computers, the internet and every way imaginable to communicate with someone who isn't right in their face. You bored? The internet has your fix. Games, reading, movies, music, anything you could ever want right at your fingertips. But it comes at a cost.

You shut down. You stop really thinking, stop evaluating what is going on in and around you. The question is it worth it? And you stop asking, could it be better?

How many times have you heard that youth have a naeve vigor? That they will dream, without any thought for possible consequences? And how often have you heard it said that people lose that as they get older? I have a single question to ask, why?

Why are we satisfied with letting the hard questions slide, and the big dreams go unrealized? Why do we allow life to weigh us down? When can we push the boundaries a little further than they were before, and dare to dream that our lives could be more than they are today?

Church is a prime example of this, and it is a symptom that I am fighting as I grow older. Never stop dreaming, never stop hoping. I was thinking today, and it occurred to me that Jesus only lived until he was 32. He began his ministry when he was thirty. In the Jewish culture, he was but a young pup, barely ready for the primetime. And you had to know that you would not have wanted to be his rabbi. How could you contain the knowledge and dreams that must have come pouring out of him? More importantly, should you?

Jesus called all the little children unto him, and said that the kingdom of God belongs to ones such as these. We have often taken that to mean their innocense, but I would like to propose a different thought to add to the traditional one. Jesus also meant that they would inheret the kingdom of God because they were entirely uninhibited. They saw Jesus, they wanted to run to Jesus, so they did. Nothing stopped them to say it might not be appropriate, or that he might be busy. A + B = C without any modifiers. Simple.

Dare to dream, because our heavily Father dreamed when He created us, and he has big dreams for each and every one of us. He wants us to imagine all that we could be, and then pursue it without abandon. To imagine the world as He sees it, and then do everything in our power to make it so. And that change, those boundaries that need to be pushed, start with us. With me.