Spiritual Stones

Winding along the eastern boundary of Minnesota, in some spots with powerful rapids and in others without a ripple, is the Kettle River.  The role of this river in creation was, in my opinion, twofold.  First, it was created to drain the water that accumulates along it’s eighty-three mile course into the St. Croix river which, in turn, carries it to the Mississippi river and ultimately into the Gulf of Mexico.

God’s second purpose in creating this river was....and I say this humbly, but with a certain degree of certainty...his second purpose in creating it was to give it to me.  I do not claim the whole river as mine but, I am convinced, that a five or six mile stretch was carved by the finger of the Creator for me.  This section that I have declared as mine was claimed as one of the world’s most perfect playgrounds by countless kids who grew up along its banks.  The cliffs along the river were arranged as a massive jungle gym.  It’s as if the trees that bring beauty to the river’s banks were constructed to be climbed, created forests to be explored and provided the material for forts to be built.  The river itself was the perfect swimming pool as well as the ideal place to idle away an afternoon sitting on its banks with a Zebco rod and reel trying to catch fish.

As mentioned, generations of kids would claim the Kettle River as their own.  While I would be among  that group, my rationale for God creating this particular section of the river for me  comes from my adult years.  It is along the muddy waters of that river where I have had some of my deepest and most intimate times of fellowship with the God of creation.  It is in that place, more than any other, that God becomes Abba to me.  It is there, among the beauty and solitude, that my spirit touches the fringes of eternity and God’s Spirit touches the deepest part of my being.  I have written before of the request I have made to the Father that I be put in charge of these few miles of the Kettle River when this era ends but I leave that in His hands. (Lessons from Abby and Hunter)

It is along this river where, more than a century ago, sandstone rock was quarried and used to construct buildings locally as well as around the state.  Workers would carve the stone from cliffs surrounding the river, cut them into slabs and ship them via train to wherever they were needed.  Once at the building site, stone masons would contour and mold the stones to fit properly together, and construct extremely solid and durable structures.  Even the base of the Minnesota State capital was built from sandstone rock taken from this particular quarry.

As I walk this stretch of river, I pass rock that was cut and prepared for transport probably fifty years before I was born but, for one reason or another, never made it out of the quarry.  These stones have sat for decades waiting to be used in buildings that will never be built.

As I walked past piles of these unused slabs of sandstone rock last fall, I was reminded of the rock used to build the temple King David designed and King Solomon built.  I think of the stones that were used to build God’s house in Jerusalem, and recall the scripture which describes the treatment of those stones:

“When the house was built, it was with stone prepared at the quarry, so that neither hammer nor axe nor any tool of iron was heard in the house while it was being built” 1 Kings 6:7 (ESV) 

The painstaking work that must have gone into the preparation of these special stones is awe inspiring.  In the quarry, they were carefully chosen, chiseled, molded and formed to perfectly fit together.  Some would be part of the wall, some used as arches, some foundational and others would perform various functions in this temple designed by King David.

The stonecutter went to the mountain where he would cut out huge chunks of rock from the quarry.  Then, using King David’s plan, he would begin to strike the blob of stone with a hammer, crudely forming the desired shape.  Perhaps he used other iron tools and instruments to mold and form the rock into the precise shape it needed to be to fulfill its role in the construction of the temple.  When the ringing of the hammer and chisel had quieted.  When the last sounds of the final bits of molding gave way to silence, the stone was carried to the temple, and perfectly fit into the area it was designed to fill.

My mind then wandered to the Apostle Peter’s words:

 “As you come to him, a living stone rejected by men but in the sight of God chosen and precious, you yourselves like living stones are being built up as a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.   For it stands in Scripture: “Behold, I am laying in Zion a stone, a cornerstone chosen and precious, and whoever believes in him will not be put to shame.”   

1 Peter 2:4-6 (ESV)

I do not know what my Father’s heavenly temple will look like, but he has had the design from eternity, and in that I find rest.  I rest, as well, in the assurance that I am one of his living stones being prepared for my Abba’s spiritual house.  I realize that as I walk through this life, I am walking through the Creator’s quarry.  And I find peace among the noise of life knowing that, like a skilled stonecutter, He is chiseling and molding me into a living stone that will fit perfectly into his eternal spiritual house.

So I trust myself to the Master Stonecutter, longing for the day when the noise of the chiseling grows dimmer, and the sound of the molding gives way to silence.  The day when my time in this quarry will end, and I will be carried to my Father’s heavenly temple, and perfectly fit into the area I was designed to fill.

Wonder In The Wandering

“For who has understood the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?  But we have the mind of Christ.”  1 Corinthians 2:16

In a sense, it seems like a contradiction, doesn’t it?  In quoting from Isaiah, Paul makes the argument that no one can begin to truly understand or completely comprehend the plans, feelings, views and designs of God.  At the same time, the one who belongs to Christ, and is led by his Spirit, shares the views, feelings, and purposes of Christ.  So, while we are in the flesh, it is not possible for man to fully understand God’s nature but, through Christ, His nature can be revealed through us.

I mention this because my mind has been wandering again.  As I sit in the quietness, I have spent time dwelling on everything from the creation of all things to the crucifixion of the one who created all things.

This type of contemplation is not an attempt to understand the “hows" and the “whys” of the Father, but rather it is an exercise that draws me into the vastness of the God I serve.  It allows my soul to begin to touch the immenseness of the Father who has chosen me, with all my faults and imperfections, all my blemishes and scars, and whispered in my ear, “I am Abba.  You belong to me.”  And, it is there, in the stillness, pondering the awesome grandeur of all he has done, that I begin to see more of the glory of my Father.  I begin to see more of the perfection of his plan and his purposes.  

It is in that place, not understanding, but lost in the vastness of the glory, plan and purposes of the Father, I begin to see beauty.  I begin to experience the beauty of everything that is God.  In the end, Jonathan Edwards would argue, that is the goal of the Christian life, “To enjoy and reflect the beauty of God.” 

In these all too rare moments, when my soul is captivated by the shear immenseness of all things and the beauty of my Lord, there is complete contentment.  There is remarkable peace.  There is indescribable tranquility.  They are instants in time which provide glimpses of future glory when time will be no more.  They are occasions of prayer without words.  Praise without sound.  Worship that bows my soul in silence before my Abba. 

It is here that I relate to King David’s greatest desire and his passionate request :

One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire in his temple.   Psalm 27:4 (ESV) 

God is holy, to be sure.  His love is faultless, and his plans and purposes flawless.  His glory, reflected in all things, is indescribable.  Every attribute of God is perfect in perfection.  But, in eternity, when we gaze on the infinite divine virtues that make the Father who He is, we will see beauty.  And, we will spend eternity gazing upon the sheer, continually increasing beauty that flows from our Abba.  Our delight will be in him and him alone. 

In these all to short times of silent prayer, my soul touches the outermost fringe of that beauty...that delight...and cries with deep longing, “Come, Lord Jesus!” 

But I digress.  Here’s where my mind has been wandering the past couple of weeks.  Christmas is past, but I find myself still captivated by the thought of God stepping from glory to humanity and placing himself, as a helpless little baby, in the hands of man.    
 
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  He was in the beginning with God.  All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made”. John 1:1-3 (ESV)

And:

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.  John 1:14 (ESV)  

My meditation has been on two thoughts from these verses.  First, this Word, who both was with God and was God, created all things.  And second, this Word somehow took on human form and dwelt with man.

Having the Spirit of God in me causes every part of my being to cry out that these words are true.  And, with my mind, I can, in a very minute way, understand what this is saying.  But I am not able to picture what this would even begin to look like.  My mind cannot come close to grasping how it is remotely possible for the Word to create everything from nothing.  In fact, I cannot begin to imagine what nothing would even look like.  It’s a God dimension thing that doesn’t translate into my three dimensional world view.

The same is true of the Word becoming flesh.  I get it.  I even celebrate Christmas every year.  But picturing how that happens in three dimensional terms is just not possible.

But the Father gives me the freedom to wonder.  He allows me to take my three dimensional view, and try to wander in God dimensional territory.  That is often where I get trapped in the vastness of God, and begin to sit transfixed, gazing on his beauty.

I wonder about the Word designing the perfect ecosystem on this blessed planet.  Everything about it had to be perfect to support the life he was going to create on it. 

But, I wonder, when he created trees to gather energy from the sun and designed them to also convert the carbon dioxide that animal life would exhale into oxygen for that same life to inhale....when he created those trees, did he picture one of them cut into beams, and formed into a cross, in order to crucify the flesh he was going to become?

When he added thorn bushes to his perfect ecosystem, did he look toward the day when one of them would be used to form a crown of mockery that would be jammed onto the head of the flesh he was going to become?

When flax became part of his creation, part of the unique biosphere, did he envision the linen that would come from it be made into the garments that would be gambled for at the foot of the cross he would suffer on, or the robe that Herod would place on him to ridicule him?  Did he see the flesh he was going to become being placed, broken, battered, beaten, and lifeless into the shroud of linen made from the seed of the flax he was creating?

When the Word placed iron ore into the ground of the favored planet, did he visualize the day it would be taken from the ground, smelted, and made into steel that would form the nails that would hold the flesh he would become to the cross made from the tree he created?  Did he imagine the same steel being formed into the hammer that would pound the nails through his hands and feet into the cold beams?  Did he think of the steel that would form the spearhead of the spear that would pierce the side of the flesh that he would become?

There are so many things.

When the Word created man from the dust, and sent life giving blood pumping through his body, did he think of the future day when he would become flesh, and the life giving blood would drip from his body?  When he gave him nerves to feel, and sense pain, did he imagine the pain that would be inflicted on him when he became flesh?  When he gave man a body of flesh, did he anticipate the day the nails would be driven into his hands and feet?  Or the moment the spear would pierce the flesh of his side?

There are, obviously, no answers to these questions, for they belong to God’s dimension alone.  But, I consider them, not for answers, but because they take me to that place of the vastness of God.  And from there, it is a short trip to beholding his beauty.  And then just a small step to delighting in that beauty.  And, for now, that is more than enough.  For in that place, I become keenly aware that, while I may not know everything the Word was thinking when he spun things into existence, His Spirit bears witness to my spirit, that he was thinking of me.  And, in that there is rest.      


  

 

Good Friday

One hill.  Three crosses.  Three men, caught in the Roman justice system, hanging on them.

And the Roman empire knew how to conduct a crucifixion: a lingering death, designed not only to maximize suffering, but to completely humiliate at the same time.  Once on the cross, nails through the wrists and feet would have pierced major nerves causing immediate, severe, radiating pain through the arms and legs. More than likely, the weight of the body on the arms would have caused dislocation of the shoulders or elbows.   And that's merely the beginning.

From the start, any movement would cause pain.  Fresh wounds from the scourging would rub against the rough wood of the cross causing torment with each slight shift of the body.  Through most of the ordeal, the victim's weight would be on his feet with the chest leaning forward placing maximum strain on the arms and dislocated shoulders.  As the arms began to fatigue, the cramps would begin.  Muscles would begin to knot causing relentlessly deep, throbbing pain.

But it gets worse.  Whether by design or accident, the pain of crucifixion was maximized with every breath.  As mentioned, the victim would lean forward with his weight centered on his feet.  From this position, he would be able to inhale, but he was not able to exhale.  Even to get one little breath, the victim would have to struggle to raise himself on nail pierced feet just to expel the air in his lungs.  He would then slump forward again until the body demanded oxygen.  Every breath would be an exercise in excruciating pain reverberating through the whole body.

One hill.  Three crosses.  And three men hanging on them.

The men on the end crosses were convicted thief's.  The one hanging on the middle cross was slightly more controversial.  Jewish leaders considered him a blasphemer, a threat to their religion.  Roman leaders considered him an inconvenience.  The man himself claimed to be not only the long awaited Messiah, but the very Son of God.

Just a little side note.  The same choices are before us two thousand years later, for any who will consider him.  He either was a blasphemer, a man who will threaten the religious.  Or he's merely an inconvenience, something to explain away whenever we hear his name.  Or he was the Messiah, the Son of God.

The man on the middle cross, this Jesus, pushed himself up and exhaled.  He slumped forward, drew a breath and spoke.  He spoke to his Father on behalf of the Jewish and Roman leaders who had sentenced him to hang on that cross.  He spoke on behalf of the centurion's who had pounded in the spikes, and were now gambling for his clothes.  "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do."

Through a fog of pain, one of the thief's listened in amazement.  Why isn't this man screaming his innocence? 

Why isn't he demanding justice or vengeance? 

Why, of all things, does he ask that God forgive those who have done these horrendous things to him? 

The thief, more than anyone on that hill, knew the agony the man on the middle cross is enduring.  And yet he sees the peace. 

He sees the acceptance. 

He sees the determination.

The thief considers the options that have faced every person since that horrendous Friday afternoon....that day when man destroyed the most beautiful and perfect thing to ever walk this earth.  He considers the options, and turns to Jesus with one humble request.  "Please remember me." 

He doesn't ask to be delivered from pain. 

He doesn't plead to live. 

He's not after wealth or prosperity or glory. 

He asks for one thing....only to be remembered.

One simple request.  And one marvelous response.  The Messiah turns to the man and, I believe, with compassion in his eyes speaks the words, "This day you will be with me in Paradise." 

A beautiful promise of forgiveness.
 
A promise of hope and peace. 

A man who, by his own admission, was thoroughly guilty. A man with no redeeming quality in him, dares to utter one humble request.  But he utters it to the one with every redeeming quality.  With his final breaths he trusted the man on the middle cross, and that made all the difference.

That is the gospel in its most gruesome and beautiful form.  A horrendous death paving the way for a life of hope and purpose for those who consider the options and, like the thief on the cross, trust the crucified redeemer.

And, as we pause to remember the brutal death of the Messiah, we remember the fact that, "It's only Friday...Sunday's coming." 

Random Christmas Thoughts

With deafening silence, the snow covered the dregs of a long summer and a short fall. The strong breath of winter fought the determination of the few remaining leaves, as they fiercely battled their inevitable plunge into the deepening whiteness. Indeed, it was a losing struggle, as the green, lush, life of summer gave way to the cold, white, death of winter. The earth tilted on its axis, slowly spinning its way to the dark side of the sun, and as it has for as long as the generations of man can recall, changed the scene for the inhabitants of this lonely planet.

Indeed, the motion of these heavenly bodies alter the scenes, and each passing year opens a new act, but for a mere wisp of time, the players and the actors remain the same. With each trip around the sun, the stage we call earth loses a few of the actors, but they are soon replaced, and the new performers play the role as well, or better than the ones who have left, and thus, the play continues.

Huddled around the fire in the ancient log house, I watched the man stoke his fire, then his pipe, before he poured a measure of whiskey into his coffee cup. His age was unknown, perhaps even to himself, but the grizzled growth on his face and the shoulder length white hair, spoke of many years past eighty. The eyes revealed the wisdom of those years, while the mind was as agile as the most prominent physician.

He offered me coffee and I accepted, but as he lifted the bottle, I shook my head with the explanation, “I'm a Christian, you see.”

“Ah, I am sorry, I did not understand, “ he said with a smile, as he replaced the stopper and set the bottle on the floor between us. The smile brought out the wrinkle lines of laughter around his eyes and at the corners of his lips. Lines from years of laughing at the joys as well as mourning the sorrows and pain only this life can bring.

The white-haired old man was considered strange by the village actors. For as long as the people of the community could remember, he had lived in his tiny log cabin on the side of the mountain, with nature and solitude as his sole companions. He often came to the village and watched the activity with his distinctive smile, and always returned to the mountain shaking his head in amused bewilderment. While the consensus of the village was that he was truly a bizarre sort of person, I was intrigued with his unique personality. He was in church quite often, and always sat quietly in the back row listening intently, although he seldom spoke. When there was a need in the community he was among the first to respond, and yet, the thespians of our small region spent large amounts of time ridiculing this aged man who shared his fire with me.

Logs crackled on the grate, the storm blew at the shutters, and the snow continued to fall. The old man and I sat in the warmth of the comfortable silence, me sipping my coffee, while he enjoyed the mixture in his cup. It was the Christmas Eve of my sixtieth year, and I had determined to find the meaning behind the acting and the reason for the performance.

In the village, the players were preparing to act their parts. Some were walking through bar doors, others through church doors, and still others were sitting quietly at home. Most of them, truth be told, were using the joy of the season to cover the quiet desperation of the life that dwelt beneath the veil of the actor. Granted, I probably should have been seeking answers from inside the doors of my church rather than from this eccentric recluse, but something had drawn me to him on this, my sixtieth Christmas Eve. For the whole of my fifth decade, I had evaluated the people of the village one by one, and had reached the conclusion that the man from the mountain was the most satisfied and content person in our little world. He was also the most real....the most alive....and I was determined to find his secret before another year had passed.

Minutes in the cabin became an hour before I was able to begin my inquiry. With our feet stretched toward the hungry flame, we talked the small talk of strangers as the wind brought us the chords of many voices singing, “Come Let Us Adore Him,” from the church below. “Joy to the World,” and, “What Child is This,” followed before I was able to form the question. During the final verse of, “Silent Night,” I quietly whispered, “My friend, what is your secret?”

His smile grew wider and the laugh lines clearer as he stared at the leaping flames before us. “My secret for what?” he asked, without turning his eyes from the blaze.

“For the peace you have, for the quiet joy, for the contentment the rest of us pretend to have. You are most satisfied person I have ever known, and I need to know the reason for it. I need to know the secret!” The words poured from me with a power of their own as I laid my desire before him.

“Tomorrow is Christmas, and we celebrate God coming to our planet in the form of a helpless little baby,” he began. “Contentment begins and ends with that child. It begins and ends with the Messiah, Jesus Christ....but you already know that. You're a leader in the church down there. You have heard it preached and taught for so many years that this is not a great revelation to you.”

“It's not! I am a Christian!” I nearly shouted at him in my frustration. “Many of the people down there are Christians, but the joy and contentment seems, so often, to be a show. They are merely actors playing the role of people at peace with themselves and their God. Don't you see! The masks change with every new audience, and what is authentic is slowly covered by layers of make up. With you, it's real....it's never a performance. You must have something we don't have. I need to know the secret.”

“Actually,” came the reply. “You have an ability I have never acquired. You learned to color within the lines.” The blank look on my face and my silence brought another smile to the ancient face as he tried to explain. “When you are very young and you color a picture it is acceptable to go outside of the lines. If you want a man with a purple face, you color the face purple. If you have a fancy for pink leaves, you make the leaves pink. If you want some of the color to go outside of the lines, you color outside of the lines. It's the pure joy and privilege of a child to color his picture any way he pleases. Is this not true?”

“It most certainly is true, “ I answered, trying to understand what a child coloring outside the lines of a picture had to do with tranquility. He saw my bewilderment, smiled again, and continued.

“When you reach a certain age, someone, perhaps a parent or teacher, explains to you that faces really are not purple, and it would be better to use flesh tones when doing a face. So, you begin using flesh colors on all your faces, and some of the joy of coloring is lost. Then someone else laughs at you for making your leaves pink, so you start coloring them green, while a little more of the delight of creating slips away from you. Finally, the day comes when you are told that in order for your work to be acceptable, you really need to color within the lines. Then, as you take pains to stay within the lines, all the pleasure is gone from the creation. I just never learned to color within the lines.”

My friend slowly rose from the chair and added another log to the fire, while I considered the words he had spoken. How could the coloring lessons of a child account for the contentment and joy that flowed through this man's life? I hesitated to ask, lest he think me slow, but I needed to understand, and when determination overcame my pride, I voiced the question.

Again, the patient smile and the gentle voice, “ I discovered at a young age that people, whether they be friends, relatives, or merely acquaintances, will usually desire that we color within the lines of their accepted behavior. Anything outside of their narrowly drawn lines constitutes a threat, and people do not deal well with anything that threatens them. They react with ridicule, contempt, scorn, and often times, violence toward anyone or anything that dares paint outside of the lines they have drawn. Early in life, I determined to accept the negative, rather than color within the lines of other people's prejudices and, for me, it has proven a good choice.”

“I have often seen you in church. The church provides us with lines we must stay within,” I reminded him.

“Correction.” came the reply. “This Baby, whose birth we are preparing to celebrate, provides us with the various colors and shades we have to work with; the bible you often carry with you, helps us define the lines and the shapes; And finally, God's Holy Spirit in our hearts shows us how the lines and colors of our picture are to fit together. Religion and theology often times limit us to the boundaries of that particular religion and its set of beliefs. It is, indeed, easier for us to stay within the confines of doctrine rather than seeking the boundaries God has set for the picture that is our life. Yes, it truly is easier. The danger of coloring within those lines, however, is becoming something less than what God has intended for us to be. Because of this, I refuse to be forced to color within any lines other that the lines given me by God through Jesus Christ and his Word as revealed to me by his Holy Spirit. To live any other way buries the person the Father created you to be underneath layers of colors and shapes thrust on you by the world. Most people go through life with their true identity, the person they were created to be, buried under expectations placed on them by friends, family, religion and life in general. Over the years, they become performers, playing a role placed on them by others that should never have been theirs.

“You realize, of course,” I couldn't help pointing out, “That the actors in the village consider you to be a rather strange and peculiar person,”

“I understand that and wholeheartedly expect it,” he said with a laugh that lit up his entire face. “I have always understood that there is a cost to coloring faces purple in a world that expects flesh tones, and there is a price to pay when you have a fondness for pink leaves in a green-leafed world. And, most definitely, you will be ridiculed when you color outside of the lines of the defined behavior of any society. I am of the opinion that this Child of Mary's never learned to color within the lines. He grew to an adult coloring outside of the conventional lines of religion, theology, and society. He used colors they never would have dreamed of using along with shapes they had never imagined, and because of that, He was nailed to a tree. Being judged strange and peculiar by a few petty people is rather mild by comparison, wouldn't you agree?”

With the fire slowly turning to embers, and the storm beginning to die, I sat in the warmth of the cabin, finishing my coffee, and contemplating his words. The midnight chimes of the village church stirred me from my meditation. My white-haired companion was asleep in his chair, the same peaceful smile on his face.

I drew a blanket to his chin and whispered, “Merry Christmas and thank you, old one.” Pulling on my coat, I stepped into the cold winter air and began my descent to the village below. I silently prayed that the layers of expectations I had allowed to be placed on me by others would be stripped away so that I might live out my years as the person the Creator made me to be. Sometime during that walk, I determined that in the year to come, I would definitely color a couple of faces purple, and a few leaves pink.....and, if I liked what I saw, I might even start coloring outside of the lines.

Creation and the Cross

“For who has understood the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?  But we have the mind of Christ." 1 Corinthians 2:16

In a sense, it seems like a contradiction, doesn't it?  In quoting from Isaiah, Paul makes the argument that no one can begin to truly understand or completely comprehend the plans, feelings, views and designs of God.  At the same time, the one who belongs to Christ, and is led by his Spirit, shares the views, feelings, and purposes of Christ.  So, while we are in the flesh, it is not possible for man to fully understand God's nature but, through Christ, His nature can be revealed through us.

I mention this because my mind has been wandering again.  As I sit in the quietness, I have spent time dwelling on everything from the creation of all things to the crucifixion of the one who created all things.

This type of contemplation is not an attempt to understand the, "hows' and the "whys," of the the Father, but rather it is an exercise that draws me into the vastness of the God I serve.  It allows my soul to begin to touch the immenseness of the Father who has chosen me, with all my faults and imperfections, all my blemishes and scars, and whispered in my ear, "I am Abba.  You belong to me."  And, it is there, in the stillness, pondering the awesome grandeur of all he has done, that I begin to see more of the glory of my Father.  I begin to see more of the perfection of his plan and his purposes.  

It is in that place, not understanding, but lost in the vastness of the glory, plan and purposes of the Father, I begin to see beauty.  I begin to experience the beauty of everything that is God.  In the end, Jonathan Edwards would argue, that is the goal of the Christian life, "To enjoy and reflect the beauty of God." 

In these moments, when my soul is captivated by the shear immenseness of all things and the beauty of my Lord, there is complete contentment.  There is remarkable peace.  There is indescribable tranquility.  They are instants in time which provide glimpses of future glory when time will be no more.  They are occasions of prayer without words.  Praise without sound.  Worship that bows my soul in silence before my Abba. 

It is here that I relate to King David's greatest desire and his passionate request :

One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire in his temple.   Psalm 27:4 (ESV) 

God is holy, to be sure.  His love is faultless, his plans and purposes flawless.  His glory, reflected in all things, is indescribable.  Every attribute of God is perfect in perfection.  But, in eternity, when we gaze on all the divine virtues that make the Father who he is, we will see beauty.  And, we will spend eternity gazing upon the sheer, continually increasing, beauty that flows from our Abba.

In these all to short times of silent prayer, my soul touches the outermost fringe of that beauty, and cries with deep longing, "Come, Lord Jesus!" 

But I digress.  Here's where my mind has been wandering this past week.  The week in which we remember Christ's passion and resurrection.
 
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  He was in the beginning with God.  All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made". John 1:1-3 (ESV) 
 
And:

"And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.  John 1:14 (ESV)  

My meditation has been on two thoughts from these verses.  First, this Word, who both was with God and was God, created all things.  And second, this Word somehow took on human form and dwelt with man.

Having the Spirit of God in me causes every part of my being to cry out that these words are true.  And, with my mind, I can partially understand what this is saying.  But I am not able to picture what this would even begin to look like.  My mind cannot come close to grasping how it is remotely possible for the Word to create everything from nothing.  In fact, I cannot begin to imagine what nothing would even look like.  It's a God dimension thing that doesn't translate into my three dimensional world view.

The same is true of the Word becoming flesh.  I get it.  I even celebrate Christmas every year.  But picturing how that happens in three dimensional terms is just not possible.

But the Father gives me the freedom to wonder.  He allows me to take my three dimensional view, and try to wander in God dimensional territory.  That is often where I get trapped in the vastness of God, and begin to sit transfixed, gazing on his beauty.

I wonder about the Word designing the perfect ecosystem on this blessed planet.  Everything about it had to be ideal to support the life he was going to create on it.  But, I wonder, when he created trees to gather energy from the sun he spoke into existence, and to convert the carbon dioxide that animal life would exhale into oxygen for that same life to inhale, what thoughts crossed his mind?  When he created those trees, did he picture one of them cut into beams, and formed into a cross, in order to crucify the flesh he was going to become?

When he added thorn bushes to his perfect ecosystem, did he look toward the day when one of them would be used to form a crown of mockery that would be jammed onto the head of the flesh he was going to become?

When flax became part of his creation, part of the unique biosphere, did he envision the linen that would come from it being made into the garments that would be gambled for at the foot of the cross, or the robe that Herod would place on him to ridicule him?  Did he see the flesh he was going to become being placed, broken, battered, beaten, and lifeless into the shroud of linen made from the seed of the flax he was creating?

When the Word placed iron ore into the ground of the favored planet, did he visualize the day it would be taken from the ground, smelted, and made into steel?  Particularly, did he picture the day that steel would form the nails that would hold his flesh to the cross made from the tree he created?  Did he imagine the same steel being formed into the hammer that would pound the nails through his hands and feet into the cold beams?  Did he think of the steel that would form the spearhead of the spear that would pierce the side of the flesh that he would become?

There are so many things.

When the Word created man from the dust, and sent life giving blood pumping through his body, did he think of the future day when he would become flesh, and the life giving blood would drip from his body?  When the Word gave man nerves to feel, and sense pain, did he imagine the pain that would be inflicted on him when he became flesh?  When he gave man a body of flesh, did he anticipate the day the nails would be driven into the flesh of his hands and feet?  Or the moment the spear would pierce the flesh of his side?

There are, obviously, no answers to these questions, for they belong to God's dimension alone.  But, I consider them when I sit in stillness, not for answers, but because they take me to that place of the vastness of God.  And from there, it is a short trip to beholding his beauty.  And, for now, that is more than enough.  For in that place, I become keenly aware that, while I may not know everything the Word was thinking when he spun things into existence, His Spirit bears witness to my spirit, that he was thinking of me.  And, in that, there is rest.      

Give, And it Will be Given to You

"Give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” Luke 6:38 (ESV)

What a difference a semicolon can make.

Luke 6:38 is one of the most recognized scriptures in the bible, especially among my more Charismatic and Pentecostal friends.  I cannot imagine the number of times I have heard it used to encourage believer's to give of their finances.  I am certain I have used it on a number of occasions myself.  To be sure, it is a solid and true principle of God, that giving of our resources to the building the Kingdom of God is the best investment we can make with our money.  And the principle of reaping a sowing is, in my opinion, not just a biblical precept for the believer, but a universal law designed by God that is as sure and reliable as his law of gravity. (2 Corinthians 9:6)  So, to be clear, I believe Christians should be giving of their finances, as God directs, for the building of his kingdom.  And, I believe the Father honors that obedience.

As mentioned, Luke 6:38 was one of the scriptures I used to back that principle.   

But then I saw the semicolon.  More specifically, I saw the semicolon and the small letter, "g,."  When I saw those two things,  I had to ask myself what Jesus meant when he said, "give."  The question became, what is he really asking me to give?

Whatever the give means, the rewards of giving it are awesome.  It's going to be given back in, "Good measure."  It's going to be given back, "Pressed down, shaken together, and running over."   The picture Christ is painting here is that of a measuring container into which as much grain as possible is packed.  The container is then shaken so that the grain settles, and more is poured in until the container overflows.  The bottom line is, Christ is saying that when we give whatever it is we're supposed to give, whatever we have given will be multiplied back to us big time.  And it will be measured back by the same measure we use to give it out.   

So why did I begin to question what Christ was asking us to give?  Let me explain.  Every year, I use a different translation of the bible for my reading time.  This year it happens to be the ESV.  As I read this scripture in the ESV, I was reminded that the books of the bible were not written with chapters and verses.  I think we forget that sometimes.  While chapters and verses make it handy to identify a specific portion of the bible, there are times when they do us a disservice as we try to understand what was truly written.  They can, for example, make us forget that a certain verse does not stand independently from what was written before or after the verse.  When Luke was writing this portion of his letter to Theophilus, he didn't pause after verse thirty-seven and think, "Now what do I want to say in verse thirty-eight."  Here's how these two verses are translated in the ESV: 

“Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” Luke 6:37-38 (ESV)

Do you see the semicolon and the small "g."  The thought is continuous.  It is continuous through the whole chapter, but for our purposes we will go back to verse thirty-five, and consider what Christ is asking his followers to do.

• Love your enemies, and do good. 
• Lend, expecting nothing in return.
• Be merciful.
• Do not judge.
• Do not condemn.
• Forgive.

Then comes the semi-colon.  In other versions, it's a period.  He tells them to do these things, and then tells them to give.  He doesn't tell them what to give because he has told them in the prior verses.

• Give love to your enemies. 
• Give to those who are in need expecting nothing in return.
• Give mercy.
• Give grace instead of judgment.
• Give compassion instead of condemnation.
• Give forgiveness.

When we give these things, they will be given back to us.  They will be given back to us, "Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over."  But the reminder is,  "For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.”

Matthew gives a condensed version of this teaching in Matthew 7:1-2 when he writes:

 “Judge not, that you be not judged.  For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you."  Matthew 7:1-2 (ESV)

In fact, both Matthew and Luke follow these words of Christ's with the caution of removing the log in our eye, before we try to remove the speck that is in our brother's eye.

Friend, when the Father withholds our final breath, and we pass from time to eternity.  When our eyes are closed to this world and truly opened to the Kingdom of God, we will be overpowered with his love.  Grace and mercy will flow through us and swirl around us.  We will feel the Father's incomprehensible compassion as we realize for the first time the magnitude of his forgiveness toward us because of the Son's sacrifice on Calvary.  If we belong to him, we will experience these things regardless of the love we've shown or the grace, mercy and compassion we've displayed.   We will be forgiven, even if we have been slow to forgive while we walked the earth.  Everything in eternity will be based on what Christ has done for us rather than what we have earned, and for that I am so very thankful.  "For it is by grace you have been saved through faith: and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God."  Ephesians 2:8.

I would suggest, however, that with these verses in Luke 6, Christ is inviting us to bring a taste of what we will experience through Christ in his heavenly kingdom, to our daily lives as we journey toward the indescribably brilliant home he has prepared for us.  He desires for us to bring a portion of kingdom living to a narcissistic, self-indulged world.  As we make our way toward everlasting grace and glory, he would have us leave traces of that grace and glory in the footprints we leave behind.

Follow me now.

In the middle of chapter 6, Christ spends a night praying on a mountain and then chooses his apostles.  He comes down the mountain with the chosen twelve to a throng of people, stands before the crowd, and begins to preach.  The sermon he preached is the remainder of chapter 6. 

He begins with what has become known as the Beatitudes, in which he declares that the poor, the meek, those that mourn, the merciful, the peacemakers, the pure of heart, those that thirst for justice, and those that are persecuted provide the ideal heart condition of a kingdom citizen. (Expanded from Matthew 5)   "Poor in spirit," speaks to an awareness of spiritual bankruptcy apart from Christ.  Those who morn are those who are truly grieved and broken over sin.  The meek exemplify Christ's gentleness.  "Hunger and thirst," are descriptive of those who crave the righteousness of God.  The merciful are forgiving and compassionate.  To be, "pure in heart, " speaks to the internal cleansing that is required for entering God's presence.  And, finally, there is a blessing for being, "persecuted for righteousness."

In general, Christ gives them an introduction to the journey he is about to take them on.  A journey that will ultimately lead them to the blessings of an eternity with the God of creation in the glorious heaven he is preparing for them.  But not before they wander for a time in the fallen wilderness of this world. 

Next he explains that during this wandering, they will live in a way that is counterintuitive to the way the world lives.  Along the way, they are going to love their enemies.  They are going to do good to those who hate them, bless those who curse them and pray for those who abuse them.  If someone takes something from them, they are not going to demand it back.  In fact, they're going to even offer to give them more. 

They are going to wander the wilderness leaving the grace and glory of their Father with every step. 

That brings us to the verse we started began with:
 
"Give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” Luke 6:38 (ESV)

Remember, when we walk into the glory of God's heavenly kingdom, we will be immersed in immeasurable love, grace, mercy, compassion and forgiveness.  And, even though all of it was purchased for us by Christ at Calvary, we are not able to experience the true depth of any of it as long as we live in this body of decaying flesh.    “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?”  1 Corinthians 15:55 (ESV)

But God blesses us in allowing us to have a taste of it now.  He allows us to have a measure of it now.  I would suggest that the measure we use will be the measure we receive back.  Not in eternity, but now.  When I give love, I am able receive it back by the same measure that I gave it, with one exception.  The measure will be pressed down, shaken together, and running over.  The same is true when I choose grace over judgment, mercy over condemnation, and forgiveness over retribution.  All of things have been purchased for us, they're free for us, we don't have to do anything to earn them.  But to be able to receive them is greatly increased when, by the power of God's Spirit, we are able to give them. 

Is it always easy.  Absolutely not.  But by the measure I give these thing, my ability to receive them will be measured back to me.  Love for love, grace for grace, mercy for mercy, compassion for compassion, and forgiveness for forgiveness.  More importantly, as I make my way toward the eternal heavenly kingdom, I will be leaving glimpses of that kingdom on the path I travel. 
  

Conversations With Myself

"But I am not ashamed; for I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day."   2 Timothy 1:12 (NASB)

I have been, by my own admission, a rather bipolar person when it comes to my spiritual walk.  I have had marvelous mountain top experiences, only to find myself in the lowest of valleys digging a well.  But I am convinced that the same grace that held me as I soared from the peaks, cradled me as I was tunneling in the valley.  I was no more saved on the days when I was soaring than I was on the days I was tumbling, and I was no less saved when I was burrowing into the depths than on the days I was ascending.  Schizophrenic in my walk at times, but always secure....."For I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day."

Most of us, if we are honest with ourselves, will admit that our journey has not always been a straight ascent to the spiritual perfection that we envisioned when the walk began.  There are highs and there are lows.  Some of the lows are self inflicted, some them are inflicted by others, and sometimes things just happen that cause the footings of faith to give way and the slide to begin.

As I prayed this morning, I contemplated these things.  I questioned these things.  I considered what I would, if it were possible, tell the young man that would become the person I am today, if I could speak to him at the beginning of the journey.  After six decades of living, what advice would I pass on to him.  As I begin to enjoy the sunset, what would I want to have known as I watched the sun rise on this excursion that would be my life.

To be sure, I would try to tell him the things he should do, as well as the things he should stay away from.  I would outline the paths to take, and the routes to avoid.  I would tell him those things knowing full well that they would be ignored for I have obviously lived with the DNA my younger self was dealt, and understand fully the challenge.  The DNA that drives the compulsiveness, the self-sufficiency, and the rebelliousness.  I have lived with the pride and ego that accompanies the human experience.  So I would tell him, but knowing our nature, understanding all the while that they would largely be discounted.

I would tell him that the world will often hate him.  Sometimes for things he has done.  For not being the person he should have been.  Other times for not allowing himself to be molded into something he wasn't created to be.  But the world, for all it's attractions, would not be his friend.  The world would make every attempt to persuade him to define himself by his actions.  To define himself by the things he has done.....either good or bad.  I would tell him that the prince of the world he would be traversing draws no greater thrill than causing him to label his identity by his mistakes.  His enemy's greatest victory comes from persuading him that his identity lies in his failures.  That he is defined by what he has done.

But then, I would place my hands on the sides of his face, look him squarely in the eyes, and with all the intensity that was in me tell him, "But listen.... 'I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day."

And then I would tell him that he was going to have a friend that was going to stick closer than a brother.  I would tell him that friend was so intimately acquainted with him that he weaved the DNA that made him the person he was.  For the designer's purpose alone, for the Creator's plan,and with his divine direction, that friend wove the strands that would form the mold of what made us who we are.

I would tell the younger me that it would be from that friend that he needed to draw his identity.  When the world says that you are worthless, that friend says that you were worth him coming to earth to be nailed to a tree.  When the world says that you are unlovable, that friend says that you are loved with the unconditional love of the Creator of all things.  When the prince of this world whispers in your ear that you are the chief of all sinners, the King of Kings wraps his scarred hands around you and says that you are sinless.  When the world tells you that you are lost, Christ smiles and reminds you that he is the one leading you home.  He reminds you that he will never leave you or forsake you.     

I would tell him these things hoping that he would spend more days listening to the truth from his Savior, rather than living with the identifiers placed on him by the world.  Hoping that he would draw his worth from who he belongs to rather than the things he had done. 

But then I would tell him that if he forgets everything else...if he takes some wrong paths....if he defines himself more by what the world says than what his Savior says.  Even if he forgets all that I tried to tell him, I would tell him to write these words on his heart...."Never, ever, even on the darkest, most stormy of days forget that, 'I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day."