Over the year I collected together the things I feel I am failing...and here they are for me to, by God's grace, grow in this year.
Resolved to try:
To put my whole mind into whatever I am doing, as an act of worship to God. Therefore to be careful that whatever I am doing may be done whole-heartedly as worship to God.
To seek the Lord in quietness and solitude first thing every morning, that being with Him may color my outlook on life.
To refrain from speaking any ill of anyone not present and to confront only that person if there truly is an issue of character or obedience.
To keep a careful account of the Lord’s dealings with me and all that I learn of Him and to share His goodness with all who will listen.
To keep continually in mind God’s grace, truth and beauty in order to keep uglier things from dwelling there.
To learn as much as I can of God’s creation and praise Him for it.
To employ both time and money in seeking souls for the Lord.
To be bold to offer mercy, to speak of God, to speak truth, to love as Christ, but innocent of any evil or selfish ambition.
To be slow to promise, but swift to deliver, slow to speak, but swift to hear, slow to affirm or correct, but swift to love, slow to judge, but swift to forgive.
To consult the Lord and His wisdom constantly and to seek His answer fervently and without giving up.
To praise character, encourage holiness, focus on God’s grace as being the means of true beauty.
To rejoice always, pray unceasingly and always give thanks.
To never regard circumstances except in the light of God’s wisdom and Word.
To never be satisfied with anything less than perfection in myself, yet eager to regard attempt in others.
To never grow weary in doing what is right or compare myself to the world with envy or self-satisfaction.
To offer love and service without regard to “fair treatment,” “personal rights” or return of either.
To keep in mind the cross as my own just end and the picture of God’s wrath from which I am delivered and God’s love which paid the price. And to remember that, in the cross, I am delivered from God’s wrath and God’s justice is satisfied, therefore all that befalls me—even discipline which seems unpleasant for the moement--flows from His mercy, grace and love, lavished on a daughter.
To accept weakness as a tool of God’s strength and to be willing to be wholly dependent on Him.
To do what is right, regardless of results, rumors, rewards, remarks or revilings.
To keep perspective that God, the powerful Creator, Who alone is imperishable and dwells in unapproachable light, has granted me confident access to His throne of grace, that I might receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need, and to make full use of this access.
To never suggest, by my words or actions or thoughts, that I might be more righteous than God. For He does what is right and this is what I must trust, when He does what is different than I expect or wish.
Showing posts with label truth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label truth. Show all posts
Saturday, March 27, 2010
No, I’m not excited about the Health Care bill that just passed.
Sarah and I talked a bit about it this afternoon, as I told her about Aunt Helen and Grandma’s visit. Aunt Helen is the completely good-intentioned and compassionate liberal who wants to see people helped and is, I think mistakenly, trusting in government to offer compassion. But government is a machine and can never offer what is truly needed—it’s not reason, it’s force. And when programmed “mercy” it will soon be short-charging everyone, dealing out merciless “healthcare” and reading out the death sentences of those deemed “unworthy” of the limited resources. Aunt Helen said I might be right, or I might be wrong. “We can’t see what will happen,” she said, “and it doesn’t have to happen that way.” She might be right, but history repeats itself and the history that has repeated itself so far shows exactly what I predict—in Nazi Germany, in Communist China, in Soviet Russia. It’s a strange thing to hear a person that I consider very intelligent and much my elder in experience and knowledge sharing their thoughts and be completely convinced that they are completely deluded. I hate it when the thought whispers through my brain, “That is not the truth because you know the truth...” It seems conceited and disrespectful for me to be so certain of the right when it so opposes those older than I. More and more often these days, I hear what is said, and I judge it and condemn it—in sorrow. It’s one of the most painful things for me to feel certain that someone I love or someone I respect is mistaken. Especially if the issue of mistake is an issue of obedience to God.
My Aunt is what everyone would consider a “good person.” This visit, I tried to think of her as a good, kind person, but when I listened to her speak, it wasn’t “good” things I heard come out. It was the weirdest sensation. She was not talking about evil things or wicked things, but all her words sounded hollow to me. Empty. Lost. Like they were falling from her lips into a black abyss of eternal worthlessness. She stooped a little, seeming weary, yet her eyes and words and heart stirred restless, looking for something new to conquer and to seek for fulfillment. I looked into her bright blue eyes and saw dissatisfaction. No peace.
It bothered her that Nick said that the American people are worshiping their government as a God—looking to the government for “salvation” instead of trusting God. “If that kind of religion demands that people be poor and unhealthy and groveling to worship God, then it’s not right!” she insisted. Ah, God doesn’t demand that we be poor and unhealthy and groveling to worship Him, but He does demand that we worship Him. And often, it is not until we are poor, unhealthy and groveling that we see just how small and helpless we are and fall on our faces and worship Him. For this reason, He is willing to allow us to be poor, unhealthy and groveling.
As I listened, at a loss how to explain to someone who does not love the Lord, how the Lord loves, my heart felt heavy. Someday, my Aunt will worship God, because that is what He has decreed. And all His creation attests to His worthiness of worship. I would to God that she should come to the place of worship before the day when every knee bows and, cruel though it sounds to the ears of flesh, I would even gladly see her poor, unhealthy and groveling if it brought her to that place before the day of judgment.
Do I not love her because I could wish this? I love her, with a small part of the mercy which Christ extends—patiently giving her yet another day, another year, to humble herself and submit to Him. She will one day submit, and oh how much better to do it now, whatever the means which bring that submission may be!
Several times before I have shared the gospel with her, hoping praying that she would turn to the Lord. She is kind and accepts my attempts as love, though I know she disagrees. As I’ve been studying Romans lately, so much of it pressed back on me—the description of how we are all shut up before God because our conscience teaches us from creation to worship Him—yet we seek other fulfillments and other gods. I’m sure my Aunt would say regarding eternity “We can’t really know.” She might feel like I am wasting life opportunities, though I know she is pleased to see people content and enjoying what they do. Yet my heart sinks knowing that she’s wrong, and not only that, but that I believe she does know, yet is resisting the Lord’s grace. I longed to tell her again of His mercy and compassion, waiting for her to turn to Him, yet she seemed more spiritually closed than I have ever before noticed.
Suddenly to me, the things she said that seemed like they were “close to the truth” or even open or tolerant of the truth, became stark lies. “We can’t really know,” is not openness to the possibility of God’s view of eternity. It is rejection of what He has proclaimed as truth—that He will one day judge the earth in righteousness. We could argue that it’s a difference of opinion and each is entitled to her own opinion. God has given us the ability to form opinions. Yet God is absolute and one of us is wrong. And it will separate us for eternity.
So I weep.
Concerning Headcovering
Over the past year or so, several ladies have asked about my headcovering practices and my interpretation of 1 Corinthians 11:1-16. I don't make a habit of teaching headcovering for several reasons--aside from the fact that it's not the top-priority. First, I'm a young woman, not a church authority. Second, I'm a young woman, not an authority over other women. Third, since I see the issue as an authority issue, I believe that the practice should always be submitted to the woman's authority figure. So, when I've been asked for advice by women whose father's/husbands requested them not to cover, I've recommended that they submit to their men's authority and allow them to take the burden for obedience--like Sarah did with Abraham. For those reading, I encourage you to submit this and/or your thoughts on the issue to your authority. My words may also seem blunt or uncompromising. What follows is the what and why of what I believe to be true and therefore what I practice and I see no reason to back down, but I understand that others are just as convinced of a different perspective. These are my brothers and sisters in Christ, and each of us must be obedient to our best understanding of Scriptural truth, and gently loving toward each other. I welcome questions, comments or objections. The following is an excerpt from an e-mail response with my thoughts/interpretations, with a few minor caveats.
I'll try to explain my own thoughts and convictions as concisely as possible....I'm going to back up to a point that may seem obvious, but which, I think, is the root of the headcovering teaching. And I'll try to summarize the main points that have led to my personal headcovering practice. And I think it's important to realize that the passage applies to men and women--each having different, but active, roles. Often this fact gets glossed over as we tend to focus only on the woman's role/practice.
Why a headcovering?
In Genesis, God created man first and gave him work to do. Soon it became obvious to Adam that everyone else had a partner, but he was all alone in his mission. At that point God stepped in with the plan He'd had from the beginning: a helper for Adam--a woman.. So in creation, God set up an authority structure--of men who are to serve God by obedience to Him, and women who are to serve God as the helpers of their men. Some have insisted that women's submission was a part of the curse of Genesis chapter two, and some even go further to insist that under grace we are freed from the curse and therefore women do not submit. Quite frankly, this is a misunderstanding of submission. It seems in our society that we assume that submission denies equality, but Paul begins His argument with the words, "I want you to understand that Christ is the head of every man, and the man is the head of a woman, and God is the head of Christ." Women, under man's headship, are no less "mankind" than Christ, under God's headship, is God. Proverbs says that the poor man and the oppressor have this in common: the Lord gives light to the eyes of both. An old proverb notes that death comes the same to a king and a pauper, and the Lord makes it clear that all humans are equal before Him. In Christ there is no male or female--meaning all are accepted by God on equal terms--faith in Christ. But this doesn't negate authority structures. Authority is, quite simply, order, but it has no bearing on value or worth. In this case, Paul appeals to the order of creation for the authority structure: "Man does not originate from woman, but woman from man, for indeed, man was not created for the woman's sake, but woman for the man's sake." The curse laid upon Adam and Eve's relationship was this "Your desire shall be for your husband, and He shall rule over you." The foundation for loving leadership and respectful submission was laid down at creation, but the curse set forth exactly what we see today: the resistance against God-ordained authority. Why? Adam and Eve had rejected God's authority--that's the root of every sin. In a like way, Eve would be tempted to control and manipulate her husband--feeling that he exists for her sake. On the other hand, a husband's fallen tendency is to domineer, conquer and harshly control his wife. And isn't this what we see? Redeemed from the curse, the godly woman is commanded to submit respectfully to her husband and the husband is to love his wife. The picture is to mirror Christ's relationship with the church. The wife's responsibility is to please her husband--not to invent things to do, but to simply do what he has expressed pleases him--just as believers are to obey Christ. The authority structure expresses that we are ambassadors: the wife is an ambassador of her husband, representing him, the husband is an ambassador of Christ, representing Him and Christ is an ambassador of God, representing Him ("I come not to do my own will, but the will of Him who sent Me" Jesus said.) Our society also glorifies the concept of independence, but the only truly independent entity is God Himself, and there is complete harmony and unity in the three persons of the Godhead. God's authority structure requires cooperation: there is perfect cooperation between the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. There should be perfect cooperation between Christ and the Church--Christ leading in love, the church responding in submission. And there should be perfect cooperation between a man and his woman (the Greek doesn't have specific words for husband and wife--instead it simply uses possessives of man and woman.) Paul recognizes this cooperation when he says, "In the Lord neither is woman independent of man, nor is man independent of woman. For as the woman originates from the man, so also the man has his birth through the woman, and all things originate from God." Man and woman were both created by God and for His glory. Woman was created from man, but through the woman, God creates men. In his letter to Timothy, Paul points out that the pinacle of woman's acheivement is bearing children--men can't do it. And yet...it takes man and woman to make a child, and who actually creates the child? God.
I used the think the headcovering was a part of modesty--and I reasoned that if modesty is not drawing attention to myself, then wearing a headcovering in our culture is immodest. However, Paul never appeals to modesty. He devotes his instruction instead to the topic of authority structure. The headcovering is a picture of authority structure. Which is why the setting is in worship, not (necessarily) at all times. If the headcovering represented modesty, it would be necessary in public at all times. Instead, the headcovering is worn in "worship" (I'll explain this more later). Why? Who is to be the focus in worship? God. Whose authority do we recognize in worship? God's. God is the head of Christ, who is the one to be glorified in the church. Christ is the head of man, who is the image and glory of God. When man is uncovered, I think it represents that man recognizes God's authority over him. On the other hand, woman is the glory of man. In worship, man is not to be glorified, so the woman is covered. A woman covers her head to represent that she recognizes God's authority over her, through her man.
So it seems to me that Paul is teaching that a man uncovers his head to express submission to Christ, and a woman covers her head to express submission to her man, both in submission to God, who is the head of Christ.
When to headcover?
I used the word "worship"--really, our entire lives are to be worship--glorifying to God. The passage speaks of "praying and prophesying" which I believe are public demonstrations of worship. We understand prayer pretty readily--speaking to God on behalf of man (ourselves or others). Prophesy is certainly a bit more ambiguous, at least in our culture. We tend to think of it as foretelling of the future, in an Old-Testament sense. I believe there's a broader application of prophesy in scripture as including both foretelling and forthtelling--speaking to man on behalf of God. David arranged the Levites in a choir to prophesy--singing songs of praise which he, himself, had composed to God. In the second chapter of Acts, the believers in the upper room were speaking forth the mighty works of God--and the effect was convicting to their hearers. It seems to me that a loose definition of prophesy would be to speak to man on behalf of God--reading/quoting scripture would be the most obvious application. Perhaps sharing the gospel and speaking about God in general would also fall under the heading of prophesy? Singing seems to often bridge the gap between prayer and prophesy--sometimes we are singing prayers to the Lord, sometimes we are singing to others about the things the Lord has done. For the most part, these are all things for which I try to cover.
Some suggest practicing head-covering in public "worship" only--as in church. Interestingly, Paul sets the headcovering passage before his teachings on church meetings (which do follow immediately after). And he never speaks of "in the assembly"--a phrase he uses regularly throughout the next several chapters. Some suggest covering at all times, since we should "pray without ceasing." To be consistent, then, our men would never be allowed to wear a hat. This isn't supported by Paul's commands--if he'd intended us to cover at all times, why didn't he say so? It seems out of style with Paul to not command what he intends. It seems that our thoughts are to be continually with God (who alone can hear thoughts), but are not considered "prayer or prophesy" and that speaking aloud is what bears testimony to others (including angels) and requires headcovering practices to testify that we are under authority. Of course, I don't see any reason why a woman can't or shouldn't cover at all times for expediency, should she prefer it, it simply doesn't bear up as a scriptural command.
I do always cover during church meetings and Bible studies and family "worship", and I am trying to be more careful to cover at other times when praying or "prophesying." I keep a headcovering with me any time I am in public and use it when praying or speaking aloud about God. Sometimes it seems a bit odd to me, but interestingly, unbelievers don't actually seem to be put off or made uncomfortable by it. Of course, I sing in the shower with my head uncovered...and I hope it is not displeasing to God. :) And if I don't have a headcovering, I assume that the Lord would rather have me worship than not...sometimes I put my hand over my head or improvise... Sometimes the act of covering my head actually illicits questions--more than if I were always wearing the headcovering--and provides opportunities to share about God's authority over all creation and our responsibility to submit to Him that He may exalt us at the proper time. I've even had waitresses notice and comment when I covered to pray with a friend at a restaurant, and it provided me with the opportunity to share the gospel--giving opportunity to give an answer for the hope within me.
I'll try to explain my own thoughts and convictions as concisely as possible....I'm going to back up to a point that may seem obvious, but which, I think, is the root of the headcovering teaching. And I'll try to summarize the main points that have led to my personal headcovering practice. And I think it's important to realize that the passage applies to men and women--each having different, but active, roles. Often this fact gets glossed over as we tend to focus only on the woman's role/practice.
Why a headcovering?
In Genesis, God created man first and gave him work to do. Soon it became obvious to Adam that everyone else had a partner, but he was all alone in his mission. At that point God stepped in with the plan He'd had from the beginning: a helper for Adam--a woman.. So in creation, God set up an authority structure--of men who are to serve God by obedience to Him, and women who are to serve God as the helpers of their men. Some have insisted that women's submission was a part of the curse of Genesis chapter two, and some even go further to insist that under grace we are freed from the curse and therefore women do not submit. Quite frankly, this is a misunderstanding of submission. It seems in our society that we assume that submission denies equality, but Paul begins His argument with the words, "I want you to understand that Christ is the head of every man, and the man is the head of a woman, and God is the head of Christ." Women, under man's headship, are no less "mankind" than Christ, under God's headship, is God. Proverbs says that the poor man and the oppressor have this in common: the Lord gives light to the eyes of both. An old proverb notes that death comes the same to a king and a pauper, and the Lord makes it clear that all humans are equal before Him. In Christ there is no male or female--meaning all are accepted by God on equal terms--faith in Christ. But this doesn't negate authority structures. Authority is, quite simply, order, but it has no bearing on value or worth. In this case, Paul appeals to the order of creation for the authority structure: "Man does not originate from woman, but woman from man, for indeed, man was not created for the woman's sake, but woman for the man's sake." The curse laid upon Adam and Eve's relationship was this "Your desire shall be for your husband, and He shall rule over you." The foundation for loving leadership and respectful submission was laid down at creation, but the curse set forth exactly what we see today: the resistance against God-ordained authority. Why? Adam and Eve had rejected God's authority--that's the root of every sin. In a like way, Eve would be tempted to control and manipulate her husband--feeling that he exists for her sake. On the other hand, a husband's fallen tendency is to domineer, conquer and harshly control his wife. And isn't this what we see? Redeemed from the curse, the godly woman is commanded to submit respectfully to her husband and the husband is to love his wife. The picture is to mirror Christ's relationship with the church. The wife's responsibility is to please her husband--not to invent things to do, but to simply do what he has expressed pleases him--just as believers are to obey Christ. The authority structure expresses that we are ambassadors: the wife is an ambassador of her husband, representing him, the husband is an ambassador of Christ, representing Him and Christ is an ambassador of God, representing Him ("I come not to do my own will, but the will of Him who sent Me" Jesus said.) Our society also glorifies the concept of independence, but the only truly independent entity is God Himself, and there is complete harmony and unity in the three persons of the Godhead. God's authority structure requires cooperation: there is perfect cooperation between the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. There should be perfect cooperation between Christ and the Church--Christ leading in love, the church responding in submission. And there should be perfect cooperation between a man and his woman (the Greek doesn't have specific words for husband and wife--instead it simply uses possessives of man and woman.) Paul recognizes this cooperation when he says, "In the Lord neither is woman independent of man, nor is man independent of woman. For as the woman originates from the man, so also the man has his birth through the woman, and all things originate from God." Man and woman were both created by God and for His glory. Woman was created from man, but through the woman, God creates men. In his letter to Timothy, Paul points out that the pinacle of woman's acheivement is bearing children--men can't do it. And yet...it takes man and woman to make a child, and who actually creates the child? God.
I used the think the headcovering was a part of modesty--and I reasoned that if modesty is not drawing attention to myself, then wearing a headcovering in our culture is immodest. However, Paul never appeals to modesty. He devotes his instruction instead to the topic of authority structure. The headcovering is a picture of authority structure. Which is why the setting is in worship, not (necessarily) at all times. If the headcovering represented modesty, it would be necessary in public at all times. Instead, the headcovering is worn in "worship" (I'll explain this more later). Why? Who is to be the focus in worship? God. Whose authority do we recognize in worship? God's. God is the head of Christ, who is the one to be glorified in the church. Christ is the head of man, who is the image and glory of God. When man is uncovered, I think it represents that man recognizes God's authority over him. On the other hand, woman is the glory of man. In worship, man is not to be glorified, so the woman is covered. A woman covers her head to represent that she recognizes God's authority over her, through her man.
So it seems to me that Paul is teaching that a man uncovers his head to express submission to Christ, and a woman covers her head to express submission to her man, both in submission to God, who is the head of Christ.
When to headcover?
I used the word "worship"--really, our entire lives are to be worship--glorifying to God. The passage speaks of "praying and prophesying" which I believe are public demonstrations of worship. We understand prayer pretty readily--speaking to God on behalf of man (ourselves or others). Prophesy is certainly a bit more ambiguous, at least in our culture. We tend to think of it as foretelling of the future, in an Old-Testament sense. I believe there's a broader application of prophesy in scripture as including both foretelling and forthtelling--speaking to man on behalf of God. David arranged the Levites in a choir to prophesy--singing songs of praise which he, himself, had composed to God. In the second chapter of Acts, the believers in the upper room were speaking forth the mighty works of God--and the effect was convicting to their hearers. It seems to me that a loose definition of prophesy would be to speak to man on behalf of God--reading/quoting scripture would be the most obvious application. Perhaps sharing the gospel and speaking about God in general would also fall under the heading of prophesy? Singing seems to often bridge the gap between prayer and prophesy--sometimes we are singing prayers to the Lord, sometimes we are singing to others about the things the Lord has done. For the most part, these are all things for which I try to cover.
Some suggest practicing head-covering in public "worship" only--as in church. Interestingly, Paul sets the headcovering passage before his teachings on church meetings (which do follow immediately after). And he never speaks of "in the assembly"--a phrase he uses regularly throughout the next several chapters. Some suggest covering at all times, since we should "pray without ceasing." To be consistent, then, our men would never be allowed to wear a hat. This isn't supported by Paul's commands--if he'd intended us to cover at all times, why didn't he say so? It seems out of style with Paul to not command what he intends. It seems that our thoughts are to be continually with God (who alone can hear thoughts), but are not considered "prayer or prophesy" and that speaking aloud is what bears testimony to others (including angels) and requires headcovering practices to testify that we are under authority. Of course, I don't see any reason why a woman can't or shouldn't cover at all times for expediency, should she prefer it, it simply doesn't bear up as a scriptural command.
I do always cover during church meetings and Bible studies and family "worship", and I am trying to be more careful to cover at other times when praying or "prophesying." I keep a headcovering with me any time I am in public and use it when praying or speaking aloud about God. Sometimes it seems a bit odd to me, but interestingly, unbelievers don't actually seem to be put off or made uncomfortable by it. Of course, I sing in the shower with my head uncovered...and I hope it is not displeasing to God. :) And if I don't have a headcovering, I assume that the Lord would rather have me worship than not...sometimes I put my hand over my head or improvise... Sometimes the act of covering my head actually illicits questions--more than if I were always wearing the headcovering--and provides opportunities to share about God's authority over all creation and our responsibility to submit to Him that He may exalt us at the proper time. I've even had waitresses notice and comment when I covered to pray with a friend at a restaurant, and it provided me with the opportunity to share the gospel--giving opportunity to give an answer for the hope within me.
You specifically mentioned wrestling with verse 10. I wish I had good answers. :) Honestly, I don't have a nailed-down "belief" regarding "because of angels. Sad, since Paul says it in such a way that implies his readers would have readily understood it. Several things come to my mind--including that I think God intends the lives/obedience of Christians to bear testimony to angels. God's redemptive plan for humans, as well as our ability to obey or disobey from love, are not true of angels. Those who fell are lost, those who serve God are doing what they were created to do. This bears out with Ephesians 3, which speaks of the church being God's teaching tool--to display His manifold wisdom to rulers in the heavenly places (angels, I think). 1 Peter 1 also talks about the gospel and the church as being things into which angels long to look. Another possible connection for angels and women, specifically, is Genesis 6, which tells how the "sons of God" cohabited with daughters of men and the result was the Nephilim--super-men. Several New Testament passages speak of angels who left their proper abode--perhaps referring to this occurance? Which comes again to an authority issue--the angels who fell rejected God as their authority--and also His ways. Those who serve God still are under His authority and subject to His authority structure--even as women--and are perhaps delighted to see obedience? So when a woman covers her head, it is a testimony, not only to mankind, but also to angels (both fallen and faithful) of God's wisdom and authority structure? See? I have nothing clear, but those are some thoughts, that seem to me to fit the purpose of Paul's teaching and also the witness of other scriptures.
It seems to me that the headcovering practice expresses submission to God when we are speaking aloud about Him or to Him--for men this is uncovering, for women it is covering.
What is a headcovering?
Paul doesn't really give guidelines, but reason suggests it covers the head. Literally, Paul says, "A man who has [anything] on his head while praying or prophesying, disgraces his head." History documents women with long shawl-type coverings wrapped around their heads--which is what tends to be most practical for me. For church, I usually wrap a long scarf around my head--Middle Eastern style. :) Other times, I might do any number of things--I have some (cuter) knit caps I wear sometimes when I'm running errands so that I'm "prepared" if I have a gospel opportunity, etc. I usually carry a scarf in my purse (which friends jokingly insist is more of a book-bag anyway), as well or sometimes even wear one around my neck (like an accessory) that I can just pull up when I need it.
Some suggest that Paul's teaching of headcovering regards the hair. A woman is to have long hair and a man, short. Quite frankly, the logic of this argument is ludicrous to me. If we read the passage, replacing the words "something on his/her head" with "hair" we wind up reading simple nonsense. "If a woman will not wear long hair, let her have her hair cut off or her head shaved." So if she has short hair, well then, cut her hair off! And why the qualifications as to when we may have long or short hair? A man may have long hair as a habit, but before he prays or prophecies, he'd better visit a barber! This argument also requires cultural glasses--after all, what is short hair and what is long hair? History indicates that many Jewish men may have worn hair to their shoulders. On the other hand, Greek men (of whom the Corinthians were part) wore their hair very short. Slaves might even have had shaved heads. Hair length also differes from ethnicity to ethnicity--my hair grows super fast, but for my African-American sisters--well, long hair might be only a couple of inches! If Paul meant hair length, why didn't he say it? On the other hand, he does intimate that long hair is a glory to the woman--which I think ruins the point of God getting the glory when she prays or prophesies.
It seems to me that the covering is something which comes down over the head (the basic meaning of the Greek word) which can be worn or removed at will. I think Paul left room for culture and convenience.
What do we see in history?
Actually, history bears out the idea of an external covering. Paintings on the walls of catecombs show Christian women with their heads covered and men with theirs uncovered. In fact, the last vestiges of headcovering have disappeared only in the latest 100 years. During the days of the reformation, women covered their heads. Many of them did appear to view it as a modesty issue. John Calvin said that if women stopped covering their heads, eventually they would be exposing private areas. What do you think? Has this happened? Women used to regularly wear hats to church, and it became a fad--such that the church became a fashion show for the elaborate hats of the day. Paul told the Corinthians that he praised them for practicing headcovering, but he wanted them to understand why he had given this "tradition." I think headcovering has vanished in Western culture largely due to misunderstanding of its purpose. It became a showy thing and then, quite likely, those women who really loved the Lord and wanted to bring the glory to Him, rejected it and began leaving the showy hats at home. But the vestiges still remain: even today men take off their hats to pray. Why do you suppose that is? And in Asian and Middle-Eastern countries, Christian women still cover their heads to worship God aloud.
It seems to me that history bears out a lost practice of men uncovering and women covering their heads when worshipping aloud.
Is the headcovering cultural?
Some argue that the headcovering is a headcovering--but the command is cultural. But take a look at Paul's reasons for headcovering: authority structures based on creation. Does that sound cultural? Recognition of God's authority? Cultural? Well, a distinctly Christian culture. Some suggest Paul was advocating the headcovering so that the Corinthian Christians would fit into their culture. This is laughable, considering Paul's distinctly counter-cultural approach to living and his commands not to be conformed to the world, but to be transformed by renewing our minds. In addition, Corinth was a seaport--a melting pot of cultures. To just which culture should the Christians conform? Some suggest the headcovering was commanded so that Christians would conform to Jewish culture. This makes a mockery of Paul's life and ministry--he was hated by the Jews for insisting that Christians need not conform to the Law--which was only a shadow of the good things in Christ--for both Jews and Gentiles! In fact, it was Orthodox Jews who felt that Paul was rather libertarian in his views who arrested him in Jerusalem, who tried to ambush him along the road, and who he insisted were false brethren! If I'm not mistaken, Jewish men and women both regularly covered in public and the idea of men wearing skull-caps for worship was perhaps introduced later as a reaction to the Christian practice of uncovering. Paul's arguments do not lend themselves to culture: God's authority structure, creation, because of the angels, propriety, nature are all timeless, boundless arguments for godly order.
It seems to me that the headcovering practice expresses submission to God when we are speaking aloud about Him or to Him--for men this is uncovering, for women it is covering.
What is a headcovering?
Paul doesn't really give guidelines, but reason suggests it covers the head. Literally, Paul says, "A man who has [anything] on his head while praying or prophesying, disgraces his head." History documents women with long shawl-type coverings wrapped around their heads--which is what tends to be most practical for me. For church, I usually wrap a long scarf around my head--Middle Eastern style. :) Other times, I might do any number of things--I have some (cuter) knit caps I wear sometimes when I'm running errands so that I'm "prepared" if I have a gospel opportunity, etc. I usually carry a scarf in my purse (which friends jokingly insist is more of a book-bag anyway), as well or sometimes even wear one around my neck (like an accessory) that I can just pull up when I need it.
Some suggest that Paul's teaching of headcovering regards the hair. A woman is to have long hair and a man, short. Quite frankly, the logic of this argument is ludicrous to me. If we read the passage, replacing the words "something on his/her head" with "hair" we wind up reading simple nonsense. "If a woman will not wear long hair, let her have her hair cut off or her head shaved." So if she has short hair, well then, cut her hair off! And why the qualifications as to when we may have long or short hair? A man may have long hair as a habit, but before he prays or prophecies, he'd better visit a barber! This argument also requires cultural glasses--after all, what is short hair and what is long hair? History indicates that many Jewish men may have worn hair to their shoulders. On the other hand, Greek men (of whom the Corinthians were part) wore their hair very short. Slaves might even have had shaved heads. Hair length also differes from ethnicity to ethnicity--my hair grows super fast, but for my African-American sisters--well, long hair might be only a couple of inches! If Paul meant hair length, why didn't he say it? On the other hand, he does intimate that long hair is a glory to the woman--which I think ruins the point of God getting the glory when she prays or prophesies.
It seems to me that the covering is something which comes down over the head (the basic meaning of the Greek word) which can be worn or removed at will. I think Paul left room for culture and convenience.
What do we see in history?
Actually, history bears out the idea of an external covering. Paintings on the walls of catecombs show Christian women with their heads covered and men with theirs uncovered. In fact, the last vestiges of headcovering have disappeared only in the latest 100 years. During the days of the reformation, women covered their heads. Many of them did appear to view it as a modesty issue. John Calvin said that if women stopped covering their heads, eventually they would be exposing private areas. What do you think? Has this happened? Women used to regularly wear hats to church, and it became a fad--such that the church became a fashion show for the elaborate hats of the day. Paul told the Corinthians that he praised them for practicing headcovering, but he wanted them to understand why he had given this "tradition." I think headcovering has vanished in Western culture largely due to misunderstanding of its purpose. It became a showy thing and then, quite likely, those women who really loved the Lord and wanted to bring the glory to Him, rejected it and began leaving the showy hats at home. But the vestiges still remain: even today men take off their hats to pray. Why do you suppose that is? And in Asian and Middle-Eastern countries, Christian women still cover their heads to worship God aloud.
It seems to me that history bears out a lost practice of men uncovering and women covering their heads when worshipping aloud.
Is the headcovering cultural?
Some argue that the headcovering is a headcovering--but the command is cultural. But take a look at Paul's reasons for headcovering: authority structures based on creation. Does that sound cultural? Recognition of God's authority? Cultural? Well, a distinctly Christian culture. Some suggest Paul was advocating the headcovering so that the Corinthian Christians would fit into their culture. This is laughable, considering Paul's distinctly counter-cultural approach to living and his commands not to be conformed to the world, but to be transformed by renewing our minds. In addition, Corinth was a seaport--a melting pot of cultures. To just which culture should the Christians conform? Some suggest the headcovering was commanded so that Christians would conform to Jewish culture. This makes a mockery of Paul's life and ministry--he was hated by the Jews for insisting that Christians need not conform to the Law--which was only a shadow of the good things in Christ--for both Jews and Gentiles! In fact, it was Orthodox Jews who felt that Paul was rather libertarian in his views who arrested him in Jerusalem, who tried to ambush him along the road, and who he insisted were false brethren! If I'm not mistaken, Jewish men and women both regularly covered in public and the idea of men wearing skull-caps for worship was perhaps introduced later as a reaction to the Christian practice of uncovering. Paul's arguments do not lend themselves to culture: God's authority structure, creation, because of the angels, propriety, nature are all timeless, boundless arguments for godly order.
More recently, I've seen a group of "Torah Christians"--Christians who are embracing not only the Torah and all the practices in it, but also the traditions of the Jewish rabbis. Among this movement there is a huge push for headcovering--usually all the time, especially for married women--since that was the Jewish tradition. Sadly, the reasons backing this movement rarely even include Paul's clear teaching to believers and tend to push the concept of modesty (like the Amish and Mennonites). The foundations for this practice are entirely Law/tradition based, which, I think would have greatly troubled Paul. What do you think?
I believe that God (through Paul) was creating a distinctly new Christian counter-culture and was handing down one of a very few traditions for worship.
Really, it seems to me that Christ only gave us a few traditions: the Lord's supper, baptism, headcovering...can you think of any more?
Sometimes I think we tend to be like the wife whose husband asked her to have dinner on when he got home from work. All day she cleaned, decorated, made jelly, orgnaized his books, wrote him little love notes, exercised and then cleaned up and dressed beautifully for his arrival. When he walked in the door, he glanced around and asked, "Where is dinner?" Flustered, she began pointing out all that she had done for him, hurt that he hadn't noticed. "But," her husband responded, "All I asked you to do was fix dinner."
In our enthusiasm, sometimes I think we get caught up in a lot of things that seem like good things to do, and neglect the few things Christ commanded. Quite frankly, I think that's why we don't see headcovering practiced--we don't remember what Christ asked us to do because we're busy coming up with "good" things to do. I know I am often guilty of inventing ways to please the Lord. The prophet Micah dealt with this issue, asking "With what shall I come to Yahweh? Shall I offer sacrifices of animals? Shall I give oil? My first-born?" Then he answers, "He has told you what is good and what Yahweh requires: do justice, love kindness, walk with God." (Micah 6:6-8) Sometimes we are entirely sincere, but we are sincerely mistaken. Sometimes I think we are even guilty of offering to God things that actually offend Him--like Micah's suggestion of his first-born son. At the very least, often we neglect the things He has actually commanded--the simple things--in pursuit of the things we deem important or pleasing.
It seems to me that God has told us what He requires of us--in His word--and I am forever discovering new and exciting things about the simplicity of devotion to Christ. I have so much to learn! But I'm also blessed, as I seek to obey, in seeing others notice and ask questions--which allows me to share Christ. When Christians look and act like the world, unbelievers don't recognize a difference. When we create laws instead of seeking Christ's, often they recognize it as "works salvation" and turn away. But when we are sincerely obedient, God's order works itself out in our lives in a way that is evident--like a light shining before all men, that they may see our obedience and glorify the Father in heaven.
I believe that God (through Paul) was creating a distinctly new Christian counter-culture and was handing down one of a very few traditions for worship.
Really, it seems to me that Christ only gave us a few traditions: the Lord's supper, baptism, headcovering...can you think of any more?
Sometimes I think we tend to be like the wife whose husband asked her to have dinner on when he got home from work. All day she cleaned, decorated, made jelly, orgnaized his books, wrote him little love notes, exercised and then cleaned up and dressed beautifully for his arrival. When he walked in the door, he glanced around and asked, "Where is dinner?" Flustered, she began pointing out all that she had done for him, hurt that he hadn't noticed. "But," her husband responded, "All I asked you to do was fix dinner."
In our enthusiasm, sometimes I think we get caught up in a lot of things that seem like good things to do, and neglect the few things Christ commanded. Quite frankly, I think that's why we don't see headcovering practiced--we don't remember what Christ asked us to do because we're busy coming up with "good" things to do. I know I am often guilty of inventing ways to please the Lord. The prophet Micah dealt with this issue, asking "With what shall I come to Yahweh? Shall I offer sacrifices of animals? Shall I give oil? My first-born?" Then he answers, "He has told you what is good and what Yahweh requires: do justice, love kindness, walk with God." (Micah 6:6-8) Sometimes we are entirely sincere, but we are sincerely mistaken. Sometimes I think we are even guilty of offering to God things that actually offend Him--like Micah's suggestion of his first-born son. At the very least, often we neglect the things He has actually commanded--the simple things--in pursuit of the things we deem important or pleasing.
It seems to me that God has told us what He requires of us--in His word--and I am forever discovering new and exciting things about the simplicity of devotion to Christ. I have so much to learn! But I'm also blessed, as I seek to obey, in seeing others notice and ask questions--which allows me to share Christ. When Christians look and act like the world, unbelievers don't recognize a difference. When we create laws instead of seeking Christ's, often they recognize it as "works salvation" and turn away. But when we are sincerely obedient, God's order works itself out in our lives in a way that is evident--like a light shining before all men, that they may see our obedience and glorify the Father in heaven.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Last night as I struggled against the insistent tears of hurt, I sat up in bed and told myself, “Abigail, don’t be silly. Suffering for doing what’s right might sound heroic and deserving of drama, but you’re losing sight of true suffering for what is right. Jesus suffered unlike you can ever imagine suffering and He learned obedience through the things which He suffered and has left us an example that we should follow in His footsteps. Which means it’s just what we should expect—all of us. And it works to teach us obedience. You are learning to be obedient to the Father and that’s just exactly a part of your Christian walk that you need work in.” Slowly, methodically I refuted my whining “Why did I get hurt? I didn’t deserve this” attitude. I reminded myself of my rebellion against God, my sin against His holiness and my utter helplessness to stand justified before God. Suddenly what I deserved came into focus like the slow turn of a camera lens: I deserve hell, utterly separated from God, hopeless, dark and agonized. It is only by His mercy that I am not a miserable, damned sinner. Perspective dampens the martyr’s tears and wells up within me the overwhelming joy. I am saved. From a horrible eternal existence without God. From exactly what I deserved. Jesus took the wrath that I deserved. Here I sit, moaning about something I didn’t deserve when He has left me that example. In that moment I knew that I was not suffering. My pain was healed. If the Lord of glory would rescue me from eternal punishment at the expense of Himself, He will do for me what is best. Why do I so lack trust and wallow in misery over things that should bring me joy? So, by His grace I did what was right. Do I suffer for it? Sheesh. Can it really be suffering if it is what God has allowed to teach me obedience? Obedience is only tested through the hard and painful things. Can it really be suffering if given from the loving hand of my Abba Father? Can it really be suffering when measured alongside the suffering of Christ?
Peter held it too much an honor to be crucified like his Lord and asked to be crucified upside down instead. Did he suffer for Christ? He said that suffering in the flesh helps us to forget our flesh and live instead for the will of God. That doesn’t sound to me like a tragedy, but a triumph.
I will learn to embrace the cross, the thorns, the nails if only they demonstrate that I am following the footsteps of Christ and will someday be like Him.
“For even if you should suffer for the sake of righteousness, you are blessed.” 1 Peter 3:14
Teach me, Lord, to measure pain
Alongside of my greater gain
The things that make me seek to hide
Drive me to Thy wounded side.
And there I place my hand and see
That Thou wast wounded more for me
And through Thy pain Thou learned to kneel.
So I will learn and Thou wilt heal.
Peter held it too much an honor to be crucified like his Lord and asked to be crucified upside down instead. Did he suffer for Christ? He said that suffering in the flesh helps us to forget our flesh and live instead for the will of God. That doesn’t sound to me like a tragedy, but a triumph.
I will learn to embrace the cross, the thorns, the nails if only they demonstrate that I am following the footsteps of Christ and will someday be like Him.
“For even if you should suffer for the sake of righteousness, you are blessed.” 1 Peter 3:14
Teach me, Lord, to measure pain
Alongside of my greater gain
The things that make me seek to hide
Drive me to Thy wounded side.
And there I place my hand and see
That Thou wast wounded more for me
And through Thy pain Thou learned to kneel.
So I will learn and Thou wilt heal.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Miss Lydia and I signed in to the Sequoyah grade school at about one forty-five and navigated the hallway to find the second grade room of Mrs. Underwood. Our mission? Visiting Emily’s classroom and telling stories! We started off with the version of Little Red Riding Hood I’d pulled out for the homeschool talent show so many years ago—the year I called up the parents and made them perform for the rest of us. Which they did admirably. This time the kids were so delighted they asked to keep their masks. Then we followed it up with the Three Billy Goats Gruff, Puss in Boots and Little Red Riding Hood. Lydia played a delightful Little Red Riding Hood, carrying her basket of goodies around the room to distribute marigold seeds. So there went last night’s hasty preparation. The kids begged us not to leave. Perhaps I’m ridiculous, but the whole time I was reading Puss in Boots, my mind kept nagging me miserably—Puss was a blatant liar. No matter what kind of a hero we’ve made of him and how funny his antics are, he’s a liar—something God’s word speaks very strongly against. How inconsistent I am to decry lying in life only to glorify it before a classroom of second graders because it is performed in a fairy tale by a clever kitty sporting boots. I’m at a loss what to do…apologize to Emily for endorsing such a story? My mind wants to argue that it is so trivial, but my conscience insists that if lying lips are an abomination to God and the liar has his place in the lake of fire, how could even a joking lie be trivial to the Lord?
Which turns my stomach with guilt and dread because, even though others often say I “speak truth”, I know the truth and it is far from their opinion of me. I know how deceitful I am, how willing to skew truth in my favor, how at ease in telling partial truths, how comfortable withholding information or pretending ignorance. Tonight on the phone I was nearly brought to tears as Lauryn prayed for me and coupled my name with truth. I only wish it were true, but my heart is wicked and deceitful above all things, who can know it? Sometimes I'm not even sure in my own mind what is true--how can I tell it?
Always I am brought back to the Way, the Truth, the Life and humbled in His presence--no deceit was found in Him.
Father, lead me in the truth. Thy word is truth.
Which turns my stomach with guilt and dread because, even though others often say I “speak truth”, I know the truth and it is far from their opinion of me. I know how deceitful I am, how willing to skew truth in my favor, how at ease in telling partial truths, how comfortable withholding information or pretending ignorance. Tonight on the phone I was nearly brought to tears as Lauryn prayed for me and coupled my name with truth. I only wish it were true, but my heart is wicked and deceitful above all things, who can know it? Sometimes I'm not even sure in my own mind what is true--how can I tell it?
Always I am brought back to the Way, the Truth, the Life and humbled in His presence--no deceit was found in Him.
Father, lead me in the truth. Thy word is truth.
In Which I Go To Sixth Grade
“Whew,” we all grimaced, clipping on our “Visitor” tags in the hallway of the D-town middle school. “It smells horrible in here!”
“Mothballs,” Christy announced, covering her nose and mouthing the words “morning sickness.”
I scrunched up my nose and shook my head. “Smells like a skunk to me.”
We trooped into the science room and began unloading piles of colored folders, a projector, Daniel’s lap top and a zillion cords. Already my stomach was beginning to knot up a little. Arrived at the destination for our presentations and I still had never even seen the power point, much less the actual information I’d be delivering. Just the folders we handed out to the kids—complete with a zillion blanks waiting to be filled in. Training on the fly, I guess. Drilling while in combat. Sixth graders started filing in, a mixed bag of girls who could squash me between thumb and finger and boys who could wear my sports shirts for pajamas. I helped Christy pass out folders while Daniel scooped up the remote and launched into the first day of “No Apologies: the truth about life, love and sexual integrity.” From the back of the room I watched the PowerPoint slides and tried to tie them together in my mind. In typical youth pastor fashion, Daniel bounced around the room, calling out kid’s names, getting them involved, asking silly questions, probing for answers. “Uh, yeah,” I thought, “This is what he does for a living.” The buzzer screeched through Daniel’s voice and he tied up his presentation and grabbed up folders as we scurried to get ready for second period.
Christy took the front next, with a completely different style—a style that screamed the fourth grade teacher she’d been before her first baby. “Oh yeah,” I reminded myself, “She did this for a living, too. Besides, they wrote the program. Just try and pay attention.” Daniel elbowed me and whispered, “Did you get one of these?” he pushed an outline of the program toward me. My eyes widened, “No! Never even seen it.” He grinned. “It’s yours then.” That would certainly help, although a three page outline is a bare skeleton for a forty-five minute period.
After three periods of silent watching, followed by a lunch break, Daniel handed me the remote with a cheerful, “You’re next” and vanished for a dentist appointment. I looked out at the rows and rows of expectant sixth-grade faces, glanced down and my sparse outline and back at Christy who was stewing over information for the seventh and eight grade program next week—which we’re writing on the fly. I’m not silly like Daniel, nor do I have all the wowzer facts and figures that Choices Counselor Christy has, but I launched out, doing my best to pretend I was just having a conversation with a bunch of kids—about abstinence. And why they should, of course. Because that’s just a really normal thing to talk about. I came to the sexual progression chart—“Draw your line high, guys,” I told them, motioning toward the end where we’d scribbled “hanging out” and “hand holding”, but I really wanted to shock the socks off every kid in the room by declaring, “Look, just be friends. You’re twelve. You don’t need to date. In fact, you never need to date. Dating is stupid.” Because holding hands might not seem so dangerous physically, but the broken heart baggage is still very real. Besides having to beg Christy to perform the baggage illustration for me, due to the awkward fact that I simply couldn’t reach the bags where they hung on the board, I managed to wind up just as the bell rung and sank into a chair at the back of the room feeling like a veteran of Iwo Jima. I made it through. I survived. They seemed to have gotten it. “Funny,” I thought, peering at one boy as he gathered up his school books and headed out of the classroom. “Wasn’t he here in first period? Sitting on the other side of the room? And his name was Tanner?”
So ended day one. And I went home and slept. Hard.
The kids were excited to see us again the next day and I took notes on my outline to flesh out the ideas behind “Can a condom protect your dreams.” And I skimmed the flyers on STDs. I even hit Christy up for pronunciations. Trichomoniasis can be a mouthful, but pronouncing it is nothing compared to describing it. Disgusting stuff. “Raise your hand if you want one of these lovely little diseases,” Daniel called out from the front of the room racing through statistics and facts and recounting the story of the skanky bed, where STDs spread from teenager to teenager, wrecking havoc. Last period had filled the seats before we realized I’d done no more than handle the bed of skankiness. “Just summarize most of those statistics,” Christy whispered as I headed for the front of the classroom. “And try to put it in kid speak.” Okay. No problem. Right. I perched on the edge of a stool and launched into dreams and goals and the devastation an STD can cause. Then came the pages of STD facts and figures. Pages and pages and pages of them. And more pages of them. About halfway through I suddenly had the overwhelming sensation that I didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. “Wind up with HIV and what happens?” A girl called out, “you die!” “And condoms, even when used correctly ALL the time, only protect from HIV 90% of the time.” I counted out, Daniel-style, across the classroom. “1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9 and congratulations, you’ve got a mild case of death!” I’d forgotten that half the class was special needs students. “No!” the “infected” boy wailed. “I don’t want that bad thing! Don’t make me have that bad thing.” Embarrassed I stopped, waiting while the teachers quieted him. I felt like a crack had started in my little toe and was slowly splitting up the side of my body and my head pounded. At the back of the classroom, Christy and Daniel were absorbed in plans for next week. I clicked to the next slide and tried to regain myself. One in four wind up with an STD. One per table, I pointed out. That’s the extent. Is that a lot or a little? Next slide. One in four. Again? Weren’t we just repeating the same basic facts and figures over and over again? Daniel and Christy’d filled in with examples, illustrations, stories. I just felt lost. Expectant eyes watched me as I struggled to decipher the next fact. Teens and inconsistent use. Again? Did these statistics ever end? “Uh, Daniel,” I called and he looked up quickly. “You want to explain these?” Two slides later he’d finished the facts and was on to the fun parts again, but I just huddled in the back, feeling like I’d never want to talk again. Forty-five minutes is an eternity to have to keep moving your mouth with sounds coming out. With nobody else talking. When you’re so tired your mouth is calling it a day and shutting down. When you hardly know what you’re talking about. When you’ve already said all you have to say. I hate repeating myself. Can you tell?
My ears felt hot as I gathered up folders at the end of class and my stomach sagged. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this after all. It’s one thing to deliver a prepared ten minute speech in the Kansas State Capitol, under a canopy of flags, to a breathless audience, it’s another to blabber on and on about STDs to a classroom of wide-eyed sixth graders and smiling special needs students. And an entire class period is a ginormous span of time to spend in one-sided conversation.
“We weren’t even listening,” Christy told me as we parted at the church. “You were rolling along just fine so we were working on next week’s presentation. You should have seen us when we first started the program several years ago. And we wrote it!”
I felt a little better. Just a little. But I still didn’t have anything to say the rest of the night. 44,000 words, a woman speaks in a day, they say. Whoever “they” are. I think I’d spent mine.
The last day I listened with a will to Christy and Daniel’s presentations, scribbled down notes on my outline (which I discovered was slightly out-dated) and told myself how easy it would be—mostly talking about “true love” versus “in love” and adoption versus abortion. Topics I could dig out of the storage bin of my brain without too much trouble. I was almost afraid to ask to teach again, until Daniel vanished again after lunch. Christy was huddling by the back wall, trying not to throw up. “Want me to do this one?” I asked. “If you don’t mind,” and she covered her mouth and shuddered. I started the PowerPoint and handed out folders as kids trooped in. Here came Tanner from first period and right behind him his spitting image. Wait. It really was his spitting image. And dressed exactly the same. “Are you guys twins?” I demanded and was answered with two sheepish nods. No kidding. They looked as alike as a boy and his reflection. The kids started chatting with me. “Oh good,” a blond girl smiled, “You’re teaching again.” I grinned. Before I knew it we’d launched into the presentation and were spinning along, talking, laughing, oohing over the videos of Christy’s baby and winding up with the pledge of abstinence. As I stuck together two pieces of duct tape, named Robby and Clare, the words “God created us…” nearly slipped out. The hardest part of the presentation is editing out the truths that fall so easily from my lips. Instead I toned it down to “We were created…” It wouldn’t do us any good to be thrown out, like they’ve been in the past. Christy was still feeling like a seasick whale when the last period rolled around, so I faced that classroom again and survived it, too. Not just survived it, but enjoyed it. I couldn’t believe I’d actually enjoyed it. Sixth graders are so smart. “Abortion is murder!” they insisted. “It should be illegal!” I wouldn’t mind having a few of them in the state legislature. “STDs are disgusting. Sex before marriage is stupid.” Those ones should be hired for TV programming. “Being ‘in love’ (that feeling of carpet in your stomach, with someone walking across it, as Tanner described it) is a dumb basis for a marriage or for not waiting.” That kid should go into counseling. Or come join us at Choices.
“I’ll miss you guys tomorrow,” kids chattered on their way out the door. “I wish you were coming back. Will you come back next year?” I hadn’t actually decided yet, but I’m thinking yes, maybe so. Whether the kids stick to their good intentions remains to be seen, but at least they know the truth…about life, love and sexual integrity. And they know that society often lies to them about all of the above.
“By the way,” Christy mentioned to the science teacher as we packed our bags to leave, “what is that horrible smell?”
“You think it’s bad now,” the teacher laughed, “You should have been here a week ago! A whole family of skunks moved in underneath the school.”
I patted Christy on the back. “See?” I said. “I was right. Skunks.”
“Funny,” Christy shrugged. “I was sure it was moth balls.”
“Oh,” the science teacher’s eyes widened. “Well, we put those out to cover up the skunk smell.”
“Mothballs,” Christy announced, covering her nose and mouthing the words “morning sickness.”
I scrunched up my nose and shook my head. “Smells like a skunk to me.”
We trooped into the science room and began unloading piles of colored folders, a projector, Daniel’s lap top and a zillion cords. Already my stomach was beginning to knot up a little. Arrived at the destination for our presentations and I still had never even seen the power point, much less the actual information I’d be delivering. Just the folders we handed out to the kids—complete with a zillion blanks waiting to be filled in. Training on the fly, I guess. Drilling while in combat. Sixth graders started filing in, a mixed bag of girls who could squash me between thumb and finger and boys who could wear my sports shirts for pajamas. I helped Christy pass out folders while Daniel scooped up the remote and launched into the first day of “No Apologies: the truth about life, love and sexual integrity.” From the back of the room I watched the PowerPoint slides and tried to tie them together in my mind. In typical youth pastor fashion, Daniel bounced around the room, calling out kid’s names, getting them involved, asking silly questions, probing for answers. “Uh, yeah,” I thought, “This is what he does for a living.” The buzzer screeched through Daniel’s voice and he tied up his presentation and grabbed up folders as we scurried to get ready for second period.
Christy took the front next, with a completely different style—a style that screamed the fourth grade teacher she’d been before her first baby. “Oh yeah,” I reminded myself, “She did this for a living, too. Besides, they wrote the program. Just try and pay attention.” Daniel elbowed me and whispered, “Did you get one of these?” he pushed an outline of the program toward me. My eyes widened, “No! Never even seen it.” He grinned. “It’s yours then.” That would certainly help, although a three page outline is a bare skeleton for a forty-five minute period.
After three periods of silent watching, followed by a lunch break, Daniel handed me the remote with a cheerful, “You’re next” and vanished for a dentist appointment. I looked out at the rows and rows of expectant sixth-grade faces, glanced down and my sparse outline and back at Christy who was stewing over information for the seventh and eight grade program next week—which we’re writing on the fly. I’m not silly like Daniel, nor do I have all the wowzer facts and figures that Choices Counselor Christy has, but I launched out, doing my best to pretend I was just having a conversation with a bunch of kids—about abstinence. And why they should, of course. Because that’s just a really normal thing to talk about. I came to the sexual progression chart—“Draw your line high, guys,” I told them, motioning toward the end where we’d scribbled “hanging out” and “hand holding”, but I really wanted to shock the socks off every kid in the room by declaring, “Look, just be friends. You’re twelve. You don’t need to date. In fact, you never need to date. Dating is stupid.” Because holding hands might not seem so dangerous physically, but the broken heart baggage is still very real. Besides having to beg Christy to perform the baggage illustration for me, due to the awkward fact that I simply couldn’t reach the bags where they hung on the board, I managed to wind up just as the bell rung and sank into a chair at the back of the room feeling like a veteran of Iwo Jima. I made it through. I survived. They seemed to have gotten it. “Funny,” I thought, peering at one boy as he gathered up his school books and headed out of the classroom. “Wasn’t he here in first period? Sitting on the other side of the room? And his name was Tanner?”
So ended day one. And I went home and slept. Hard.
The kids were excited to see us again the next day and I took notes on my outline to flesh out the ideas behind “Can a condom protect your dreams.” And I skimmed the flyers on STDs. I even hit Christy up for pronunciations. Trichomoniasis can be a mouthful, but pronouncing it is nothing compared to describing it. Disgusting stuff. “Raise your hand if you want one of these lovely little diseases,” Daniel called out from the front of the room racing through statistics and facts and recounting the story of the skanky bed, where STDs spread from teenager to teenager, wrecking havoc. Last period had filled the seats before we realized I’d done no more than handle the bed of skankiness. “Just summarize most of those statistics,” Christy whispered as I headed for the front of the classroom. “And try to put it in kid speak.” Okay. No problem. Right. I perched on the edge of a stool and launched into dreams and goals and the devastation an STD can cause. Then came the pages of STD facts and figures. Pages and pages and pages of them. And more pages of them. About halfway through I suddenly had the overwhelming sensation that I didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. “Wind up with HIV and what happens?” A girl called out, “you die!” “And condoms, even when used correctly ALL the time, only protect from HIV 90% of the time.” I counted out, Daniel-style, across the classroom. “1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9 and congratulations, you’ve got a mild case of death!” I’d forgotten that half the class was special needs students. “No!” the “infected” boy wailed. “I don’t want that bad thing! Don’t make me have that bad thing.” Embarrassed I stopped, waiting while the teachers quieted him. I felt like a crack had started in my little toe and was slowly splitting up the side of my body and my head pounded. At the back of the classroom, Christy and Daniel were absorbed in plans for next week. I clicked to the next slide and tried to regain myself. One in four wind up with an STD. One per table, I pointed out. That’s the extent. Is that a lot or a little? Next slide. One in four. Again? Weren’t we just repeating the same basic facts and figures over and over again? Daniel and Christy’d filled in with examples, illustrations, stories. I just felt lost. Expectant eyes watched me as I struggled to decipher the next fact. Teens and inconsistent use. Again? Did these statistics ever end? “Uh, Daniel,” I called and he looked up quickly. “You want to explain these?” Two slides later he’d finished the facts and was on to the fun parts again, but I just huddled in the back, feeling like I’d never want to talk again. Forty-five minutes is an eternity to have to keep moving your mouth with sounds coming out. With nobody else talking. When you’re so tired your mouth is calling it a day and shutting down. When you hardly know what you’re talking about. When you’ve already said all you have to say. I hate repeating myself. Can you tell?
My ears felt hot as I gathered up folders at the end of class and my stomach sagged. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this after all. It’s one thing to deliver a prepared ten minute speech in the Kansas State Capitol, under a canopy of flags, to a breathless audience, it’s another to blabber on and on about STDs to a classroom of wide-eyed sixth graders and smiling special needs students. And an entire class period is a ginormous span of time to spend in one-sided conversation.
“We weren’t even listening,” Christy told me as we parted at the church. “You were rolling along just fine so we were working on next week’s presentation. You should have seen us when we first started the program several years ago. And we wrote it!”
I felt a little better. Just a little. But I still didn’t have anything to say the rest of the night. 44,000 words, a woman speaks in a day, they say. Whoever “they” are. I think I’d spent mine.
The last day I listened with a will to Christy and Daniel’s presentations, scribbled down notes on my outline (which I discovered was slightly out-dated) and told myself how easy it would be—mostly talking about “true love” versus “in love” and adoption versus abortion. Topics I could dig out of the storage bin of my brain without too much trouble. I was almost afraid to ask to teach again, until Daniel vanished again after lunch. Christy was huddling by the back wall, trying not to throw up. “Want me to do this one?” I asked. “If you don’t mind,” and she covered her mouth and shuddered. I started the PowerPoint and handed out folders as kids trooped in. Here came Tanner from first period and right behind him his spitting image. Wait. It really was his spitting image. And dressed exactly the same. “Are you guys twins?” I demanded and was answered with two sheepish nods. No kidding. They looked as alike as a boy and his reflection. The kids started chatting with me. “Oh good,” a blond girl smiled, “You’re teaching again.” I grinned. Before I knew it we’d launched into the presentation and were spinning along, talking, laughing, oohing over the videos of Christy’s baby and winding up with the pledge of abstinence. As I stuck together two pieces of duct tape, named Robby and Clare, the words “God created us…” nearly slipped out. The hardest part of the presentation is editing out the truths that fall so easily from my lips. Instead I toned it down to “We were created…” It wouldn’t do us any good to be thrown out, like they’ve been in the past. Christy was still feeling like a seasick whale when the last period rolled around, so I faced that classroom again and survived it, too. Not just survived it, but enjoyed it. I couldn’t believe I’d actually enjoyed it. Sixth graders are so smart. “Abortion is murder!” they insisted. “It should be illegal!” I wouldn’t mind having a few of them in the state legislature. “STDs are disgusting. Sex before marriage is stupid.” Those ones should be hired for TV programming. “Being ‘in love’ (that feeling of carpet in your stomach, with someone walking across it, as Tanner described it) is a dumb basis for a marriage or for not waiting.” That kid should go into counseling. Or come join us at Choices.
“I’ll miss you guys tomorrow,” kids chattered on their way out the door. “I wish you were coming back. Will you come back next year?” I hadn’t actually decided yet, but I’m thinking yes, maybe so. Whether the kids stick to their good intentions remains to be seen, but at least they know the truth…about life, love and sexual integrity. And they know that society often lies to them about all of the above.
“By the way,” Christy mentioned to the science teacher as we packed our bags to leave, “what is that horrible smell?”
“You think it’s bad now,” the teacher laughed, “You should have been here a week ago! A whole family of skunks moved in underneath the school.”
I patted Christy on the back. “See?” I said. “I was right. Skunks.”
“Funny,” Christy shrugged. “I was sure it was moth balls.”
“Oh,” the science teacher’s eyes widened. “Well, we put those out to cover up the skunk smell.”
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
All I really want right now is an apple. Just a simple, shiny, crunchy apple. Fuji. Or Gala. Or Pink Lady. Even Golden Delicious. I don’t really care, so long as it has a core, a peeling and is roundish.
I thought I’d been grumpy all day long. Hardly felt like myself, I was so exhausted, and weaker than the third brewing of an herbal tea bag. “Was I grumpy?” I quizzed Josiah, as I washed dishes from a jug of water. After supper the well again went on strike. “What? Grumpy?” he looked at me funny. “Just a little quiet maybe.” As queen of the roost for the day, I tried to keep all three of my charges occupied profitably. Lizzy’s not hard to entertain. I handed her “Rachel’s Tears” and zipped around the house, marking things off Mom’s list as I went. Well, actually, I tried to zip, but my feet felt as if they’d discovered a quagmire and decided to stay and search it to the bottom.
(Overheard from the dining/school room)
Lydia: Spell “famous.”
Josiah: A-B-I-G-A-I-L
They told me it was humid down here. I don’t remember who “they” were, but they were right. Chainsaw in hand, Josiah attacked the enormous tree that last lightning storm had shattered, while the rest of us tugged branches, piled logs and tried to keep out of the way of falling limbs. Soon I’d stripped my sweatshirt off and tied it around my waist. In a flash, Lizzy’d followed my example. Still feeling like a head of broccoli in a pressure steamer, I rolled my sleeves up to my shoulders and glanced up to see Lizzy doing the same. “Stand back—way back!” Josiah called, walking up a huge branch that had knelt to the ground and beginning to saw. I stepped into the shade, hands on hips and noticed that Lizzy had assumed an identical posture. I crossed my arms in front of me. A second passed and she did the same. I shoved my hands in my pockets. Soon hers had found her pockets as well. I peeked at her from the corner of my eye to see if she was imitating me on purpose. To be funny. She was watching me intently, as usual, but slyness doesn’t fit her sense of humor. With a shrug, I tugged off my green leather gloves and laid them across the handle of the wheelbarrow. As if it had just occurred to her, she pulled her pink pair off and laid them next to mine. I flopped down on the ground and she flopped down next to me. And then I scratched my nose. Just to see what she’d do. She reached her hand up and scratched her own before a confused look crossed her face and she quickly dropped her hand. That’s when I looked away to hide my smile. And that’s when I missed the excitement. “Oh!” Lydia exclaimed and I turned in time to see Josiah leap off the branch bridge he’d climbed, chainsaw still in tow, and land barely out of reach of the branch that had just crashed to the ground. With his monkey feet and spider instincts, he’s never managed to wind up hurt. Yet. Maybe it’s Someone looking out for him.
Zach must be trying to redeem his “prodigal” status. “I’m too tired to go to Wes and Audrey’s,” he told us. “Can I come spend the night?” “John A’s going to be the next Martin Luther!” he exclaimed for the fiftieth time. “I’m telling you, he’ll reform the church!” Then he turned glum. “If that’s possible.” While I played piano, Zach preached about corruption in the church, in the Bible Belt and in Arkansas, where everyone names the name of Christ, but no one abstains from wickedness. It was almost like our own big tent revival. When he quoted William Booth, that prophet from the last century, he really caught my attention. “I consider that the chief dangers which confront the coming century will be religion without the Holy Ghost, Christianity without Christ, forgiveness without repentance, salvation without regeneration, politics without God, and heaven without hell.” I wish his prediction were not so accurate. “I don’t do Christianity because there are too many hypocrites in the church,” I’ve heard countless times. Usually I mumble something about not imposing the character of “Christians” on Christ. Yesterday my heart was burning, frustrated to think that “Christians” might be keeping the world from Christ. “The hypocrites are headed to hell,” I blurted out. “Do you want to spend eternity with them?” I couldn’t believe I’d said it straight out, but relief flooded over me as I realized I’d finally told the truth. I’ve always been afraid to condemn, to point the finger, to admit that those who don’t live for Jesus don’t live in Him either. How can I even begin to speak of others when my heart is so far from staid on Him? But my fault is not in pretending Christ when I don’t love Him. My fault is not loving Him by preaching His truth—to those who are pretending. I wonder what Jesus thinks of His bride?
Lord, Thy bride is so divided,
She’s taken grace that Thou provided
Turned it into chance for lust,
Forgotten what it means to trust,
Counterfeit the way to heaven,
Mixed Thy holy bread with leaven—
She’s grown not in Thy grace, but size,
Engorged on devastating lies.
I thought I’d been grumpy all day long. Hardly felt like myself, I was so exhausted, and weaker than the third brewing of an herbal tea bag. “Was I grumpy?” I quizzed Josiah, as I washed dishes from a jug of water. After supper the well again went on strike. “What? Grumpy?” he looked at me funny. “Just a little quiet maybe.” As queen of the roost for the day, I tried to keep all three of my charges occupied profitably. Lizzy’s not hard to entertain. I handed her “Rachel’s Tears” and zipped around the house, marking things off Mom’s list as I went. Well, actually, I tried to zip, but my feet felt as if they’d discovered a quagmire and decided to stay and search it to the bottom.
(Overheard from the dining/school room)
Lydia: Spell “famous.”
Josiah: A-B-I-G-A-I-L
They told me it was humid down here. I don’t remember who “they” were, but they were right. Chainsaw in hand, Josiah attacked the enormous tree that last lightning storm had shattered, while the rest of us tugged branches, piled logs and tried to keep out of the way of falling limbs. Soon I’d stripped my sweatshirt off and tied it around my waist. In a flash, Lizzy’d followed my example. Still feeling like a head of broccoli in a pressure steamer, I rolled my sleeves up to my shoulders and glanced up to see Lizzy doing the same. “Stand back—way back!” Josiah called, walking up a huge branch that had knelt to the ground and beginning to saw. I stepped into the shade, hands on hips and noticed that Lizzy had assumed an identical posture. I crossed my arms in front of me. A second passed and she did the same. I shoved my hands in my pockets. Soon hers had found her pockets as well. I peeked at her from the corner of my eye to see if she was imitating me on purpose. To be funny. She was watching me intently, as usual, but slyness doesn’t fit her sense of humor. With a shrug, I tugged off my green leather gloves and laid them across the handle of the wheelbarrow. As if it had just occurred to her, she pulled her pink pair off and laid them next to mine. I flopped down on the ground and she flopped down next to me. And then I scratched my nose. Just to see what she’d do. She reached her hand up and scratched her own before a confused look crossed her face and she quickly dropped her hand. That’s when I looked away to hide my smile. And that’s when I missed the excitement. “Oh!” Lydia exclaimed and I turned in time to see Josiah leap off the branch bridge he’d climbed, chainsaw still in tow, and land barely out of reach of the branch that had just crashed to the ground. With his monkey feet and spider instincts, he’s never managed to wind up hurt. Yet. Maybe it’s Someone looking out for him.
Zach must be trying to redeem his “prodigal” status. “I’m too tired to go to Wes and Audrey’s,” he told us. “Can I come spend the night?” “John A’s going to be the next Martin Luther!” he exclaimed for the fiftieth time. “I’m telling you, he’ll reform the church!” Then he turned glum. “If that’s possible.” While I played piano, Zach preached about corruption in the church, in the Bible Belt and in Arkansas, where everyone names the name of Christ, but no one abstains from wickedness. It was almost like our own big tent revival. When he quoted William Booth, that prophet from the last century, he really caught my attention. “I consider that the chief dangers which confront the coming century will be religion without the Holy Ghost, Christianity without Christ, forgiveness without repentance, salvation without regeneration, politics without God, and heaven without hell.” I wish his prediction were not so accurate. “I don’t do Christianity because there are too many hypocrites in the church,” I’ve heard countless times. Usually I mumble something about not imposing the character of “Christians” on Christ. Yesterday my heart was burning, frustrated to think that “Christians” might be keeping the world from Christ. “The hypocrites are headed to hell,” I blurted out. “Do you want to spend eternity with them?” I couldn’t believe I’d said it straight out, but relief flooded over me as I realized I’d finally told the truth. I’ve always been afraid to condemn, to point the finger, to admit that those who don’t live for Jesus don’t live in Him either. How can I even begin to speak of others when my heart is so far from staid on Him? But my fault is not in pretending Christ when I don’t love Him. My fault is not loving Him by preaching His truth—to those who are pretending. I wonder what Jesus thinks of His bride?
Lord, Thy bride is so divided,
She’s taken grace that Thou provided
Turned it into chance for lust,
Forgotten what it means to trust,
Counterfeit the way to heaven,
Mixed Thy holy bread with leaven—
She’s grown not in Thy grace, but size,
Engorged on devastating lies.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Oddly, I don’t think we have any more weddings until December. Last year they were stacked up like a plate of flapjacks—with syrup oozing over the edges. Jonathan and Chloe’s had to be the most unique wedding I’ve attended yet. Ushered into a candle lit building, all seats facing toward a canopy in the center, we waited while the event unfolded—almost like watching a movie. Devoid of Nathaniel, who was enjoying a front row seat as an “honored guest”, Lauren whispered to me, “I want the soundtrack to their wedding!” The ceremony was everything that describes Jonathan and Chloe—poetic, creative, romantic and focused on Yahweh. But the reception that followed was made quite lively with the addition of outdoor games—arm-wrestling, shot-putting and a piñata. Lauren and I went arm to arm and proved ourselves, once again, pretty evenly matched. It’s a pity the bystanders didn’t have the benefit of seeing her without her jacket, and watching those softball sized biceps at work. Catching up with everyone felt like an impossible task. Caleb, who silently shadowed me at every speech tournament, now towers over me, still mostly silent with the same innocent, half awkward smile. I think I met at least three of the guy’s girl-friends—all named Anna. As I talked with Cory’s mom, I realized she didn’t recognize Josiah, standing behind me. Well, of course not. He’s sprouted from the upstart little boy proud of outgrowing his sister into a young man with facial hair and a shoulder span. Grabbing his hand I pulled him forward and introduced him: “I want you to meet my boyfriend.” Her face glossed over with polite surprise. “Josiah Scott.” She extended her hand, completely missing the name. Grinning I added, “You remember my little brother, Josiah?” Finally her face relaxed and she laughed, “I sure didn’t think there was going to be any of this boyfriend stuff.” As Melissa told stories on Chloe during the reception, she began to describe how, several years ago Chloe and Hannah had insisted I’d be married with kids in a couple of years and they’d be old maids. The reason? I knew so many guys and they knew none. I shrugged, told them not to worry: “Whatever. It only takes one.” Three years later Chloe is now married, Hannah is not only married, but ten weeks pregnant, and guess who’s still single! I couldn’t contain my laughter when it suddenly occurred to me that I’d even known both of their husbands at that time, before they did. I’m beginning to feel accomplished in proving folks wrong.
I can’t remember how long it’s been singe I worshipped in a large church building. Blue Springs Christian Church has moved on with the times—casual clothing, theatrical feel, with a foyer that feels like an airport: hot coffee and donuts served! The thinly disguised marketing pitch delivered by the pastor in a goal to convince congregants to give toward the three and a half million dollar youth building saddened me. Deception, I thought. Not that the pastor was trying to deceive, but that the pastor, himself, was deceived. Do we really believe that three million dollar buildings or large praise bands will help us to “evangelize” the youth of America? Do we really believe that supplying them with video games, entertainment and food will bring them to salvation? Show me the expensive buildings, the technology, the theatrics of the church in China or Indonesia or Ghana. Our brothers and sisters across the globe are worshipping in basements, under the stars on inside thatched-roof huts and their numbers are growing phenomenally. In our search to please American consumers, we’ve missed the purpose that should really drive the church. We’ve spelled ourselves right into a run on sentence—it doesn’t end. We’ll always have to pump more money and time into keeping up with the entertainment industry, since we fill our churches with those seeking an “experience” instead of those seeking Yahweh.
Josiah and I left our bags to be unpacked after dark, buckled on helmets and mounted our bicycles to work out dangerous levels of energy. It’s not a surprising sight to round a bend and see a pack of dogs loping to meet us, howling yipping and barking. Lanky hounds, rolly-polly terriers, square boxers and a spindly legged—excuse me, is that a deer? Sure enough, a soft-eyed fawn bounded up to the fence and sniffed my offered hand before retreating back a few steps to watch the rest of the “dogs” wiggle, waggle and beg to be scratched.
Once upon a time I eagerly read any book I could get my hands on. Now I find myself tossing books down in disgust after a few pages. The novel I picked up yesterday ranks high on my list of horrible books. Veiled by the backdrop of an oriental supermodel heading home for a mission trip, the plot turned my stomach with mistaken perceptions of finding God’s will and making godly decisions. Snares laid by misunderstanding, and ready to entangle the feet of many a believer. Let’s throw in how we “prayed about something”, but how’d we get our answer? “I prayed about it,” someone tells me, by way of expressing the authority for their actions when contrary to scripture or sound judgment. God’s not a mystical eight ball that we put questions to and then sit, waiting for a gut feeling to guide us. Ah, but prayer is an important part of every decision, every day, every moment, and I know without a doubt I let it slide. In scripture, I see a pattern of seeking things that appear in accordance with God’s goals, accompanied by prayers of thanksgiving and pleas for wisdom and godly counsel. David said God’s word is the light that guides us, not our feelings, our senses of peace or unrest, or even the thoughts that pop into our heads while praying. At the end of the day, startled back to an awareness of time by the click by which my lamp bids me good-night, I know the reminder to seek Yahweh in spirit and truth was timely.
Lord, Thy wisdom from above,
Thy timeless gift bestowed in love,
Is what I lack, and so I pray
That Thou would give Thy power today,
That I might be a pleasing child
To walk before Thee, undefiled,
That Thou would keep me from each snare
That where Thou art, I would be there.
I can’t remember how long it’s been singe I worshipped in a large church building. Blue Springs Christian Church has moved on with the times—casual clothing, theatrical feel, with a foyer that feels like an airport: hot coffee and donuts served! The thinly disguised marketing pitch delivered by the pastor in a goal to convince congregants to give toward the three and a half million dollar youth building saddened me. Deception, I thought. Not that the pastor was trying to deceive, but that the pastor, himself, was deceived. Do we really believe that three million dollar buildings or large praise bands will help us to “evangelize” the youth of America? Do we really believe that supplying them with video games, entertainment and food will bring them to salvation? Show me the expensive buildings, the technology, the theatrics of the church in China or Indonesia or Ghana. Our brothers and sisters across the globe are worshipping in basements, under the stars on inside thatched-roof huts and their numbers are growing phenomenally. In our search to please American consumers, we’ve missed the purpose that should really drive the church. We’ve spelled ourselves right into a run on sentence—it doesn’t end. We’ll always have to pump more money and time into keeping up with the entertainment industry, since we fill our churches with those seeking an “experience” instead of those seeking Yahweh.
Josiah and I left our bags to be unpacked after dark, buckled on helmets and mounted our bicycles to work out dangerous levels of energy. It’s not a surprising sight to round a bend and see a pack of dogs loping to meet us, howling yipping and barking. Lanky hounds, rolly-polly terriers, square boxers and a spindly legged—excuse me, is that a deer? Sure enough, a soft-eyed fawn bounded up to the fence and sniffed my offered hand before retreating back a few steps to watch the rest of the “dogs” wiggle, waggle and beg to be scratched.
Once upon a time I eagerly read any book I could get my hands on. Now I find myself tossing books down in disgust after a few pages. The novel I picked up yesterday ranks high on my list of horrible books. Veiled by the backdrop of an oriental supermodel heading home for a mission trip, the plot turned my stomach with mistaken perceptions of finding God’s will and making godly decisions. Snares laid by misunderstanding, and ready to entangle the feet of many a believer. Let’s throw in how we “prayed about something”, but how’d we get our answer? “I prayed about it,” someone tells me, by way of expressing the authority for their actions when contrary to scripture or sound judgment. God’s not a mystical eight ball that we put questions to and then sit, waiting for a gut feeling to guide us. Ah, but prayer is an important part of every decision, every day, every moment, and I know without a doubt I let it slide. In scripture, I see a pattern of seeking things that appear in accordance with God’s goals, accompanied by prayers of thanksgiving and pleas for wisdom and godly counsel. David said God’s word is the light that guides us, not our feelings, our senses of peace or unrest, or even the thoughts that pop into our heads while praying. At the end of the day, startled back to an awareness of time by the click by which my lamp bids me good-night, I know the reminder to seek Yahweh in spirit and truth was timely.
Lord, Thy wisdom from above,
Thy timeless gift bestowed in love,
Is what I lack, and so I pray
That Thou would give Thy power today,
That I might be a pleasing child
To walk before Thee, undefiled,
That Thou would keep me from each snare
That where Thou art, I would be there.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Usually when Josiah comes into my room, lugging his math book and an air of frustration, I can expect a trip to the upper attic of my intellect, where I’ve stowed away all I learned in Algebra, Trigonometry and PreCal. I know I’ve safely packed it up there, but sometimes I can’t ever find it. Today he flipped open his book and pointed to several calculator functions. “It comes out right when I do this one, but in this problem when I plug in thirty-five point forty-five…” “Ahem,” I cleared my throat. “You mean fifty-four?,” I offered. He did a double take and then mumbled, “Uh. Yeah. That helps.”
That was one brief success in a day of multitasking. No wonder Mom is always frustrated that she didn’t finish her to-do list by the end of the day. Trade secret for a productive day: make a short to-do list. She left me with a list long enough to wipe all the windows of the Empire State Building. I should be thankful, since that’s considerably shorter than a mile. In between baking enough food to satisfy a tapeworm, raking and burning piles of soggy leaves, mending, ironing, folding drawers full of drawers, vacuuming, sweeping and cleaning up after myself, I supervised Lydia and Josiah’s schoolwork. Overheard in the dining room as Josiah gave Lydia her spelling words:
Josiah: Spell “pull”.
Lydia: As in “pole” or “pull”?
Josiah: As in P-U-L-L.
Those who doubt that homemaking is a full-time job have never passed beyond a house to a home.
The heading in my Bible said it all: Idolatry Leads to Servitude. No doubt intended as a summary of the facts, but in reality, a rule of life. Forsake Yahweh, pursue other “gods” and the results are always the same: slavery to our own desires and passions. The choice to serve myself always leaves me enslaved to the most cruel mistress. But still, just like the Israelites, I enjoy rest for a time, but soon find I am back to bowing before the Baals, offering my allegiance to the lies and deceit of “self”. Only the Truth can set me free. This morning at breakfast we read of Jesus’ betrayal, arrest and trial and how he stood before Pilate and offered truth. Blinded by the chains of wealth, power and tyranny, Pilate demanded “What is truth?” but never waited for an answer. “I could release you,” Pilate offered, but he had it backwards. It was he who needed to be freed.
Lord, I press my ear against the door
And plead to serve Thee, evermore.
For I know well that as Thy slave,
I’ll find Thy freeing power to save.
When Thou art not my only master
Then my soul is in disaster:
When I love aught but Thee, I find
That loving aught but Thee will bind.
That was one brief success in a day of multitasking. No wonder Mom is always frustrated that she didn’t finish her to-do list by the end of the day. Trade secret for a productive day: make a short to-do list. She left me with a list long enough to wipe all the windows of the Empire State Building. I should be thankful, since that’s considerably shorter than a mile. In between baking enough food to satisfy a tapeworm, raking and burning piles of soggy leaves, mending, ironing, folding drawers full of drawers, vacuuming, sweeping and cleaning up after myself, I supervised Lydia and Josiah’s schoolwork. Overheard in the dining room as Josiah gave Lydia her spelling words:
Josiah: Spell “pull”.
Lydia: As in “pole” or “pull”?
Josiah: As in P-U-L-L.
Those who doubt that homemaking is a full-time job have never passed beyond a house to a home.
The heading in my Bible said it all: Idolatry Leads to Servitude. No doubt intended as a summary of the facts, but in reality, a rule of life. Forsake Yahweh, pursue other “gods” and the results are always the same: slavery to our own desires and passions. The choice to serve myself always leaves me enslaved to the most cruel mistress. But still, just like the Israelites, I enjoy rest for a time, but soon find I am back to bowing before the Baals, offering my allegiance to the lies and deceit of “self”. Only the Truth can set me free. This morning at breakfast we read of Jesus’ betrayal, arrest and trial and how he stood before Pilate and offered truth. Blinded by the chains of wealth, power and tyranny, Pilate demanded “What is truth?” but never waited for an answer. “I could release you,” Pilate offered, but he had it backwards. It was he who needed to be freed.
Lord, I press my ear against the door
And plead to serve Thee, evermore.
For I know well that as Thy slave,
I’ll find Thy freeing power to save.
When Thou art not my only master
Then my soul is in disaster:
When I love aught but Thee, I find
That loving aught but Thee will bind.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
I crawled out of bed to get ready for a day in town, but when I opened my mouth to ask my reflection how it felt, my voice came rattling out like a rusted chariot. The bit of a cold I contracted after ranging about in the sleet last Thursday seems to have compounded with the thorough soaking I received at the hands of the elements last night and both have conspired to make me sound much worse than I actually feel. I opted for crawling back into bed again.
After a call from Justus Penka, our favorite milkman, Josiah bundled up and loaded his chainsaw to help out some folks with tornado damage near Atkins. Before it was all over, we wound up inviting the Penkas to stay for homemade pizza at the end of a long day. As I packed up my necessary items for a trip into town tomorrow, I eavesdropped on Papa’s conversation with Justus as he asked about Olga—how was it different here for her than it had been in Russia? Justus shared the plight of the Russian people, boxed into cities with no life, no freedom and therefore an overabundance of alcohol. As he talked, I glanced at my desk where I’d tossed a BibleLeague letter, pleading for funds for those seeking Christ in Russia. My heart is drawn toward this land—hearing the stories from Olga, Don and Taylor. Foolishly they drew the iron curtain closed in an attempt to block the light of the Son. Now they live in darkness, despair and desolation.
But those who walked in darkness have seen a great light…
Lord, Thou art the light of life
Thou shines on darkness, pain and strife
And bids those lost within their walls
To seek Thy name and humbly call.
The maze of sin which swallows man
Lies open, bare, before Thy hand.
Thy light, which is the world’s life
Can safely lead through pain and strife.
After a call from Justus Penka, our favorite milkman, Josiah bundled up and loaded his chainsaw to help out some folks with tornado damage near Atkins. Before it was all over, we wound up inviting the Penkas to stay for homemade pizza at the end of a long day. As I packed up my necessary items for a trip into town tomorrow, I eavesdropped on Papa’s conversation with Justus as he asked about Olga—how was it different here for her than it had been in Russia? Justus shared the plight of the Russian people, boxed into cities with no life, no freedom and therefore an overabundance of alcohol. As he talked, I glanced at my desk where I’d tossed a BibleLeague letter, pleading for funds for those seeking Christ in Russia. My heart is drawn toward this land—hearing the stories from Olga, Don and Taylor. Foolishly they drew the iron curtain closed in an attempt to block the light of the Son. Now they live in darkness, despair and desolation.
But those who walked in darkness have seen a great light…
Lord, Thou art the light of life
Thou shines on darkness, pain and strife
And bids those lost within their walls
To seek Thy name and humbly call.
The maze of sin which swallows man
Lies open, bare, before Thy hand.
Thy light, which is the world’s life
Can safely lead through pain and strife.
I Seek A Liturgy
Ah, my Father, this you seek:
Worshippers in truth and heart,
But I find throughout the week
This to be a trying part.
What within Your word commands
When to kneel or where to look?
Shall I sing and raise my hands
Or peruse Your holy book?
My flesh would seek a liturgy
Worshippers in truth and heart,
But I find throughout the week
This to be a trying part.
What within Your word commands
When to kneel or where to look?
Shall I sing and raise my hands
Or peruse Your holy book?
My flesh would seek a liturgy
Instead of choosing simple praise.
You wish I'd set Your Spirit free
To worship you in many ways.
For when Your Spirit acts upon
The truth I've hidden in my mind,
My life's a living liturgy,
I find.