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/
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
So much Vibrancy!
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
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.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Impersonal and Distant
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.
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.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Immanuel
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?
Friday, November 27, 2009
My Story (part one)
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.
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.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
My Story (Part Two)
"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!
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!
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
My Story (Part 3)
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. :)
"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. :)
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Artistry - Excelence - and Worship
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!
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!
Monday, October 5, 2009
My Best Work
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.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
What do we want?
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)
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