ebenezer

Prayer Hands

2011-04-26T10:33:00.003-06:00

This time lapse video was taken at Bear Valley Church's 24hr worship experience titled "Hide Away with God." Prayer Hands was one of nine tactile "stations" for experiencing God and connecting our community through prayer, confession, and contemplation. Live worship through music of diverse styles was lifted up for 24 hours straight, as participants moved in and out of the sanctuary and through the contemplative stations, in and out of their work day. It was a powerful time.

The music is from Derek Webb's collaborative project and instrumental album titled "Feedback." You should check it out: http://www.derekwebb.com/

Phoenix

2011-02-01T23:24:00.003-07:00

A phoenix from the flames... I will rise.

So much Vibrancy!

2011-02-01T23:11:00.003-07:00

How did I let this practice of blogging slip away? I just re-read much of it, and there is so much vibrancy. So much promise. So much emotion and truth. So many crystallized fragments of wisdom that briefly flashed past this distorted looking glass of mine. They would have dissipated into the aether never to be remembered had they not been codified here.

WRITE IT DOWN!

That's a challenge to you. To me. Let's get back to it.

11 Months

2011-02-01T22:06:00.002-07:00

It's been eleven months since something was posted here. Eleven months. Hard ones. Good ones. Challenging ones. Ones full of the obscuring mists of uncertainty and sideline endeavors while waiting... waiting... not so patiently for freedom.

I feel like a taughtly drawn arrow yearning to fly and find its mark!

But if I am an arrow, my smith has left a fletch askew. So sharpened is my point! So straight the shaft! But this fletch vexes me... How can I fly straight and true with a fletch askew? Yet still I am drawn taught and eager to soar, rising and falling with the archer's breath as the mists swirl and slowly dissipate before us. waiting... waiting... not so patiently for freedom.

Impersonal and Distant

2010-03-06T21:58:00.002-07:00

I am wondering what to do when someone confides that they see Jesus as impersonal and distant, especially when they say they are unsure what to do about it. I find that I am often at a loss for words in that moment. Their sentiment always hits me like a phaser on stun. And like I am some red shirt yeoman, that moment seems to happen over and over... and over. While I don't tend to deal in pat answers, I feel the need to speak to their honest and earnestly shared sense that Jesus just isn't engaged at all in their lives. I mean - isn't connecting confused and alienated people to God at least a part of what this seminary degree is supposed to be equipping me to do? When it comes to professed Christians saying that Jesus seems impersonal and distant, my problem may be that I can't relate.

Don't misunderstand... I remember when I didn't give a thought to the existence of God at all. God? whatever... who cares? Not relevant. But he so radically impacted my life in answer to my initial inquiry into Christianity that I rarely if ever doubt his personal nature.

Don't misunderstand... I STILL know what it is like to feel distant from God. I sin, and I duly reap the consequence in perceived distance from my God. There is one key word in that last sentence. Even when I feel distant, Jesus is MY God. Personal. Always. Even in distance.

When that distance is there, from experience I know that it is temporary. The gap between me and God has been perpetually bridged by Christ. If I become conscious that the distance is there, I can turn! i can lay it all down again. I need to do little more than flip some internal mental switch and my sense of God's close presence with me returns.

Maybe I NEED to deal in Scripture's pat answers. But I resist because I want to connect. I want to relate, and woo, and gently guide. Just for fun, let's review some of scripture's pat answers off the top of my head:

God seems impersonal and distant?

1. Confess your sins and he is faithful and just to forgive and cleanse you of all unrighteousness.
2. Repent! For the kingdom of heaven is near!
3. Come to me all who are weary and I will give you rest.
4. A humble heart, God will not despise.
5. Behold I stand at the door and knock.

That is some good stuff! As far as pat answers Go, I couldn't find many better.

Immanuel

2009-12-04T21:49:00.005-07:00

God with us

He made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. Mary gave birth to him, her firstborn son, in a stable. She laid him in a feed trough, because there was no place for them in the inn. He is a man like us in every way save one. He was without sin. Look and wonder at the babe in a manger. How does the fullness of God dwell with the fullness of man?

My Story (part one)

2009-11-27T22:58:00.000-07:00

This lovely post by a dear friend has prompted me to put in writing the story of my conversion. I set out to do it in a night, but was only able to cover background. The next set of nights didn't get me any closer to the conclusion because relevant eddies waylaid my journey down the river. Understandably, I love this story. After all, it is mine. And there are delicious details I could NEVER cover in the 5-10 minutes they give you to share your testimony in a church service. Our testimonies get boiled down to elevator pitch speeches. There is a crisp efficiency in that, but what about a more baroque beauty? What of a naturalists walking pace encounter? A testimony of His handiwork is carved in these rocks too. Yet, what friend or acquaintance wants to sit down and hear a detailed documentary of some one's life?

You do?

Well then... for history! For my children! This is my witness. rough draft, part one! ;)

Enjoy!

-----

Average is not awful
We are not made for excellence
It comes at a price

Do I pour all I am
Into space, form and light?
or trade it away
for for 2.4 and a wife?

Design taking all of me,
no time to match my socks
How glorious that would be!

Yet "C" is not a crime
that disappointing balanced middle
that possible better!
given real limits.

All in one "A" basket,
and the rest to @#!*%
or spread it around
for a cumulative "C"?

Maybe I can push a high B!
I still want it all.

------

I remember riding shotgun in my friend Mark's rusty Toyota pickup with my grandmother's old couch bungeed in the bed. We were heading back to Lawrence Tech's student apartments, prize in tow for my dorm room which was something like $20 a month less expensive for being unfurnished. This was the same couch that left impressive black streaks on the concrete with a shower of sparks as the casters were ground to nubs in the 1st annual couch luge some years later. Mark and I were talking about girlfriends.

"There's no denying it." I said, "I'm an @#!*% ." My arm hung out the passenger window and cool September air started to whistle past the seat belt as we pulled out of Grandma's subdivision and onto south bound Van @#!*% . I rolled up the window.

"No, you're not." He offered, annoyed. If I was an @#!*% , what did that make him? I was the good guy, the nice guy. He was the slacker thief, the unaccomplished womanizer. I was the one who had it all together - a good family, a good career, a good woman. In truth my motives weren't that dissimilar from his. But I was a good year away from understanding that.

"No, I am." I said slowly, nonchalantly, resigned to my fate. "I'm doing whatever I can @#!*% her off and make her be the one to break up with me, so I don't have to do it. She loves me, and I'm a coward @#!*% ."

The relationship lingered, but not that long. It wasn't as painful as I thought it should be.

------

All in!
as the poker legends say.
the "A" basket it is.
I never liked matched socks anyway.

-------

Graduate school entrance essays require originality - especially for a design profession. I was still writing rough drafts on onion skin back then, letting the words flow free-form - making connections on the page, all arrows and exclamation points, delicately threading concept to concept and finding the hidden connections of word and symbol.

"Describe the significance of architecture, and why you feel called to pursue a career in design."

"Simple enough," I thought. "Architecture is my life! My one! My All! The superstitious and the weak put their trust in all sorts of things - and they do it out of fear. No social or existential crutch for me! Who needs an external prop when you can CREATE! Nothing is beyond me in this sphere. I am Master of the Universe - if I have religion, architecture is it."

-------

"So? What do you think?" I smiled proudly after reading them my first draft. I thought to myself smugly, "I've penned one of the great manifestos! Howard Roark would be proud! It's a rallying war cry for all that we've sought to become."

They sat there silent around the cafeteria table, my compatriots from the graduating class of '96, some of them slack jawed. Of course, I knew some weren't up to the call, but surely Dave - surely Shelley. They knew the instinct, the intuition, the feeling. Push! Work! Destroy! Rework... They knew. They would understand.

And then, slowly at first, words came out of their mouths. It seemed each of them gathered around this table had something to say. Strange words, almost blasphemous to my ears, unheard of words - a cripple's feeble set of words...
"What about God?"

God?!? Who says there is such a being? Surely not you. INCREDULOUS! A force? A higher power? Maybe. But a personal God?!?

"And Jesus Christ?"

Are you serious? What could a man who lived two thousand years ago possibly have to do with me?!?! SHOCKED!

"And Faith!"

FAITH? FAITH! Why would I entrust myself to some unknown and unknowable thing? I have faith in ME! I believe in my ability to take things apart, put them back together, find congruency, orchestrate beauty, discover truth!

"Who ARE you people?" Bewildered disbelief ricocheted inside my head, but my face likely didn't telegraph my dismay. I had studied alongside these men and women for three years. I knew them, so I thought. We had shared so much as we learned from the great masters of our craft, and now they come out - closet religiosos? Worse than that Christians! It was a serious blow.

Sure Dave's dad was a minister... and I was baptized Catholic! The nominal past came up on the first day of school in passing year's earlier, and never again. According to my parents the baptism was "just in case." I never attended church, save the few occasions during my early childhood when visiting Grandma. I had no interest in the goings on. But I can recall the organ! The oak and steel tubes wonderfully arranged held my attention even when not in use. I was transfixed on them through all the stand up sit down. I remember thumping the tan leather wrapped kneelers on the grey terrazzo while being repeatedly shushed and handed breath mints. We always left the service right after the Eucharist while the organ fired into closing crescendos and everyone stood. She would stream out ahead of the rush holding my little hand in her's, into the grey skied world outside, her hair held manageable against Michigan's somehow humid winter wind by a plastic babushka.

-----

Shelley walked out of the cafeteria with me that day and extended a challenge. We were crossing the quad toward architecture from the harsh brutalism of the management building. "Erik, you are downing on Christianity, but you don't know anything about it."

"Fair enough," I thought.

"We may not have been able to answer your questions, but there are answers. If you think you can take things apart, put them back together again and find truth, you should look into Christianity before you decide what it is. There is this book called Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis. You should read it."

OK, challenge accepted.

My Story (Part Two)

2009-11-26T22:33:00.000-07:00

"Dave, I'm going to the library. Want to come?"

He sat there hunching over the keyboard. His 6'-5" stature made the dorm room's little desk chair seem all the more tiny. A quick series of keystrokes, then he bounded up and with his distinctive loping gate headed for the door, "Let's Roll."

There were two copies of Mere Christianity at the Southfield Public Library. Both were old. of the 1960's hard cover, yellowed pages starting to fall out variety. One was twice as thick as the other. Dave didn't say much during our trip after I told him what I was up to. He browsed the tech manuals or maybe went looking for a good collection of sci-fi short stories. Anything by Asimov or Orson Scott Card. I'm not sure whether I took the shorter or longer version home, but I set right to reading it.

Years later I picked up a copy of Mere Christianity to own. As I read it through again I marked all the significant passages that impacted me that first time through. Each question that pierced me, each explanation that somehow put my upside down world back in order. I even made note of the section where I am fairly certain I came to believe. A month after I marked up my copy my laptop bag was stolen, along with my Bible and this well glossed edition of Mere Christianity. I wonder to this day if those notes led to somebody else coming to faith. I'll find out some day!

That night I lay in my bunk and read right up to the part where Lewis makes his case that Christ was either a liar, a lunatic, or the Lord. I remember the narrative pausing for an aside... "You should really make up your mind on this before continuing. The rest of the book won't do much good to you unless you decide." For the record... that aside wasn't in the edition I bought years later. I put the book down and went to sleep pondering: Lord, Liar, or Lunatic? Hmmm. Good and likely irrelevant teacher wasn't an option anymore.

The next day I saw Shelley in Technical Writing. She had a copy of Mere Christianity for me. "I don't need it," I said. I remember the confused look on her face, followed by surprise when she found out I took the initiative to go get the book myself. "I am half way though, I'll talk to you about it tomorrow after I finish." That statement was made to impress. "Yes, Shelley, I am the kind of person who takes challenges seriously. Just wait and I will give you my verdict." I had decided I would keep reading even though I hadn't made up my mind on the Lord, Liar, Lunatic thing.

The image from the second half of the book that resides in my soul to this day is that of a fleet of ships sailing in formation. It seems God rights our miserable un-seaworthy tubs, and even creates a system whereby he can keep us from crashing into each other. I remember how heavily my failure and incapacity in relationships weighed on me. My parents couldn't make a marriage work. I couldn't even be a decent guy to my now ex girlfriend. I knew I wasn't capable of making a relationship run smooth - in formation. Somehow God could make that work.

Sprawled on my grandmother's couch in my dorm room, with Dave asleep in his bunk in the next room, late on that November evening, somehow I knew he WAS Lord! And he deserved more status and prominence in my life.

(Man, those last two sentences are bland. They simply do not convey what had just occurred in my heart. Quickening - palpitations! Somethings just don't have words. Jesus went from being a 2000 year old teacher to the Son of God, and Lord of my life. What are the words to convey that? Shock - amazement! Somethings just don't have words.)

The next day, flush from the news of my confession that Jesus Is Lord, a giddy Shelley reached into her backpack and pulled out a slightly worn Bible. "Here. I want you to have this. Start reading in John, or Romans." I didn't even know what those instructions meant.

(to be continued) Teaser: The next three days were REALLY FUN!

My Story (Part 3)

2009-11-25T13:01:00.000-07:00

Five of us filled one of the corner booths at Denny's. It was 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning, easy. This bunch of friends, hungry after a night of role playing, were regulars for the graveyard shift enjoying grand slam breakfasts or club sandwiches with ranch dressing.

"It's real," I said. "Jesus is God. Look at my hands. They've been shaking like this for three days now."

I held them up displaying the slight Parkinson's like shake which revealed the inward transformation that was beyond remarkable to me.

"Really?" Norm's face was a mix of wonder and excitement. His eyes were big, and he had a subtle knowing smile under his sparse late teen mustache. "That's the Holy Spirit man! He's come to live inside you!"

"Wow!" I thought.

Mike slurped his runny eggs, dabbing at them with wheat toast and silently shaking his head. Mike practiced Wicca, but there was something in the sincerity of my story that he couldn't refute. Norm was the resident charismatic. He beamed, and instructed me in the ways of the Spirit - telling us all stories from Acts about Pentecost and the Apostle Paul. To my knowledge at the time Mark and Tom were unaffiliated. They stayed pretty quiet for the most part - revealing some nominal Catholic background which I took to be similar to my own.

Years later I was walking through a park in Maracay, Venezuela getting ready for some street evangelism - telling my story in somewhat broken Spanish to some believers from a sister church down there. They misconstrued the shaking to be a full out knocked down convulsions for three days. They thought it akin to Paul's Damascus road blindness. I laughed and set them straight. "Solomente los manos." It was subtle, but still a cherished indication of God's presence with me.

Nothing quite compares to the zeal of the newly converted. I wanted everyone to know the truth I had discovered. I told my mom. My sister. My friends from high school. Everyone either welcomed me to the family, or looked at me with wide eyed disbelief. But that is only one side of the story. My inner life was going through plate tectonic like shifts, and aftershocks continued to rattle my understanding of everything.

I had built my world around being an architect because every other center I tried to find for my world was lacking. My family was broken - divorce, alcohol, dysfunction. Looking back, work was our family's false hope of choice. "Why pretend?" I thought to myself. "Find your purpose in your work. Don't even waste any effort on the rest of life."

I was intensely prideful and self assured... and empty. But now, I knew what was supposed to be the center of my life. My world no longer revolved around me. God had taken his rightful place at the center. This shift of center was just as radical to my way of living as the Copernican heliocentric discovery was to science. I quickly developed the conviction that as I allowed God to be central in my life, everything else would find it's proper order, orbit and significance. Looking back, it is interesting to see how this truth continues to work itself out. I am repeatedly uncovering and relocating the things that my heart places before my God.

I decided to read Shelly's Bible from the beginning. Starting a book in the middle didn't make much sense. I had ZERO knowledge of the structure of Scripture. I made it to the second or third genealogy in Genesis before I decided to take Shelly's suggestion to heart, and began reading the Gospels. Over and over I encountered her copious margin notes and mark ups. They called out key verses, and sometimes the events that rendered them special. I could see the handwriting evolve, and the concerns deepen. Some written as early as Junior High. This book was clearly important to her. How remarkable that she would so willingly hand it over to me. How vulnerable of her to let me into this sacred world of her encounter with God through His word!

After finals that December I went to St. Andrew's Catholic Church with my dad and step mom. The service that had been so dead and lifeless to me every time before now SCREAMED with new life, and tears flowed uncontrollably down my face. Where I used to look around and wonder who else was here unwillingly and found the whole thing pointless, that Sunday I looked around and marveled at the multitude, many of whom surely new this truth that had made me new! Unconfirmed, I went forward and shared in communion for the first time. Physical symbols of the sacrificial giving of one for the sake of all. Broken body, shed blood. "Gloria in excelsis Deo" resounded with trumpeters in the balcony and incense coming down the aisle. The shape of the sanctuary a veritable chimney of praise - with a large central skylight, supported by concave curved heavy timber rafters - like a standing rack of lamb. Every prayer, every reading from scripture was flush with new life. Together we recited the creed and I feI was overwhelmed. I worship with tears to this day just at the memory. I had found home. I had found the center and purpose of life. I had found my Lord and Savior, my redeemer and father, my Abba.

A forever prodigal had found his way home.

Dave would come back to our apartment to find me reading the Bible. With a sigh he would retire to the bedroom. Norm and I would have long discussions about faith and God and Scripture. Will pulled me aside and wanted to compere the NIV I was reading with his KJV... Verse by verse he took me though their differences. To me it seemed they were saying the same thing, I didn't understand the significance. Shelly and I would meet for lunch and discuss the people she was praying for.

Turns out my conversion was a collateral answer to her prayer for another man's salvation. Shelly had been talking to our mutual friend Alex about faith in Christ for nearly three years by that point. He wasn't having any of it. One night Shelley was home - discouraged - praying that God would show her what she was doing wrong. She so desperately wanted to have some indication that she was witnessing the right way - that God was moving around and through her. She was yearning for her efforts to bear fruit. The next day I shared my essay around that cafeteria table. The day after that I was a new creation because Shelly asked God for some fruit. Within the year Alex joined the family too. He was a groomsman in my wedding, and our families spend time together to this day.

Months later after reading the whole new testament and most of the old in Shelly's Bible I gave it back to her. She was so grateful - acknowledging that it was hard for her to find anything in her new Bible. I bought one for myself just like hers.

I was baptised catholic just in case - converted by the writings of an Anglican - instructed by charismatic - discipled as a baptist. I cherish the diversity of the bride of Christ. We are one in Him. He is manifold in us.

That is the story of my conversion - The End of the beginning. :)

Artistry - Excelence - and Worship

2009-11-01T20:32:00.002-07:00

Today was a "yee-haw" roaring good time of worship at Bear Valley Church. I am consistently moved by both the heart and skill of those who lead us into worship each Sunday. The rhythm and and pace varies drastically from week to week, but the heart and skill of those who draw my heart to sing praises to my God never seem to wane. This week was straight up bluegrass! - with a mandolin, flying fiddle, upright bass and everything. We didn't just offer up old timey spirituals like "I saw the light," and "I'll fly away." (We did sing those, and they were AWESOME!) But, there were bluegrass arrangements of more contemporary works as well.

I found myslef lifting my hands in voiceless praise as the musicians picked and fiddled extravagant bridges between the choruses. Thank you God for your gifts. Thank you God for allowing us to fellowship with you and with one another through offerings of artistry and excelence. You love diversity - I know it is true just looking at your creation. You have created us diversely as well. And we offer up to you a diversity of praise!

Be glorified! Yee Haw!

My Best Work

2009-10-05T01:03:00.003-06:00

Maybe its just because it is 1am and I've been staring at the monitor post processing for the last 2 hours... But I just had a moment of complete shock that this beautiful family is mine.

What do we want?

2009-10-01T21:53:00.005-06:00

The dialects of creativity are authenticity and hope. Authenticity communicates the distance between brokenness and beauty. It's not that much. Hope communicates the distance between the already and the not yet. It too is not that much.

The poets and mythologies know all about it. We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words — to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.

That is why the poets tell us such lovely falsehoods. They talk as if the west wind could really sweep into a human soul; but it can't. They tell us that "beauty born of murmuring sound" will pass into human face; but it won't. Or not yet.

We cannot mingle with the splendours we see. But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumour that it will not always be so. Some day, God willing, we shall get in.

~C. S. Lewis
The Weight of Glory (1949)

Summer Projects

2009-09-24T16:55:00.001-06:00

I didn't blog all that much this summer. I was doing to many other projects, things that required not a little time. Here is a sampling:

The Prayer Closet

2009-09-23T11:16:00.004-06:00

This last Sunday night my wife and I dropped our kids off at Children's Choir and went for a walk around the lake next to our church. Before the "date night" was over we ended up praying together in one of the newly remodeled prayer rooms at our church. The rooms are used by prayer teams/ministers on Sunday mornings with those who are in need.

My call to ministry is in Spiritual Direction with and through art.

I was contemplating the bare walls of the little room, and wondering about what it would be like for these walls to be adorned with ebenezers. My first thought was that such objects might be intimidating to the uninitiated - when their focus should be on encountering God through prayer in the moment. Then I saw a vision of this little prayer closet opening onto a huge rotund gallery of paintings and sculptures and objects commemorating encounters with God. I was overwhelmed. To make a long story short - I feel this vision is a calling to be involved in the prayer ministry of our church - engaging others in their journey, offering Spiritual Direction, creating and helping others to create their own ebenezers. What FUN!

In many ways this is an outward call that includes the inward practices of quiet, reflection, surrender, and prayer. It is both humbling and exciting to think that the ministry before me exists in a little unadorned windowless closet.

Our Prayer

2009-09-10T22:57:00.005-06:00

Like cold steel shackles chafe and burn the skin, rubbing raw and scaring. I watch despair and incapacitating obligation bite viciously through to their bones.

Then a flash of bright springtime green with little yellow flowers dotting the field and cotton wisps floating in the air. In slow motion stretching, yearning eyes heavenward, leaving the earth she leaps, a pirouette of joyous vibrant color, the icy black chains falling broken back to the ground.

and back again to black eyed doubt and duty. Peeling wallpaper, rust and must make their home in bewildered blinded hearts, becoming embittered - cracked and peeling just like the walls of this cell. Like late fall leaves caught up in a thorny juniper, dry and crackling, so fragile after a season with no rain.

How to remove them without crushing them to dust?

The enemy watches too. Giggling with glee at his priceless catch of princes and queens.

Oh tears! Sweet gift of tears! Flow like sacred waters of baptism. Immerse these drying souls and soften them - be a salve for their affliction. Holy tears from our savior.

Look up and feel the life giving summer rain as it kicks up coronas of dead and dying dust all around you with each weighty plop.

Plop

Plop

Stand up from the spiritual squalor and humbly stretch your needy arms upward in the downpour of his compassion and care.

Lord hear our prayer.

a dream - The Visitor

2009-08-29T07:52:00.007-06:00

Hovering above me as I slept in my bed he scratched out, "You don't want to forget this." The somehow familiar hoarse whisper. He set a small box on my nightstand. I woke up slowly, without fear and with too slight an annoyance. In hindsight I wonder how this could be. A looming figure in our bedroom in the middle of the night, three children asleep just across the hall.

Lean and disheveled, his unkempt greying beard disguised leathery sunken cheeks under deep set dark eyes. Well worn khakis two sizes too big were heavily cinched at his waist. His soiled t-shirt fell over them smelling of stale cigarettes, sweat and beer. The faint blue moon illuminated the silence through sheer shades gently wafting. I glanced at my unstiring wife, and scanned his hands for weapons. A gaunt yet imposing visage belying a wiry strength, I knew he didn't need any. So I rolled out of bed gently sliding his clandestine delivery off the nightstand and holding it protectively to my gut.

We stood together in my grandfather's pristine garage with plastic flowery curtains hiding the clean work bench and well sharpened gardening tools. All around was the comforting warm sweet aroma of lubricating oil mixed with grass clippings. Our only illumination from the half light side door spilled askew across the space. His half lit disturbing presence juxtaposed against the light in stark angular vertically. He turned to face me.

"I don't want this," I said, holding the box out to him. I felt like a ghost outside of myself, like I should be fearing for my life, but I am beyond fear of pain or injury. No! Like I should be fearing for my soul, and a nauseating tingle rose up my spine.

"That's fine," he offered slowly through a pursed frown, shaking his head and casually swinging his sinewy arms in a wide gesture that he really couldn't care less. He took a step away from me, his gaze sweeping across the painted concrete floor.

"Then take it back," I thought to myself.

In the driveway now, his dark junker of a work truck, bent and rusting, overflowed with debris and filthy tools. The driver side door was open and an empty beer can fell out, bounced twice and then rolled with a hollow tinkle out toward the street. He stood there pacing in the glow of the orange sodium street lamp where the well trimmed lawn met the sidewalk.

I watched empty handed next to the house as he unzipped and took a leak on my grandfather's roses. "You're going to want it back," he intoned, hostile.

"I don't think so," I offered calmly confidently, controlling a wired alertness ready to react - to run or to fight. He stared right through me, throwing all of his energy into that piercing gaze, penetrating my soul. There he met an outside strength that bolstered me and allowed me to stand despite my fear. A strength that assured me the battle was uneven in my favor.

"Oh, You're going to regret that," he threatened as he undid his belt and let down those two sizes too big khakis and began to defecate on my driveway.

I turned and went inside.

Play House Follow up

2009-08-08T23:48:00.010-06:00

Here are a few pictures of the different playhouses from the gala. The night of the gala was overcast and rainy. A shame, because there was low turn out. All told they raised around $20,000 for their non-profit.

The week of wear and tear from being on display at the children's museum did minor harm to most of the houses. The only thing we couldn't touch up: They had removed the bell cord, and try as we might we couldn't get it re-threaded inside.

Our steering wheel survived though!

I got a lot of compliments for SPOT. In the end our firehouse was the biggest dollar bringer at auction, though in my opinion, it wasn't best of show...

This beauty was dubbed an "artist's studio," and had a chalk board inside. The week at the museum left it completely covered with chalk tags and names. It looked fantastic. I thought it was a shame they hosed it down for the gala. If I were to buy one of these playhouses, this would be the one. It now has a home in the backyard of a posh 1920's mansion near Cheeseman Park in Denver.

"Chia House" photographs better than it looks in person. Construction wise I doubt it will make it through a winter.

Act now and your child could have the COOLEST lemonade stand on the block...

This "space station" was completely covered in zinc panels! We are speculating that the price it fetched at auction wouldn't even cover the cost of the siding.

All in all, working on the playhouse competition was a fun experience. I think we can do a much better job, much more efficiently next year.

Three Fires

2009-08-08T23:28:00.001-06:00

This economy is getting the best of me

2009-08-08T22:20:00.005-06:00

I wish I could say the sweet scented smears of sunscreen and the whistling slightly over-seared dogs being snatched from certain fiery death by my tongs just in time for dinner has been occupying my carefree mind this summer, keeping me content if not slightly too full and a wee bit sticky. But truth be told, I've been sinking. sinking... sinking...

Going under. Glancing up far too calmly at the swirling immense complexity of it all clicking and whirring away without me. "Isn't that interesting?" I think to myself. Down. down... down...

Here I sit, Monday through Thursday, earning what feels like too much pay for this... this... sitting.

Grateful to be employed, but with lack of good meaningful work to do a curious little battle for my self worth is being waged. As if I was a genteel spectator at a civil war battle, I watch the flying darts and arrows of occupational malaise pierce my own soul. Lethargic - almost disinterested. Their seeping poison making me sleepy.

One more lap around the empty office? Another cup of coffee? What am I doing here? Isn't there something more important I could be doing? Is this pay check worth it?

How did work get all tied up with money anyway? Work is good for the soul. But money without work has me caught like a greedy monkey with his clenched fist in a jar.

Hey! I would listen if You told me to let go. I thought you should know.

Playhouse Design

2009-07-15T17:07:00.005-06:00

Well times are slow for us architects right now. In our lull we contributed some time for a fun fund raiser for a local affordable housing developer, Rocky Mountain Communities. They are on display at the Children's museum for the next week and a half. If you are in Denver on July 25th consider attending the gala and bidding on one of the five playhouses designed by local architects for your backyard.

We designed a firehouse complete with a fire engine to drive, a bell to ring, a ladder to climb, and a real brass pole to slide down! The engine house mascot "Spot" even has his own doggy door!

I have a couple of quick shots from set up this morning. The signage was installed later. I'll get a few more shots at the gala. Some of the other entries are pretty cool too!

Good Friends, Summer, Special Days, and Lost Shoes

2009-06-28T00:08:00.002-06:00

Good Friends

3 days this week we spent some good quality time hanging out and talking with friends. I love watching my wife light up and engage in conversation - loving on and enjoying the people who are important to her - to us. We are not extroverts, but company brings out the best in both of us, I think.

Summer

Our backyard has a large box elder tree with a swing, and an even taller European linden tree that flowers with these strange light green wisps giving it a great rich two tone hue this time of year. Tonight around twilight the lawn was freshly mowed and the garden was weeded and most of the toys were picked up. The sprinkler was running. I plugged in the strands of white Christmas lights that run through our patio awning, and just soaked in the crisp summer air, feeling the misted grass between my toes. I love summer in Colorado. I love our backyard.

Special Days

Amanda and I have been married 10 years. She asked me, over dinner as we celebrated, what some of my favorite memories were from these ten years. I had a few significant ones to share. But right now the only thing that occupies my mind are glimpses of her joy finding expression in sparkling laughing eyes, - her nurture metered out to an infant asleep on her chest, - her contentment seated beside me holding hands on the couch. Truly, it is all the little insignificant memories of these last 10 years of blessings that make me long for more.

To the next 10 and beyond sweetie!

Lost Shoes

I found two navy blue crocs in the bathroom tonight. They are beloved, well worn, and sized perfectly for a 5 year old boy. The house was dark, and everyone else was asleep. I looked at them and remembered all the frustration that ensued hours before when these shoes could not be found.

"They're not in the shoe basket, not in your room, not in the backyard buried in the sand, not in the playroom, not in the basement, not in the car, not in the living room, not in the kitchen , not in the dining room. None of the normal places you lose them. Maybe you need to go barefoot to remember to put your shoes away!"

*sigh*

They are really small shoes, sized perfectly for a 5 year old boy, sitting there on the bath mat next to the tub with foam cutouts to stick on the glass during bath time. I love the little feet that fill those shoes. He deserves better than my aggravated impatience. I'm going to miss those really small crocs when they are replaced with size 15 sneakers. And even more when they won't be found on my floor anymore.

Lord Jesus, hear mr prayers, petitions, and thanksgiving for good friends, Summer, special days, and especially for lost shoes!

I Will Rise

2009-06-16T23:02:00.002-06:00

"I'm on fire when you're near me. I'm on fire when you speak."

Sunday worship has been moving me to speechless silence and tears. The experience is a potent visceral oomph like my chest is opened and waves of joy and praise are lapping my soul as I raise my hands to heaven. There is NOTHING that compares to my invitation into His life. There is no sensation as tremendous as pure worship. Not sex. Not Drugs. Not Alcohol. Nothing compares...

Nothing.

"Yes, I will rise when he calls my name!"

Dads Rock

2009-05-20T00:10:00.003-06:00

I got a quick little graphic art assignment from church last Tuesday. "Can we get it by Thursday." OK. Sounds fun.

Chrysalis Christianity

2009-05-11T15:48:00.003-06:00

I sit across from people and help identify their present: Right now, Who are you? Who is God? How are you living? Sometimes I see the incongruities between the answers to those three questions. Their faith penetrates the soil of their lives, often quite deeply, like roots - twisting, turning, burrowing, making room, fracturing the hard pan and clay. But so many (all) have rocks and even boulders where that faith does not seem to penetrate. Sometimes those boulders are so obvious, so incongruant, so much an obstacle that I feel this impatient need to pull out the jackhammer.

I know it hurts, SIT STILL! It's for your own good don't you know!

For the record, God is not this way.

I was talking with a mentor the other day, and she confirmed that this festering impatience is in her too. "But you can't squeeze a butterfly out of its chrysalis." That's the picture I left with that day.

God lets wheat and tares grow up together. He explains, "because while you are pulling the weeds, you may root up the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest."

Clearly we are to tend the garden of our souls, but don't let impatience or guilt cloud the underlying truth. We the elect are already planted as true good seed right down to the DNA, but not yet fulfilled. He is faithful to complete what he has started!

"I know he is faithful" they say, "in my head anyway..."

That is a great place to start. Lets talk about what you know of His faithfulness!

Rabbit Heart

2009-05-04T23:59:00.001-06:00

Rabbit heart danced in perpetual jerky fitfull loops

"Never stopping means always safe," she gasped,
bloodshot eyes scanning the horizon.

Rock heart watched with persisting calm and curious wonder

Rabbit's burning circuit.

This way, that
This way, that
Going, going

nowhere fast

With determined measure and a slow certainty

Rock placed his hand as an obstacle to her circuit.

from the corner of the eye,

a stationary blur,

Ahead unmoving... Shock.

Stumble or stand?

Stumble or Stand!?!

skidding on her chin to a gritty halt.

Listen... he intoned.

*silence*

Can you hear ?

*silence*

Listen...

Three Questions

2009-05-04T23:44:00.002-06:00

Are two words copyrightable? If so, see here. Put your dime in that cup.

Who am I?

Who is God?

How am I living?

It ALL comes back to this: Know yourself. Know God. Move forward.

Peripateo is a Greek word that translates as a beautiful mix of walking and living. To LIVE means to MOVE.

These three simple questions open a door to discernment and growth in the Spirit that astounds me time after time after time.

Today:

I am peaceful, though there is trouble.

He is in control, my firm foundation.

One blind step at a time.

Going to Print

2009-04-15T21:25:00.003-06:00

Nothing like a deadline to bring a work to completion. I am finally pleased with it. I am taking it to print in the morning. Now it needs a title. the working title is "sacrifice," but it has spoken so much more than that to me over these last few weeks. I've got a few days to decide on the title. I am submitting this painting and Co-Heir in the Bear Valley Visual Arts Show, which will run through the 26th. I'll let you know how it is received.

I've was invited to speak at Cherry Hills Community Church. This image will likely be the centerpiece of that engagement. We haven't finalized the date yet. It will be sometime this summer after I am through with finals.

Both And

2009-04-13T21:52:00.002-06:00

Have you noticed,

Almost every psalm turns back to God.

Art is an abiding language.

You can't be in its presence and stray for long.

It takes you into itself.

It doesn't just scream truth into the aether.

It always invites you in.

Feel it

Experience it

Know it intimately

abide

This quality makes art profoundly apologetic,

connecting heart and mind.

Didactic teaching cannot be

the Gospel without words.

Cracking the Nut

2009-04-08T17:25:00.002-06:00

In a past life I found a mathematical metaphor for everything I loved about Architectural Design. It was the Leplace transform. Take calculus and turn it into algebra. You could write an infomercial about this thing.

"It slices , it dices, it makes mounds and mounds of coleslaw!"

What I loved about Architectural Design was solving a complex problem through the means of an artificial conceptual framework. All of the difficulties came together easily once the concept was discerned. Once the nut is cracked in that conceptual world, you can "transform" it back into our world as built form. And it didn't really matter to me if anyone inhabiting the built form ever knew the concept. I knew it. I let it take up residence in my built form. It peaked at you from every corner, because each detail was informed by the concept holding the space together. With great assurance and even pride I knew the built form reverberated with a deep truth, a central kernel that made it beautiful, and right, and maybe even perfect! At least that was the goal.

Jesus Christ was the transform in my life. I let Him take up residence in me. He peaks out at you from every corner because each detail is being informed by the God Man who holds this space together.

Now I am trying to discern the "nut" that needs to be cracked in this painting. This painting is a detail of my life that needs to be informed by Christ. Yet, it isn't for me. I am designing a work of art that every person will possess and assess differently. Truly this is the beauty of art. As each person abides with the work, it somehow unlocks the truths that are within them. I need to see that the painting is more like the transform than the complex puzzle to be solved. We are the complex puzzle to be solved.

She asked me, "Have you asked God what the nut is?"

"Hmmm, No. Let's do that!"

As I drove up Santa Fe yesterday I asked Him. Do you know what He said?

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Work In Progress

2009-03-30T23:07:00.003-06:00

I am attempting to "complete the process" this semester - cross the finish line - persevere - diligently cross my t's and dot my i's. To bring it past the inspiration to the fulfillment of purpose. And I mean that for all of life really, not just this painting. But this yet unfinished painting is a signpost at a fork in the road. What do I do now to complete it? What do you see here?

Which is the likeness of Christ? Which is the likeness I want for myself? Which do I want for you, brother? For you, Sister? For you, son? For you, daughter?

I see the dissonance between the sacrificial servant savior bloodied and beaten, ready to die, extending his hand of blessing to one pristine and polished with good posture.

At once I feel grateful for His sacrificial blessing, and yet see the ways I am far from His likeness. What is this good news transforming us into?

Cast off the distancing mask of perfection.
Embrace the melody of brokenness and the melody of grace.
He has shown the way.

The Sacrifice

2009-03-16T22:08:00.002-06:00

How do you know when you have given enough?

When can you say, "I need?"

I might die before you right now,

But I will do so for you.

This is Sacrifice

And I give all

Edward Knippers

2009-03-16T16:30:00.001-06:00

http://www.edknippers.com/

For those who may not be familiar, I would love to hear your feedback on Edward Knippers paintings. His Pieta brings me to tears every time.

Two Vignettes

2009-03-07T11:05:00.003-07:00

I feel it...
like some sort of inward creep
THICK & SOLID

not pushed by desire
just habit

numbing
deadening
clouding

STOP!
_________________

Oh gentle ache
Tell me your name
Oh tender pain
All mine
All mine
Lost loved one
still heart break
to the rim
Rising
Rising
But it won't overflow

Numinous

2009-02-19T12:48:00.008-07:00

"I have come to view human psychology as the efficiency of one's functioning, and human spirituality as the dynamic process of love in one's life."

(May, Care of mind -Care of Spirit, XVI)

God isn't efficient in terms of economy or expediency, much preferring the costly and circuitous path. Yet God is efficient in terms of being effective - performing and functioning in the best possible manner. I like May's phrase, the dynamic process of love. It describes the Holy Spirit's actions in our lives. Not expedient by any means - but entirely effective!

I've stumbled on a new word. Numinous. As in, "pay attention to the numinous - that which surpasses comprehension - the supernaturally mysterious presence and activity of God." I used to describe my way of thinking on nearly all topics as nebulous. I don't work with a hard and fast grid that I fact check everything against. My knowledge and understanding hangs low and thick like a fog, full of sensation, but hard to nail down. At any moment the answer is within grasp. I've become adept at navigating this mental humidity, where it would drive others I know quite crazy.

In terms of faith and theology I was comfortable dwelling in the nebulous-ness of God and His truth, not being a dogmatic sort of fellow. But numinous is so much more appropriate word than nebulous for describing God, isn't it? It's not the nebulous fluff, the fuzzy, undefined-ness of God that I like; it is the mind stretching transcendent-ness of God that refuses to be pinned down or contained by particulars, and yet is actively working all things in each of us who are called according to His purpose. It is that part of Him that you know deep down is true and present and loving and active, but if someone asks you how you know, you can't quite give it adequate words.

Until now - NUMINOUS!

Much of Paul's "pray without ceasing" can be seen as dwelling with attention to the numinous. Much of spiritual direction can be seen as helping others pay attention to the numinous. Our inefficient numinous God so often goes unrecognized because we keep our eyes down, three feet ahead on the path so as not to stumble. We miss him entirely like we miss that brilliant sunset during the congested commute home after a particularly hard day.

Pay attention to the numinous!

Confession

2009-02-09T20:23:00.004-07:00

Art is public confession, but it is speaking in tongues. So the communal act is in search of an interpreter. I've been looking through the journal for the last few weeks, and I ~confess~ a bit of aprehension at posting. What do you see/hear here?

Coming down to the ground
Grit under nails
Hoarse cries and the limits of flesh
Not shallow
Deep full and rich life
Something to ponder
Something to marvel at
To keep you up late at night
Scratching your temple

Live of die
Survive or thrive
It rests on the Lord
As do I
No intermediary
But the wagon is full
We'll pick more up along the way
Set course, hoist sail, on the way
Not naive or proud
But with strange assurance
Hope
Trust
Fear
Awe
And rapid sobs bulge my eyes under clenched lids

I'm not good enough
I'm not up to this
I'm not holy enough
I'm not entirely his
I need to be
I want to be
I want to be
I need to be
And He says I am
So I am
Please
Please
Please
Have mercy?
Empower?
Sanctify?
Give Wisdom?
Don't Leave
That's it really

God, Don't Leave.
I'm lost without you and I can't be lost
They need me not to be lost
They deserve me not to be lost

Here Lord, Have my faith.

Unapologetic Visibility

2009-01-26T23:12:00.006-07:00

I have been sitting on an article I read for months now. I've shared it with a few friends at seminary. Another friend had the magazine for several weeks. I've been anticipating sharing it here. Waiting for a time that seemed right. Wondering what I would write.

It's about 11:14 pm right now and the magazine is on my bed stand upstairs next to my sleeping wife. I'm not going to go get it. But I want to share the feeling it gave me.

Months ago I was lying in bed reading this article and felt a strange sensation. A tingle of recognition and anticipation. A sort of tension in the chest, coupled with the hint of smile and a glisten in the eye. A sense that something profound was just said, that some truth was just lit by a subtle but unmistakable flash of brilliance. It's a feeling I love and it is all to rare, nearly unique to this article, save one book. It happens all the time when I read the Word.

I make no claims of inspiration for this article. I think that sensation was more about the Holy Spirit within me than anything. God can speak to you anywhere if you listen. And that night Artur Grabowski spoke deeply into my heart of hearts. His insight resonated with my own, though his life experience was entirely different. It made me want to know him. To find him. To talk to him more about this truth he could so eloquently expound! To find out how these insights have shaped his walk of faith. To ask him to tell me more!

I've read the article at least three times through, and I underlined at least 20% of it. Here is one line (Do I risk it from memory?) that stood out, shared here completely out of context.

We only have room in our faith based intellectual salons for clean shaven mystics in designer suits. I fear this kind of apophatic faith is like a government job - secure and undemanding.

The article was published in Image Journal, issue 59. It was titled Unapologetic Visibility. It was regarding our loss of individual ability and even the communal spiritual value of imagining God. His picture of practicing faith was full of risk and mess and sublime encounter as the church together shared vividly their insights experiences and speculations into the person of God. In the face of the risk he offered that God imagined poorly in the community of God and context of faith is better than a God not thought of at all, left to the experts.

I think He's right. We can't let fear of getting it wrong, of hitting the wrong notes, stop of from hearing, playing, and enjoying the music of grace.

So I challenge you. Imagine Him. Show me Christ in a photograph. Imagine him with a brush. Let the words flow from your pen. Capture the exuberance of regeneration with a pirouette. Bake sacrificial love into a pie. Give voice to that place inside that is transformed by His very presence, and share it with those around you.

Maybe they will get a strange sensation and ask you to tell them more.

Up Down All Around

2009-01-24T10:03:00.006-07:00

This last Sunday was our last at our church home for the last six years. Amanda and I have been processing the departure together, and it has a strange mix of relief, sadness, excitement, and anxiousness. This is going to be a season of activity requiring some discipline. For the first time in a... well... maybe for the first time ever, I feel the entirety of the "head of household" responsibility for the spiritual well being of our family. God is good, and faithful, and present. But the local church as a conduit of His grace and care for our souls is now less present, less constant - removed to the outlying status of distant relatives rather than the tight knit nuclear family it has been.

There is a more pressing urgency to be acting on past discernment, and to be bringing all attentiveness to His still small voice. Seminary starts again on Monday. I am grateful to be rekindling time spent before the Lord with attentive Mentors and Spiritual Directors!

I have to decide whether my Character Formation Learning Contract this semester will be specifically related to artistic growth and expression, or a more traditionally central discipline. To do artistry would be to have the T/M process at seminary end in a clean arc with a common thread. To do the other is to hold the discovery and growth I have had integrating my creativity with my faith in its proper position. My identity is still in Christ. My focus is still submitted humble obedience to his will and call. Artistry is simply a gift and evidence of His imparted image. It is who I am in Him, but it is not all that I am in Him. I am leaning toward a focus on body prayer. Integrating my physical awareness and activity into the surrendered life of faith hangs out there as untested, unattained.

Finding Galilee

2009-01-10T22:31:00.003-07:00

Memories dance vaguely out of reach
of laughter, acceptance, peace, and inspiration...
But now a heaviness weights her chest
and it seems connected somehow to her eyes,
Because it is drawing long heavy drops down her face.

Searching frantic and confused
trembling and bewildered
in this dead and empty place
made for dry bones and linen
Dark all around
An unvoiceable cry burns in her throat
as her eyes dart back and forth
hands clutching her face for fear it might escape
and end her

Where was that place in memory sweet?
I can't seem to remember anymore.
How did I ever walk out the door?

You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene who was crucified. He is not here. He is risen! He is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see Him. Just as he told you.

So she is finding Galilee
A forgotten land, lost somehow, taken away
She is finding Galilee
The home of promise and beginnings
She is finding Galilee
Where He held her close and called her His own
She is finding Galilee
Where she prays He waits for her still

---

I show the way home through tears of my own
Offer wide embrace wipe tears from her face
I do not wait in a distant lands
No hell or torment keeps me from your hand.

Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?

Rabboni!

I am with you always to the end of the age.

Like a Mustard Seed

2008-12-18T07:03:00.002-07:00

This little concept sketch about faith was developed for a "make a gift for < $5" exchange. I'm not completely satisfied with it. The woman as "Faith rooted in prayer" needs to be a bit more stylized.

Play Me

2008-12-17T22:58:00.011-07:00

You are the sun

I am the moon

You are the word

I am the tune

Play me!

I was invited to the Denver stop of Neil Diamond's world tour tonight. And for the record, NEIL DIAMOND ROCKS!

Yes, my 30 year old sister and I rocked out with a bunch of grey hairs as the 67 year old Neil out did himself with a non stop, no intermission, 2 1/2 hour show. We were teethed on this guy's music. Our father lived and breathed Neil through the 80's.

He's got to be up there among the best song writers to ever live. He has an uncanny ability to reach down into the depths of a situation and make you feel it down to your toes. With that rich raspy voice and gift for melody he exudes Joy, Pain, Loneliness, Love, heartbreak, patriotism...

and Faith.

I noticed something tonight... A red thread in his work. A presence of the Holy. A wrestling with God, a questioning, then a discovery! And in the later work a coming home, a rest and a peace.

This was no Evangelical worship fest, but it was indeed a God honoring christian concert. His body of work speaks for itself. Consider this artist's song of salvation. She is the Holy Spirit.

PLAY ME

She was morning

And I was night time

I one day woke up

To find her lying

Beside my bed

I softly said

"Come take me"

For I've been lonely

In need of someone

As though I'd done

Someone wrong somewhere

I don't know where

Come lately

You are the sun

I am the moon

You are the words

I am the tune

Play me

Song she sang to me

Song she brang to me

Words that rang in me

Rhyme that sprang from me

Warmed the night

And what was right

Became me

You are the sun

I am the moon

You are the words

I am the tune

Play me

And so it was

That I came to travel

Upon a road

That was thorned and narrow

Another place

Another grace

Would save me

You are the sun

I am the moon

You are the word

I am the tune

Play me

The subtlety and beauty of these lyrics astound me. The task of the artist is to tell it slant. We communicate in ways that compel attention, but are not pregnant with clarity of meaning. A little discernment is required. Perhaps a work of the Spirit. Consider Christ's Parables!

No question this song gained popular acceptance as a song of romantic love and a muse. But this song is a beautiful prayer of submission and humility before God. God is the source, he is a mere reflector of God's glory. God is the message, he is colorful presentation - an instrument in His hand. And Neil offers his prayer: Play me!

This is my prayer.

Check out his lyrics from the last few years. They are more blatant in their content. These songs were new to me tonight:

Man of God, Pretty Amazing Grace, Hell Yeah

These songs aren't on his greatest hits albums. In fact his last few albums have barely gone gold, after having had a stream of multi platinum. They are worth another look though. This man is pointing us to God.

Emergence

2008-12-11T22:33:00.006-07:00

God, I am in Love with you. I desire nothing but you. I want to die so I can see you right now face to face. You have my all. Where else can I go? You not only have the words of life, you are the lover of my soul. There is no way I can be taken out of your hand. Hardship may come. Doubt and pain likely lie before me. But come what may, I choose to say blessed be your name. I am yours.

You are faithful... when I am faithless. You are strong... when I am weak. You are impassioned... when I am apathetic. You just ARE. period. And I can't get enough of knowing you.

I pursued you and found you where you were to be seen. But there were places I did not look. Places I thought were out of bounds to you. (Imagine that) That is why I was in awe to find you within me, shaping down to the depths, guiding up from the abyss, and emerging victorious! I was shocked to see you in my own reflection. But I am not shocked anymore. I believe what you have told me. I know who I am. I am yours. I see that it is true! Lord, point me where I am to go.

You patch the broken vessels. You breath life into the dust. You restore that which was fallen. I am living proof.

Don't just be in me, Lord Jesus. Live in me.

Trees Walking

2008-12-06T21:57:00.006-07:00

He looked up and said, "I see people; they look like trees walking around."

Did Jesus' power wane on that day he healed the blind man's sight? My theology says no, but that day it took two tries to achieve clarity of sight.

A traditional interpretation tells us Jesus uses different means to the same ends, and His more earthy means do not negate His divinity or omnipotence. In other words, it wasn't a screw up.

A little spit.
A little mud.
Rub it in the eyes.
Two tries

- then the man could finally see clearly.

While true, that interpretation sidesteps something. What is the point of Christ's methods, and the intermediate outcome? As I understand God's workings, He seems to care so much about journey and the means. The journey and the means of getting there are just as important as the destination and the end. And in this healing passage we encounter such a strange mid point on the journey - people like trees walking around.

We could be rational - scientific! Maybe the first try healed his eyes allowing the light to reach his brain, but a second healing was needed to fill his brain with all the necessary neural pathways and signs and symbols to understand what he could now see. Maybe...

But what if the middle step wasn't a deficiency or an accident? What if the man saw something true? What if he saw something real? A deeper alternate discernment that is not of the eyes? What if it was granted temporarily to him so it could be recorded in Scripture for all of us?

What if we, indeed, are the trees walking around?

The type of a tree is used again and again in God's revelation. There's the tree of knowledge of good and evil - the gateway to depravity. There's the burning bush - God making himself visible. There's the hyssop branch used to brush the doorpost with blood - marking God's people to be passed over. Then of course the Cross - God's chosen instrument of salvation. Vines and branches, bearing fruit, mustard seeds, withered figs, on and on. And this blind man sees people like trees walking around.

I don't mean to push a mixed metaphor too far, and I certainly am. But we could do a lot worse than seeing people as trees walking around.

The other night I had a vision. A dark tree was split by a light descending which unfolded into a book with one red page. The tree splayed open, and several lights emerged from the book, encircling it. There was a serene and vacant village in the background.

As I put the vision to paper, the act of working it before the Lord opened some new details: a wash of red, the blood of Christ; the curves of the supine branches touching the red, the use of hyssop at the passover; a hint of green, new life in Him; and then I had a real sense: I am this tree.

This calling to speak God's word exercised through artistic gifts is to make the invisible God visible - to make God accessible. It is His work and I am a vessel - sort of like a burning bush. But understand. It is not just me. I am not in this alone. I am this tree, but we are the trees! (here I mean the church) We, collectively, are God's vessel of visibility. We are the burning bush. We are branches dipped in blood applying grace to the lives of many. And we are the instrument of both Christ's pain and of God's salvation.

Split

2008-11-29T22:00:00.004-07:00

I am the tree
Split by the Word
Shot like Lightening
Bone and Marrow
Soul and Spirit
Phased

I am the tree
Splayed all to see
Calm and frightening
Light and Dark
Turmoil and Tumult
Assuaged

I am the tree
Dipped in the blood
Like hysop brushed
Post and Lintel
Red right and center
Page

HD JESUS

2008-11-24T16:13:00.005-07:00

What shall I say the kingdom of heaven is like?

There was a man who didn't have cable television. He didn't have Satellite Television. He didn't have an ATSC over the air HD tuner. He did have a television that was HD ready, but it didn't have the hardware to tune a signal on its own. It could still display an HD image if he could find a way to pass one to it. When he watched TV, he watched a low resolution analogue signal picked up by a pair of rabbit ears. But come February 17th, 2009 his system gave him nothing but static. Crystal clear vibrant images were beaming throughout his home, but he was not able to discern their presence.

So will it be for all those without the Spirit in the kingdom.

Spiritual discernment is sensing (looking, listening, feeling) for what God is saying in a given time, about a given thing. When your antennae are up, God can be heard and seen most everywhere. But, we don't all have the same hardware (or maybe I should say firmware). So many lack the tuner to pick up the HD JESUS all around us. Many others haven't configured the settings on their set top boxes, so to speak.

I've talked with my kids about praying to God, being with God and listening to Him - hearing Him guide and direct. I share with them the things God is teaching me. They are still young, so I have to keep it pretty simple. I love the story of young Samuel in the temple getting up in the night hearing God speak, and thinking it was Eli. I've encouraged them to be listening for God. A few days ago my wife told me that Isaac confided in her, "Mom, I can't hear God talking."

(I love this because it means He is trying to hear God!)

"What did you tell him?" I asked.

"We talked about how God speaks to us through his Word, and how it isn't always an audible voice." Then she asked me, "What would you have said?"

I would have said, "I think you will someday, if you really want to. We don't really listen with our ears. We listen with our hearts. We listen in Spirit." I would have told him that we learn how to hear God by spending time with Him, by trusting in Him, and the best place to start is to ask for His help to hear, and start reading and knowing the Word.

At which point he would have smiled and nodded and asked me to fasten his superman cape around his neck so he could fly off and save the day!

The coming of the Spirit of God at Pentecost was like this technology switch that is forthcoming for us. The old way of relating to God ceased. A new way had begun. This new way was better in every possible category.

What will you spend to make sure you can watch your TV come February? And how is your God reception?

Caiaphas

2008-11-23T13:35:00.009-07:00

Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, said to them,

“You know nothing at all. Nor do you understand

that it is better for you that one man should die for the people,

not that the whole nation should perish.”

He did not say this of his own accord, but being high priest that year he prophesied that Jesus would die for the nation, and not for the nation only, but also to gather into one the children of God who are scattered abroad.

Caiaphas was the leader of God's people. As such he exercised the gift of prophecy. What a profound prophecy he made! God let him in on something Jesus kept secret from all but His closest disciples - that He would die for the people. Caiaphas was given foreknowledge of God's plan. See that truth for what it is.

"You know nothing at all..." he proclaimed. It seems based on his prophesy he felt confident he did know something. "It is better for you..." he said. It seems he understood that the reason for the prophecy was the good of God's people. "One man should die for the people... not that the whole nation should perish." he boldly asserted, mirroring God's actual plan for the salvation of us all! But it's the next verse of John's gospel that gets me:

...So from that day on they made plans to put Jesus to death.

WHAT! How do you go from being a leader of the people of God, and hearing the prophesy of God, to being on completely the wrong side of God's plans? Caiaphas could have been like Nicodemas and honored Christ for the sacrificial lamb He was. The burden for carrying out the execution of Christ could have fallen on someonelse's shoulders.

Two things seem very clear to me from this passage.

1. God speaks His truth to the leaders of His people.

2. Even if they can and do hear God speak, a leaders sin can twist his thinking toward a wrong interpretation and a wrong course action.

Do you think the burden of guilt for Caiaphas' role in executing Christ landed him in Hell?

"Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers,

for you know that we who teach

will be judged with greater strictness."

Lord have mercy on us all. Protect us from our sin, and lead us into right interpretation, and right course of action.

Being Buletproof

2008-11-17T19:06:00.007-07:00

You have heard it said,

"Be transparent,"

but I say to unto you,

"Be vulnerable."

Transparency is one directional. Vulnerability is open to a reaction - good, bad or ugly. Transparency is safe. Vulnerability can get you hurt.

"Let me in," He said.

"I can't really love you, because you never

gave me permission to hurt you."

I had never really thought about the difference between transparency and vulnerability. I had always valued being transparent.

"Why not?" I thought. "My worth and identity do not hinge on what you think of me."

I could tell you anything because I didn't care one lick what you thought. I saw this as a strength. I thought this was what self assured honesty looked like. I was bulletproof! And if you zinged one past my defenses, that would be the last time you were allowed to be that close.

Transparency can be an unassailable see-through fortress. I dwelled in transparency throwing out peace signs, platitudes and pebbles, protected from the wounds of the crowd or worse yet the wounds of a friend.

"Why would you let that person in?" I would ask when she was grieving the wounds of a friend. "Didn't you see this pain was coming? I don't understand."

"Wounds will heal," she said, "but in the wounding and healing we begin to know and love each other."

Christian faith is about relationship - relationship with God, relationship with others. And, relationship requires vulnerability. If I don't give you permission to speak into my life, with all of the risk and even assurance of pain that being open will bring, then you can't really know me. You can't really love me. I won't let you.

I see this from the other side now too. I can't reach you if your world is only see-through. The messy giving and receiving of love and pain is the hallmark of authentic Christian communion. Don't believe me? Then look at His hands, His side. That was vulnerable. That was love.

It doesn't get more open and receptive than Christ on the cross extending forgiveness for our sins.

Some say to be more Christ like we need to love more. I think the real deficiency is being vulnerable enough to receive. It is a sacred art.

Prayer, Hell, The Gospel, and Monsters

2008-11-15T22:13:00.015-07:00

Tonight three different people asked me how my week was going.

"Fine, Just fine. Everything is fine!"

Not my exact words, but that is a close translation of intent. A round of golf, the latest digital camera, work, fine... just Fine.. Thanks for asking! Yet inside I am thinking... "Could we get out of here? I would love to talk with you more."

It wasn't obfuscation. My facade hid nothing dreadful or demeaning. Maybe it was laziness? Or just that the time wasn't right to let it all hang out. The shell is a bit of self enforced incubation. Timing is important. But I feel like a chick with a crack in its shell. I am driven to hatch.

I'll start with some innocuous details... *crack*

So how was my week?
MONSTERS!

Jack and I are working on a book. "Jackson's Monster Alphabet Book" is the working title. Here is a small sampling:

He is trying to get me to do the Greek alphabet instead, but I am pretty determined to stick with English. We can break into foreign markets once this one is a commercial success! :P Though, Lambda is for Luw (I AM DESTROYING!) would likely make a pretty good monster page!

So how was my week? *crack* *crack*
HELL!

I am in bolgia nine of the eighth circle of Hell. Here sowers of discord are repeatedly sliced apart for all eternity by a demon wielding a giant sword. As much as reading this work affects my mood, what must Dante have been like when he was writing it? I recall C.S. Lewis commenting on the darkness of Spirit he persisted through when writing the Screwtape Letters. While fiendishly clever and fantastic, Screwtape was just a minor demon compared to those black wraiths that inhabit Dante's Inferno.

So how was my week? *crack* *crack*
THE GOSPEL!

You can't dwell in Hell for long before you find yourself craving merciful fare. Some thirty chapters from four Gospels full of Christ's parables, prayers, healings, pronouncements, promises, rebukes, and even a transfiguration have kept me from drowning in darkness this week. But still every time Christ talks about Hell, or the place where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth, I find myself cringing, "That place is REAL!" Methinks we take it too lightly.

So how was my week? *crack* *crack*
PRAYER!

God gives direction, but he doesn't always tell you where to plant you foot on that next step. I am not anxious to know, as much as eager. I think it's time to widen the circle...

*crack*

Empathic

2008-11-11T21:58:00.007-07:00

This last Sunday I was opening our worship service. It can so easily be a role call of announcements, a greeting, a perfunctory prayer. But that misses the point doesn't it? We are there to WORSHIP not go through motions. Far be it from me for any part of our service to be perfunctory. So regularly on Sunday mornings I find myself prayerfully reflecting on my week, and looking for what God might have me share with my congregation.

For two weeks now I have been immersed in Dante's Inferno. Visceral and pungent images of hell have been lingering in my peripheral consciousness. Needless to say it has been a dark season. Saturday night I was praying with another, and I was so touched by an evident sin in their lives that I began to weep. Visions of hell make the presence of passing sins like envy or that ever persistent pride much more frightening.

WE ARE NOT MADE FOR THIS STUFF. LUMINOUS BEINGS ARE WE!
(pardon the Yoda Paraphrase)

Dante intentionally matched his poetic stylings to the coarseness of his subject. At times he is rough and vulgar. But this is in direct proportion and ratio with what he is describing. I take heart knowing Paul does the same thing. Sin IS vulgar stuff. There is one circle where the identity of a soul cannot be discerned because it is so self smeared with sh*t. That was the image that was in my mind Sunday morning as I opened our worship service. Luminous beings self smeared with sh*t. Rough? Yes. Vulgar? Yes. True? ...

How is it with your soul?

As I delivered my opening monologue and call to worship I was on the brink of tears in empathy. The chief aim of man is to glorify God and enjoy him forever. We do not have glory to offer to God. He IS glory. He IS glorious. We are simply reflective. We are made to be mirrors of His glory. We are shiny, if you will. But in the fallen state of sin we are smeared, dulled, tainted. And the sad part is that we are often so ashamed of our souls appearance, so humiliated by our depravity, that we refuse to return to the only one who makes us clean! There is no joy in the life of an unrepentant Christian. Unrepentant we are miserable like Adam choosing to hide himself from He who can see all things. The only one we delude is ourselves. Our chief aim is to enjoy Him. To do that we must know Him and be known by Him. He does not stand in judgement of those who will re-turn to Him. He waits with open arms. His mercies are new every morning.

We create this time and place each week on a Sunday morning for one purpose. To commune with our God. It is an sensitive group ritual. It is a rhythm of life and faith. Let nothing keep you from turning yourself over into His care. Whether you are prepared, ready, distracted, beaten, or self smeared in sh*t... Recall that your true self is shiny. Re-turn now to the cleansing flood, His cleansing blood.

Worship your God.

Unto A Point

2008-11-09T22:11:00.003-07:00

"It is not by might, and not by power, but by My Spirit" says the Lord of Hosts.

We are under-girded and enabled unto a point!

Singularity!

Unity!

Gethsemane

2008-11-09T22:05:00.005-07:00

I am sad about God's call
The loss of what I have
Yet briefest thought
of what lies ahead
and His constant care
brings me peace.

So sad and peaceful,
moving... Moving...

I long to bring them with me
I know the destination
my heart rends for them
with them
their hardship is my own
their pain pierces me

Father, hear my plea
Gethsemane

Two Divine Comedies

2008-11-02T08:28:00.007-07:00

I had a conversation this week that prompted me to pick up a few books from the library.

I am down to the 7th circle of hell in inferno. Talk about stunning imagery. Dante's poetry makes the putrid depths of hell viscerally real. I am excitedly anticipating paradiso. The nagging annoyance in all of this is the time required to put images to paper. If I could let you look inside the images of my mind, what would you say? The demands of everyday life make the time to create a physical representation of mental imagery hard to find.

The second book I was prompted to pick up is The Princess Bride.

I have been retelling the story to my sons from memory for the last week at bedtime. It has been remarkable watching their enthralled faces and disbelief at some of the plot twists. I shared my story telling adventure with a friend and he said I should definitely read the original. I never have. Though I love the movie. I can't wait!

INCONCEIVABLE!

Co-Heir

2008-10-24T17:20:00.005-06:00

I attended the International mentoring Conference, and participated in the creativity as mentor workshops. I was overwhelmed. Interacting with the people from around the country and world who were there and seeing the images I created impact their spirits blew me away.
Here are some comments I received about the co-heir image:

"It is so alive, the movement."
"I feel invited in."
"The spiral of people and the way it extends off the canvas makes me feel like it is a larger picture. There are more people involved in this connected chain. I am in that picture somewhere."
"The wounded hand in the center... It is all about that isn’t it."
"There is something of the resurrected body here."
"If I saw this when I died, I would be happy."
"The bowing/worshiping figure captures me."
"They are all connected!"
"This is the great cloud of witnesses, I am urged to run the race."

As I reflected on the conference, I realized that the co-heir image is where I AM. Where I want to be. I sketched a joyous picture “out of the mouth the heart speaks.” I could clearly say that Christ is what has overflowed from my heart. “No longer sin reigns in me.”

I had a hard time drawing light, joyous, happy images before. For the next several days that was all I could draw. I had connected with an inner place of great peace and joy. It felt sustaining. I made the co-heir image my desktop. Every time I look at it I feel reminded that Christ stands inviting me into that place of active joyful engagement.

Transitional

2008-10-24T16:00:00.007-06:00

This is a yearning. A transition between sin and co-heir. A picture of repentance. A picture of found peace.

The dust of the earth

2008-10-24T15:40:00.004-06:00

Settling dust gathered in heaps

erected lumped and crumbling

Pushed so by the makers hand

particular, present, stumbling

Yearning for a greater sense

enveloped, set ablaze

Blown up in a swirling dance

toward universal raised

Glinting rainbow sparkle

the Son shines radiant through

Each particular speck reflects

His radiance anew

Sin

2008-10-24T15:31:00.007-06:00

I had presented my sin image to my small group and saw that it did not just portray my sin. It sparked a discussion about sin that was real, honest, open. It allowed people to comment on what they saw about sin in that image. Many times what they saw was different from what I saw or felt as I made it. They were putting their own understanding and processing of sin into the image. It was an effective tool for delving into the heart of a difficult to discuss topic.

Here are a collection of comments I have had about the sin image in several contexts.

“That eye says, ‘ Don’t you look at me.’”

“That eye says, ‘I can’t believe I did that again.’”

“I am at one time repulsed by this image, and unable to look away.”

“This is sin in a person who knows it is bad. Sin could have looked seductive, but this is a view of sin as incredibly damaging.”

“That’s not what I thought it would look like at all. It looks pathetic. I thought sin would look more proud, angry and strong.”

“It looks sick, diseased, heavy…”

“Erik, that image has been in my head all week. It is something about that eye. I want to focus on the co-heir image, but I can’t get past the sin image.”

“Erik, I told my kids about the image. They want to see it. Can I have a copy?”

“I am comforted to know others feel the way I do.”

My eyes are welling with tears as I remember the insights that people shared as they processed the image. It really does have facility. God used and spoke through my art. I am moved. Humbled.

Word vs Image

2008-10-24T15:27:00.003-06:00

It strikes me that language and the written word are just as suspect as imagery - just as incapable of clarity or purity of thought. Yes, Christ did make the Word known and we recorded it in a book. Yes the Scriptures are sacred, inerrant, inspired, etc. Yet our interpretation of that word leads to vastly different conclusions. I’m not talking about gross heresy here necessarily. Even within the pale of orthodoxy, there are differences of interpretation which show words to be imprecise, and wanting. I realize I loathe this imprecision. We were made for understanding. These broken vessels (language, human bodies) are poor for holding truth, and they are poor for dispensing truth.

Poor.
Poor.
Poor.

Come Lord Jesus, quickly!

Confession

2008-10-24T15:16:00.002-06:00

Art has become an exercise in confession. It is making the most personal public. (James 5) If art is worth anything (for me) it is fueled by the emotional reality and depth of a moment, and an attentive presence to that depth, and a yearning to express it. Words are good. Conversation is good. Visual art (in the act of creation) is better yet, another means of communication. I am giving birth to a tangible reference of a real moment in time. Not intellectual discourse, but a direct presence of the heart and a direct expression of the heart. This is artistry. Sharing it is communal confession.

Expectations

2008-10-24T15:11:00.006-06:00

I expected to see the fruit of artistic expression as an appropriate outlet for stress. I found that I did indeed feel relieved and refreshed through practice of art. I used to fear that being artistic meant I had to live in strong emotion. Instead I find that through art I can experience, express, and move on with emotion. Emotion leaves the tormented place inside my head, and finding expression, it takes residence on a piece of paper where I can reflect on it more objectively.

I expected the practice of artistry would provide time of silence, solitude, meditation, and reflection before God. I encountered this in spades. I have fallen in love with my sketch journal. Not only as a place to record ideas, but a tool for remembering and marking what God has shown.

I expected to gain a new model and praxis for artistry as part of a wholly surrendered Christian walk. This was a struggle. I had many doubts about the holiness and usefulness of art in life and ministry. I had relegated it to icing, instead of the core cake of my life. Indeed, as I surrendered my pen back to the Lord, I have found new joy and life in being a Christian artist. This has not replaced the call or yearning for pastoral ministry; it has colored it. It is now rendered lifelike, real, vibrant, and personal to me. I am very excited about this.

Callous Attention

2008-10-17T16:44:00.005-06:00

I have been spending time focusing on discernment related to God’s leading in my art as a means of communication with the world – Speaking His Word! In general terms I have discovered a very tangible peace and contentment in this abiding exercise of attentiveness. That is how I would describe discernment. It is simply attentiveness and presence. It is a sort of positional listening and looking. This is so because God is always present, always revealing, always proclaiming. We simply forget to see.

Maybe it is an over-stimulation of sorts. I can “not hear” my four year old with great acumen. He can be standing right in front of me, asking his question repeatedly, and I will not hear him at all. I have developed a sort of callous attention when it comes to the frequency (used both ways) of his voice. This is not a good thing, but it is true.

Callous attention. This is the condition of sin when it comes to our senses. We have callous attention when all around us God is screaming our names! Urging, beckoning, cajoling, exercising every method to make himself known. Touch me! Hear me! Taste me! See me! Know me!

Yet His everyday revelation is subtle. This is the oxymoronic strangeness of God. He speaks with a screaming subtlety. A subtlety like radio waves for a person without a radio, or a WI-FI connection for a person without a device to connect. I am a sign saying "HEY! FREE WIFI!"

Discernment isn't a skill we can develop. It isn't an exercise, or a practice. It is a gift. One we simply have to be open to receive.

Are you open?

Step Two

2008-10-12T00:11:00.005-06:00

So I am in the center of His will, right...

Rebounded, repented,
surrendered, accepted.

And now all is exuberantly peaceful. Quiet. Eyes closed or just unfocused. I can literally feel a bristling ascension of sensation that seems to come from my center, curve around my chest, under my arms and across my back at the base of my scapula where it meets my spine. The sensation nestles there briefly between my shoulder blades and I have to roll my head back and tighten my shoulders. My eyes focusing now, upwards to Heaven.

Hello Abba. It is an embrace.

Sometimes I lift up the day in a practice of examen. Sometimes I offer praise. Sometimes I intercede for someone. Always I wait. And whatever comes to me I accept and engage before Him with a calm assurance of His trustworthy love and unchanging proximity.

If this were the whole of communion it would be enough. But he does not leave us here, at least not for long...

(to be continued)

Raised

2008-10-11T23:10:00.004-06:00

Baptism is a profound mystery. I love how God has left us physical cues (clues?) to his inner workings. We are burried in death and raised to new life in Christ. It is symbol. It is a statement of faith. It is an ordinance, a sacrament, a thing of beauty.

Leave it in the dust

2008-10-11T23:05:00.007-06:00

Did you know that it is hard for me to receive?

I like being self sufficient. I don't stand up in church in need to prayer; but I probably should more often. I love the support of friends and God. I love knowing that in a crisis they will be there for me. Yet, I strive to stay out of crisis. At times I want to burn out just so I can feel that love, just so I can leave my self sufficiency in the dust.

Leave it in the dust.

Similar Things from Dissimilar Sources

2008-10-11T22:45:00.004-06:00

Similar things from dissimilar sources
Soul in constant search of purchase
Hold on to something...
Wrong!!! Let Go.
It is the clasping grasping fear
that blocks the ear to hear
Cling to rock and twig and branch
Rely on muscles strained and cramped

He lets go of his purchse and relies on the wind
arms outstretched he feels it invelop him
and he looks back at his rock
as it grows smaller and less significant with distance...
With a chuckle he thinks,
"What a funny thing to cling to."

Like dust it dissolves and carried away
The wind has his faith.
Weightless, backward and the sting of loss.
As he begins, his purchase within himself is turned to dust
it dissolves and carried away
The wind has his faith.

Weightless forward now he sees his destiny
looming in a fog of atmosphere
The Flames!
Like a meteor to earth he burns:
the dust is carried away.
The face of the wind and his outstretched soul
reaching through the flame
unchanged in Spirit
purified in mix

I believe in you
to pull me through

Take my hand and find your purchase
This rock is unchanging
and these muscles do not tire!

Fascination Frankenstein

2008-10-11T22:25:00.006-06:00

The man on the road listens to your impression
and sees himself within.
He sees where you were blind,
He holds the corner piece.

Light not taste or smell
simply touch, see and hear
no sounding grape our
tasting yellow hybrid brings
dissimilar distraction
and miscued interaction

unintentional
quite exceptional?
no... but somehow yes
Fascination Frankenstein!
What is it we combine?

The smell of moonlight
The glow of gravy
Perversion of proper position
Connection from intuition
Veiled in wind...
A language long forgotten
and a lesson still to be learned
Veiled in wind...

Comes the Rosetta stone, The answer!
Laplace! Get the answer!
The Reason! Long hand...
see where you went wrong
The resolution and absolution...
My God It's the Man!

Step One

2008-10-07T22:16:00.006-06:00

"How do you reconnect with God?" she asked.

It was a good question. He can seem so distant. He can seem unapproachable.

"I don't know." I said, "It's different."

"Sometimes it's a special word from a verse or passage, or a feeling that whelms in me when I see a great sunset. Sometimes it's more formal prayer. Once it was a pine cone that made His presence known. He's spoken to me in visions and through my illustrations. But when it comes right down to it, I feel like I have a switch in my brain. I can flip the switch, turn my focus inward, and just know He is right there with me. That capacity is always there if I will remember to use it."

Now C.S. Lewis gave great metaphors and illustrations of spiritual principles with a disclaimer essentially saying, if it doesn't help - forget it. It's not like it is inspired. Here I give the same disclaimer:

God isn't "out there" in any sense that precludes Him being "in here." The Holy Spirit is a vital part of prayer because God is jealous. God is jealous. I think He is jealous for Himself. We have been given the Holy Spirit. In giving Him to us God has created a tension and a longing within Himself. The three persons of the God Head live in constant communion. When I choose to be in sin, separate from God, I take the Spirit with me. That causes tension. When I become aware of that separation, I can turn inward to the Spirit, and relinquish control to Him. Then like a magnet, the Spirit carries me directly back into the full presence of God.

Sometimes I feel like the Spirit is bottled up in me. Chained to a wall. Rapping his finger on the plain oak table in the barren room of my selfishness, sitting there, resigned to being toted around like a discontent toddler at the mall. But in those moments when I become aware of what I am doing, and turn that switch, it is like I have handed the key to the cell block over to my prisoner, and He immediately unlocks the door, clears the debris in a single leap and runs for me - with me - back into the presence of the Father where He is received with widespread waiting arms, and me along with Him. Every time.

Every time.

Nothing about the process seems foreign to me. Though it is remarkable. In giving the Spirit to us God has stretched himself (so to speak). And the jealous elastic rebound of that stretching carries me right into His center.

Then things really get good! (to be continued)

Thoughtless

2008-10-07T21:56:00.005-06:00

Late at night, and I want to collect my thoughts.

But I have no thoughts.

There is a dull pain below and behind my ears. My eyes strain at the blinding blue light of my laptop screen as it burns away my peripheral vision contrasting so sharply with the dark room beyond. You can faintly hear the nuk-nuk of a pacifier soothing a restless infant.

No thoughts.

Maybe I should draw, but that would mean I'd have to get up. Not likely. Besides, I've been sketching some wiry dragon like faces lately. I feel like it is an image of sin again. Maybe evil, because it is outside of me this time. corrupting. I don't want to draw that now.

And what about the doubter and the wall builder. No! No. Stop.

I should pray. Rest. Turn the inward sight to the Holy One. Be still and present. yes.

There's a thought.

Contentment

2008-09-29T19:35:00.002-06:00

Among the other projects I am musing over and working on, the spark of a new one has sprung. There is no surprise that much of art blossoms from that which is passionate. Strong emotion lends itself to verse and symbol. It is easy for me to put pen to blank page when I am bubbling with inner angst, or seething with a rage demanding a cipher, or even when my heart is fluttering with new love. But, what of a passionate contentment? What of an unbridled peace? What of exuberant tranquility of spirit? Has this ground been covered?

My mind swings to Walden. Others may have trod this ground before I guess. I’m not sure.

Today I feel unshakable. There is nothing driving me. Nothing is exceedingly wrong. Nothing is exceedingly right. In truth I am getting over a lingering cold, and am physically sapped. My family is together plodding through the rough and tough fist months of our third son. We are also musing and sighing at his coos and gurgles. Work is on a tight deadline, and I come home drained. School is a persistent yet fruitful exercise in diligence and good scheduling. Forays into Spiritual Direction have had me anxious. But I am unshakable.

I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine! I am the branch attached to the vine. I am vineyard producing good fruit. It just isn’t harvest season, and I am good with that. The verdant young shoots are evident. Everything is promise. I am not just good. I am exceedingly, passionately, exuberantly content.

It isn’t an absence of sin or temptation. It’s just recognition of journey, and refusal to take my eyes off of the truth. A master is at work and its good to be the clay.

The Truth

2008-09-26T21:31:00.002-06:00

We fight, we rest
We run, we weep
We grind ourselves up
We turn and turn and turn

He scolds, He holds
He comforts, He molds
He heals, He persists
He stays firm and firm and firm

We learn

Here I Raise My...

2008-09-20T21:16:00.002-06:00

Are you ever struck by a word?

I had a moment last spring where a word became a focal point, a harbinger of clarity, a perfect title for a project!

Ebenezer

I've loved the hymn, “O Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” I remember when my worship leader stopped mid verse and asked, "Does anybody know what an Ebenezer is?" He went on to explain that the prophet Samuel had erected a stone on the field of battle after Israel defeated the Philistines to commemorate God's help (1 Samuel 7:12). The word Ebenezer means "stone of help." And to be sure, God's help is an awesome thing to commemorate. But God's help wasn't the concept that grabbed me last spring. It was something else about a stone of help, something in the means and something in the remembering.

Among other duties Christian Artists make Ebenezers. We create that we might remember.

Too easily the memory of God’s faithfulness fades. The prophet who visualizes clearly, “this was important and must be remembered,” is serving well by making a signpost, an object, a remembrance. Maybe it’s a painting, or a song, or a poem, or a verse carved above the door. And maybe, just maybe it is a blog.

There is much much more to say, but here is to good beginnings!