"The Necessity of Prayer"

I told the Wisconsinite months ago, “I want to be a man of prayer.” When I think about my “walk with God” (or whatever you want to call it), I imagine it being characterized, through-and-through, by a life of prayer. I’ve been carving out time to pray and meditate, and as the days of deliberate, intentional prayer mount, I’m finding my focus reoriented, I’m hearing God’s voice, and I’m growing in my faith. The sadness isn’t erased but infused with God’s presence and peace. Faith without prayer is as fruitless as prayer without faith, and I’ve been convicted over the last year of the decline in my prayer. When life is hard, when God seems distant, when your prayers go unanswered, it really can be difficult to set aside time for prayer; you feel like you’re talking to an immovable wall, you feel like you’re wasting your time, and prayer itself becomes a sort of down-on-your-knees begging for God’s attention, for him to break the stalemate, for him to get up and do something when he seems so absent. Prayer itself is multifaceted, and I’ve found that those days in which I take out a serious block of time to pray and meditate, those days are marked by more peace and joy, growing confidence and trust in God, and the felt presence of the Spirit. The highlight of my day really is sacred time in prayer, and I’m rediscovering the joys of prayer.

I remember in high school, I took a month to “live like a monk”: this boiled down, really, to nothing more than carving out three blocks of time a day (morning, afternoon, and night) when I would pray and meditate. I can’t begin to describe to you the joy I felt, how I could hear God stirring my soul, how reading those sacred texts was like sitting down at the feet of God and hearing him speak. Life got busy, and those times of prayer and meditation fell by the wayside, and so too did the quality of my life. I’m slowly returning to such diligence in prayer, because it’s something I genuinely want for my life, and I’m asking myself, “Why did I ever let myself drift away from such a determined practice?” I’m not saying that every prayer is emotionally charged, or that I can hear God’s voice audibly in my ear, for that’s not the case; but as I pray, there’s joy and peace trickling out to my day, and I find as my stresses mount, my recourse isn’t some sort of escapism but prayer.

In lieu of all this, I took the time to read a little book written decades ago by a man named E.M. Bounds. His little book, The Necessity of Prayer, is about, well, the necessity of prayer in the Christian life. I plan on reading some more “modern” books (I’m thinking about revisiting some Richard Foster and Dallas Willard, if I can scrounge up those books from my parents’ crawlspace), but as a “beginning book,” this one wasn’t too shabby. For those two people who read this blog who might be interested in some snippets and quotes from the book, here are my notes below:

The Necessity of Prayer

[say something]

Say something, I'm giving up on you.
I'll be the one, if you want me to.
Anywhere, I would've followed you.
Say something, I'm giving up on you.

And I am feeling so small.
It was over my head, I know nothing at all.

And I will stumble and fall.
I'm still learning to love, just starting to crawl.

Say something, I'm giving up on you.
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you.
Anywhere, I would've followed you.
Say something, I'm giving up on you.

And I will swallow my pride.
You're the one that I love,
and I'm saying goodbye.

Say something, I'm giving up on you.
And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you.
And anywhere, I would've followed you.
Say something, I'm giving up on you.
Say something, I'm giving up on you.

thanksgiving '13

a kentucky sunrise

Something that’s becoming rather prominent in my readings of the letters of Paul is thankfulness (and not just because of thanksgiving). Over and over again, letter after letter, Paul doesn’t encourage Christians to be thankful: he commands it. Thankfulness isn’t something that comes naturally, and Paul might say that ingratitude is the chief idolatry, for it’s the great launching pad for “forgetting God” (according to Romans). We’re naturally inclined not to thankfulness and gratitude, but to greed and envy, which are themselves forms of idolatry. Gratitude and thankfulness take practice, and true gratitude expresses itself not in warm, fuzzy feelings of thankfulness but in generosity. That’s the litmus test of our gratefulness.

I’ve been told I’m too hard on myself, and maybe I am, but one of the most fascinating subjects in Christian theology (and, well, philosophy itself) is the human condition. I’m convinced human beings are inherently selfish creatures, motivated by thinking only for ourselves, showing kindness only to those whom we care about, and driven by impulsive, animalistic desires to be seen and to have. Our driving faculties, deep down, are lust and greed: seeking after we want with an insatiable appetite. Studying theology and philosophy on the subject has always made me look inwards, to peel back the layers, to be honest with myself, to overturn assumptions, to reexamine the motivations and inclinations in my every decision. It’s this self-examination that has confirmed such a “low view” on humanity, and I’m conscious of it every day. The end result is that I’m often “hard on myself,” and I have a right to be, since I’m well aware of those things going on “deep down” that most people don’t think about because they have better things to do than study wordy systematic theologies or esoteric Greek philosophy. Kudos to them. All of this to say, I’m conscious that envy plays a far greater role in my life and thoughts than gratitude, and the way out of this is to be cognizant of those things for which I am to be thankful, to really sit down and be honest: “What do I have to be thankful for?” Because we’re so inclined to focus on (a) what we want and (b) what we don’t have in comparison to others, such knowledge of our blessings (or luck, if you’re of that persuasion) doesn’t come to the forefront right away. Because this is something I’ve been thinking about lately, and because it’s Thanksgiving (thank you, George Washington, your legacy is intact!), here are some things I’m truly thankful for (or, at least, should be thankful for):

My Creator. My God is a God who is full of mercy, compassion, patience and love. It’s cliché to be thankful for such a God, of course, but the gratitude sinks a little deeper when we think about how far worse a god we could’ve ended up with. 

My Family. I’m thankful that I have a sister, someone who’s as quirky, strange, and awesome as me to call a best friend and confidant. I’m thankful for parents who truly love me, care for me, sacrifice for me, seek after my best interests, and who provided for me and continue to provide for me when/if I need it.

My Friends. It’s rare to have such good friends as mine, and we share a closeness like that of a family. More people than one have commented on my friend group: “I wish I had friends like that,” or, “Most people don’t have the kind of friendships you do,” and “I wish I could find a friend as close as all your friends are to you!”

A Meaningful Job and Awesome Co-Workers. Life isn’t about what we do to make money, but the set-up can be nice. Most people either hate their jobs or generally dislike them. I never dread going into work, I’m friends with everyone I work with, and when the thing you do to pay your bills enriches the lives of others, what complaints can you make?

My own cottage-style “Hobbit Hole.” Pics to come!

Likeable Personality and Not Ugly. Simply put, I’m a likeable person. Mo told me I’m the most laid-back person she’s ever met, and yet I know when to be serious. Brandon said I’m the most genuine, sincere person he’s ever met. I don’t really have any enemies, and people generally don’t have a reason to dislike me. I’m quirky, weird, funny, and a comic relief in the good sense of the term. And to top it all off, I’m not repulsive. I may not be a Clive Owen, and I may not stick out in a crowd, but I’m not ugly, either. That’s a gift nowadays, pure and simple.

My Youthful Looks. I hate it now—being called “fifteen years old” several times a week by people who’re first meeting you and learning your age gets a little old—but I know I’ll like it down the road. “Dad hated how young he looked for the longest time,” Mom told me, “but now he loves it.” When my dad helped me move into Restoration my freshman year at C.C.U., he was in his late forties and more than one person mistook him for an upperclassman. My wife won’t mind having the youngest-looking husband in our elderly small group when that time comes, that’s for sure.

Americuh! But seriously. I’m not super patriotic or anything (kingdoms come and go, and my love for early American history isn’t due to any sort of inherent patriotism), but the truth of the matter is that living in America, regardless of your own thoughts on our country, is a pretty damned good deal. I live in a land of safety and plenty, and even in my lack I have a ridiculous abundance (in my worst moments, my standard of living would take about for earths for every human being to enjoy my standard).

Intelligence. Intelligence is a gift from God that many people simply don’t have. I’m not just talking about the ability to retain information (and I’m certainly not referring to any semblance of “common sense,” which I lack; though common sense is just another term for “group think,” so maybe I’m just a nonconformist?). What I mean here is the ability to look at situations from different angles. I’ve found it to be rather helpful in life, and there’s wisdom found in it.

Friendships with people who think differently than me. Most of my friends hold different worldviews and approach life differently than I do, and I’m thankful for that. Iron sharpens iron in more ways than one.

My love of literature—reading it & writing it. Literacy is a big deal, and I have both the talent and the ability to not just read but to comprehend, and not just to write but to express myself on paper.

These are just a few things for which I really am grateful. Take any of these away, and my life would be far worse. It’s so easy, so natural, to focus on those things I don’t have, those things I want, that I miss out on all the blessings, all undeserved, that I experience in life. Most of the world has it far, far worse, and my own ingratitude is a stain on my pride. Maybe “thankfulness” is something I can start working on come January 1^st? It’d be nice to put it off, to roam familiar territory, but I’m thinking this is something that I need to practice daily—no, hourly—and something which should consume my thoughts: whenever I start thinking about what I don’t have, and getting all bundled up in knots over it, I’m going to reorient my mind towards those things I do have, those things I really can be thankful for. And, in time, I will be thankful for them, not just because I know I should be, but because I genuinely will be. I want gratitude for what I have to underscore my life, so that I’ll be a creature strangely content and satisfied with nothing and lacking in nothing.

[i don't want to get over you]

I don't want to get over you.
I guess I could take a sleeping pill and sleep at will,
and not have to go through what I go through.

I guess I should take Prozac, right?
And just smile all night at somebody new,
somebody not too bright, but sweet and kind,
who would try to get you off my mind.
I could leave this agony behind,
which is just what I'd do if I wanted to.
But I don't want to get over you.

'Cause I don't want to get over love.
I could listen to my therapist, pretend you don't exist,
and not have to dream of what I dream of.
I could listen to all my friends, and go out again,
and pretend it's enough.

Or I could make a career of being blue.
I could dress in black and read Camus,
smoke clove cigarettes and drink vermouth,
like I was seventeen.
That would be a scream, but I don't want to get over you.

the eight of swords

But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us who are mature think in this way… (Phil 3.13b-15a)

I’ve been reading through the letters of Paul, and Philippians is one of those letters you can read again and again and find yourself stirred anew. These verses struck me from the page, and I’ve been trying to let them speak to me. Moving forward involves forgetting the “old me”, and moving forward is moving in a certain direction, that of “what lies ahead”: resurrection and glorification. The goal is conformity to Christ, and the prize is resurrection and glorification. Paul’s overriding focus isn’t the here-and-now but the future; his life is wrapped around pursuit of a goal, the one goal that matters, the one goal that’s worth it. 

It’s so easy for me to become so wrapped up in the past that I forget the future.

It’s so easy for me to focus on myself rather than on God.

These are my natural inclinations, after all. And they’re yours, too.

Here Paul’s saying, “Flip that shit.”

My focus needs to be on the future, and on God.

Everything else really is peripheral.

An unhealthy obsession with my past, my fears and insecurities, these chain me, keeping me from moving forward. I need to keep taking my fears to God, for he wants us to be free from all fear; and as for insecurities, God delights in showing his power through our weakness for his glory. Greater than the chains of fear and insecurities are those chains of my past: I’m constantly identifying myself according to my past rather than according to who I am in Christ. Forgetting the past involves acknowledging our sinfulness—Paul himself readily admitted he was “the chief of sinners”—and it involves, also, acknowledging grace: “That was who I was, but this is who I am now by the power and grace of God.” My focus so often falls upon my fears, my insecurities, my past, and in turn I’m chaining myself to a certain mode of existence. God wants far more from me, he wants me to get beyond all this, to grow from this, to become stronger for it. Those who spend time in the darkness tend to see better in the light. 

the 50th week

We had some good times.

Monday. I ran by work to do the order and got coffee at The Anchor and lunch at Dusmesh before meeting up with Blake at Park Avenue to do some cleaning. Jennifer came over, and we drank beers and fixed dinner: baked pork chops, red potatoes and asparagus, slices of a garlic loaf and brown rice. “I enjoy our talks,” she said, “because you actually listen to what I have to say.” Is it virtuous to find other people more interesting than yourself? I spent the evening with the Usual Crew at Winton Ridge. John and Brandy are letting me crash in the guest bedroom since my apartment in Covington isn’t getting electric until Thursday. We played Mario-Kart and watched the most recent episode of The Walking Dead. I went to bed thankful for so many great friends; I’m both lucky and blessed, even if I feel the opposite sometimes.

Tuesday. Miranda and I opened, and we put Spotify on an album entitled “Divided and United,” period pieces from The Civil War set to modern music. We’re both history nuts and we loved it. I spent the afternoon dicking around with Amos before heading up to Traci’s place in Mason for a night of Mario-Kart and dinner at Frisch’s (I love their onion rings). Back at Winton Ridge, John, Brandy, Amos and I stayed up late playing Call of Duty.

Wednesday. I took Amos to work downtown, swung by 6^th and Vine for coffee, and spent the afternoon reading and writing at Winton Ridge. My shift with Walk of Joy was cancelled, so I went on a prayerful walk through the woods behind the farmhouse, following the winding creek and climbing through the ravines and stumbling through the ruins of the 19^th century dairy farm. I love praying in the solace of nature. I picked Amos up from work, and we went by The Anchor before heading downtown for drinks at Rock Bottom with Eric & Tiffany (and the tiblets, of course), Sarah and Brandon, and Tori. Andy came, too. “He’s alumni!” I exclaimed. “I retired,” he laughed. Amos and I returned to his place after Rock Bottom for an evening of Mario-Kart 200cc with John and Brandy. They went to bed, and Amos and I stood out on the balcony drinking beers and talking church and spirituality, a conversation that somehow dovetailed into me telling him how I used to play The Sims and be a serial killer, locking my neighbors in cells and slowly starving them to death and then keeping their urns in a trophy room. “Microsoft, Man.” He laughed so hard he collapsed and promptly puked, and that just about rounded out the night.

Thursday. I worked on the farm with Ben and Jason, and then I ferried more things to the new place in Covington. The electric was turned on, and I cranked up the heater to dispel the late autumn cold. I spent the evening hanging out with Corey & Mandy, Ams, and Lane; we went to a bar down the street from Bakewell. Ams and I got long island iced teas, and Corey bought some cigarettes off another patron so we could smoke. We hung out back at Bakewell for a while, toying around with Gizmo and Hobbes, John’s cats. I headed back to my place on Scott Boulevard, and I broke in my first night well with a hot bath in the porcelain, clawed-foot tub with Radical Face playing on the IPOD dock and all illumined by the glow of oil lanterns. “Now that you have electricity you don’t need the lanterns,” Ams said; but I’m probably still going to use the lanterns. It’s colonial.

Friday. Eric and I opened at Tazza Mia, and then I went by Park Avenue to go through the kitchen with Blake. I lugged groceries and kitchenware to Scott Boulevard, and then I headed up Interstate 71 for a work meeting with Walk of Joy in Blue Ash. I picked up dinner from Rally’s afterwards and joined Frank & Rebecca at Winton Ridge for an evening of Mario-Kart 200cc with them, John & Brandy, and Amos. The drive home was long, quiet, and cold. It was one of those nights when you wish you had someone to talk to. That person for me used to be the Wisconsinite, but... yeah.

Saturday. I went to The Anchor to do some writing when I woke up, and then I worked from noon to midnight with various shifts with Walk of Joy. I was able to squeeze in a quick dinner and coffee at IHOP off Ridge Avenue before my last shift. I was planning on going to a party at Bakewell, but a light snow fell and of course there was an accident on Southbound 71, and I was stuck unmoving in traffic for about an hour before illegally driving up an on ramp and taking back-roads to Interstate 75. I didn’t get home until about 1:45 AM (a twenty-minute commute escalated to nearly two hours), and I collapsed exhausted in bed and promptly passed out.

Sunday. I didn’t have time for The Anchor before church at U.C.C., and after church I treated myself to Dusmesh. I spent my afternoon reading—finished two books: E.M. Bounds’ The Necessity of Prayer and Jeff Shaara’s The Rising Tide—and then worked 4-midnight in Blue Ash. I returned home to a quiet apartment, lit some oil lanterns, did some light reading (I’ve been plowing through the Pauline epistles, and have saved the Corinthian correspondence for last; always a good read). It was a sad evening, just thinking a lot about life, the Wisconsinite, the unending pattern of disappointments. I’m sure the pattern will break, eventually, or at least I tell myself that. Underscoring it all is the loss of all correspondence with her. Over a week ago I ran into Carly at Rock Bottom, and we talked about hanging out, but the moment I asked when we should hang out, I got the silent treatment. Life’s like that: some people just decide their life is better without you in it.

11.24.13

Yesterday I took a long and winding walk through my new neighborhood, admiring the old, stately homes, the towering trees breaking in oranges, reds, and yellows, and I felt truly thankful for the place I’ve found. The landlord told me they passed over several applicants before settling on me. For once I stood high above the crowd! (And, no, that’s not a short joke) Wallace Woods really is a beautiful place to live, and when I’ve told people that’s the neighborhood I’m in, they all tell me the same things: it’s a great, quiet, safe, and gorgeous place to be. I’ve met my neighbors, and they seem really cool; and I already know Sarah, who’s going to be living a few houses down from me.  Norwood was nice, but I’m looking forward to a change-of-pace, and I’m definitely looking forward to having my own place for the first time. I haven’t really had time to just hang out inside and enjoy the place, since I’ve been working what feels like non-stop. It’s a good thing, though. 

My time with Walk of Joy has been going really well. I’m really liking the guys I’m working with, and Sarah’s told me she’s glad to have someone on the team who is patient and compassionate enough to work with the clients whom most providers avoid. She knew my personality would be an invaluable asset in this job, and so far she’s been spot-on. I’ve been accumulating more hours (I’m working around 50-60 hours a week between both Walk of Joy and Tazza Mia), and I’m so thankful to finally be involved in some sort of ministry. Walk of Joy really is a ministry, and not just because it’s a “Christian nonprofit.” The people we work with are those marginalized by society, and though the stigma against them has waned, it certainly hasn’t disappeared. Christians are called to break bread and love those shunned and disenfranchised by society, and this is part of that.

from the anchor (II)

What I love(d) most about the Wisconsinite is her love for God, how he has center stage in her life. Her passion and dedication to the gospel and the advance of God’s kingdom are jewels in her crown. Yesterday I went on a prayerful walk through the woods behind the Winton Ridge farmhouse, and I talked to God about all that went down (it’s been a recurring theme in our conversations), and he showed me again how important my faith is when it comes to dating, and he’s shown me over and over that one of the very reasons I fell in love with the Wisconsinite was her faith and love for God.

Dating, for me, is purposeful: I know what I want, and I won’t settle for less. “Casual Dating/No Commitment” isn’t the box I check on Plenty of Fish. Mo told me my problem is that I’m too picky; but when that which you desire is necessary in a woman, being picky is EXACTLY what you should be. One of the main issues with me and Mo way back in the day was her apathy towards faith. This isn’t a character flaw of hers, but I want to share my life with someone who shares my faith and passion, rather than with someone who simply accepts it, respects it, or compromises to make room for it. I always knew, with the Wisconsinite, that if we ended up together, our faith and passion would be shared, and we would grow together, serve together, and partner in the advance of God’s kingdom. That remains not simply what I want in a woman, in a relationship, in marriage, but what I need. The sad reality is that I may be asking too much, for such like-minded women can be hard to find, and I truly knew I’d found a priceless treasure in Wisconsin. If there comes a time for settling, this certainly isn’t it. I’m serious about what I want with my future wife and future family, and that can’t be compromised.

I was talking with the mother of one of my guys this morning, and she asked how things were going “with that girl you’re crazy about in Wisconsin.” I told her matter-of-factly that it didn’t work out, and she could see the sadness in my eyes and hear it in my blasé tone, and she said, “Don’t lose hope. Love’s always a gamble, but it’s always worth the risk. Keep gambling.” She added, “Men as patient, kind, caring, and compassionate as you are rare to find these days. Some woman’s going to be blessed to call you her husband and the father of her children, and she’ll know she’s blessed, too.” Many of my exes have told me, after-the-fact, that they took those qualities in me for granted, and more than one has lamented, “What if losing you is my greatest regret?” I’ve been told by countless others that my character and personality will make me an awesome husband and father. “Most women your age want the thrill and excitement of dating and partying, but you’re the kind of guy a woman wants to come home to.” My hope and prayer is that some woman will see that one day.

I’m not perfect by any means, and those qualities for which I’m praised aren’t innate but have been cultivated, and are still being cultivated, inside me by the Spirit. My pride clings to such praise, as if those qualities are a badge of my identity, but really the praise belongs to God and the work he’s done inside me. I haven’t always been this way, and at times I’m far from it (I regret some of the things I wrote/said to the Wisconsinite immediately following what happened; I spoke in anger and absent thought); but God continues to work in me and through me, and what’s important now isn’t lamenting the loss of the Wisconsinite but, rather, focusing on Christ and on becoming the person whom he wants me to be. That’s where my heart and mind lie, and I rest peacefully knowing that my life is far more than what I do or do not experience. He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion. Therein lies my goal. Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. My romantic life, my career, my “success”, all of this takes second-seat, lies in the periphery, because what matters isn’t a selfish ascertainment of my dreams but conformity to Christ and doing what he wants me to do, even if it isn’t what I want. 

an exercise of the imagination

I’ve tasted such a life in the Spirit before, but it’s been quite a long time. I remember the joy, the peace, of a dynamic union with God. Remembering the days of life in the Spirit is like looking far back into the past, and I remember the joy that made my face glow (people constantly commented on how joy seemed to exude off my person), and I remember how prayer marked my life, morning and night, and I heard God’s voice, experienced his presence, and I toyed with the idea of becoming a monk, wanting nothing more than to continue falling in love with God and being conformed to Christ. I long for the faith of my youth: the passion, the zeal, the purpose, the intimacy of life in God.

“What happened? What launched me off-track?” I place the blame on my anxieties, my fears, my insecurities, the disillusionment wrought by unending disappointments. I make it psychological, but what if it’s something far more sinister?

In the days of my youth (cue Led Zeppelin), everything was so clear: my mission was to advance God’s kingdom, through teaching and writing, and to be a good husband and a good father when God brought those things to fruition. Not only did I know it, in the way you “know” vocation, but I was sure of it; I believed God called me to “prepare the Way” and that God had a woman he wanted me to be with, and that he would bring us together at the right time. But, over time, all of that changed; the surety became vague, and my heart of passion and purpose morphed into one marked by hopelessness and despair. Those early days are fresh in my mind: wanting nothing more than to take my own life, to bring an end to the misery, and cutting my arms with a razor to feel something other than the gaping cavern of emptiness and loss I felt inside me. There was a switch, and I felt as if my life, everything I knew and believed, was a lie. And therein lies the deception; the “powers and principalities” seek to throw God’s children off-course, and their primary weapon is lying. The Accuser is an anti-human force, “The Father of Lies,” and his lies, his damning accusations, about God and my own person, too root in my fragile state and spread like gangrene.

The lies are cleverly-told, subtle at first, and vague, and thus able to take root. “God doesn’t like you. You’re not good enough to be loved, and you never will be. God loves other people, and he delights in blessing them, but not you: not only does he not like you, but he’s against you. He takes pleasure in tormenting you, in teasing you with your desires and then taking them away as soon as you thank him for them.” These lies are coupled with lies about who I am: “You’re a shitty person, no one can love you, you have no future, you have no hope.” These lies sank deep, cutting at my very identity as God’s beloved child, chosen by him, called by him to advance his kingdom, and the result has been a disordered life marked by grief and escapism. My faith became marked by trying to appease God to make him love me and care for him, and knowledge of my own sins and failures prompted a resignation to a life cast off and abandoned by God because of my inability to be good enough.

The goal of these lies is simple: to throw us off-track. The Accuser is anti-God and anti-human, and he uses lies to thwart God’s good intentions for us. Succumbing to these lies gives birth to a loss of self, a fragmented identity, a life of wandering and escapism. I’ve bought these cleverly-worded lies, and I’ve wandered off-course, much to my own detriment. The fallout is atrocious, but in prayer and meditation comes the voice of God: “I’m not angry with you. You’re my child! My heart breaks for you. I want so much for you, and hope isn’t empty: your story isn’t over.” God’s anger is focused on the one who has fed me the lies, the one who took God’s child and goaded him down a dark and lonely path. God’s love spills out for me, and his anger spills out on the Accuser. I may have found myself in a dark and grimy alley, but God’s pulling me back to where I’m meant to be.

The nostalgia for the faith of my youth isn’t a nostalgic escapism but an echo of who I truly am and what God intends for me. People have prophesied over me, strangers, even, have told me that God has spoken to them about me, and it’d be weird if they didn’t all say the same thing over the course of the last eight years. I’m a firm believer in coincidence, but sometimes coincidences seem to stretch far beyond the normal state-of-affairs. The passion, purpose, and life in the Spirit that I’ve tasted and known is what God wants for me, and that’s precisely what the Accuser has been fighting against. The devil (to go the Medieval route) doesn’t want me to experience and know what God has for me; he wants me to be but a shadow, if that, of whom God wants me to be. The lies must be naked and condemned for what they are, and they must be fought in the Spirit and with the truth of the gospel. My prayer is that God will continually expose and eradicate the lies so that I can walk fully in the “newness of life” he wants for me. The life God wants for me is a life marked by a vibrant faith, ruthless trust, and passion and purpose. 

[meditations]

Over the past several months, God has been showing me things about myself. It’s like a dam has burst, and I’ve just been overwhelmed. I question it, the skeptic in me. How much of this stuff am I just making up and attributing to God’s voice? A book I’ve been reading suggests that “mystics” such as myself may have a keener ear for the voice of God. I want to believe that the things God has been showing me are truly from him. And in the end, perhaps it all boils down to choice: I can choose to either trust God, to trust his Spirit in me, or I can choose to interpret what I feel to be his presence and voice as something psychological, void of any “divine stamp.” Trust itself boils down to choice: we have to choose to trust someone, even before the story’s written in full. The things God has been telling me are beautiful things: he likes me and loves me, he doesn’t condemn me, I’m his treasured child, he cares for me and takes care of me, and he has good things planned for me and through me. Some time ago I could’ve sworn I heard God’s voice: “Trust in Me. Don’t lose hope. Focus on Me, and I’ll show you what I can do.” It’s a call to choose, to make the choice to surrender to him, to give up all that I am and want to become all that he intends me to be. I want to believe that God has indeed spoken such things to me. I want to believe that what he spoke to me in my earlier years, a command and a promise, are left intact.

* * *

Conformity to Christ. That’s the goal of spiritual transformation, the heart of sanctification, the rule of the Spirit. Conformity to Christ is what’s lacking in the church and within myself. We’re promised the Spirit insofar as we conform ourselves to the cross of Christ and his sufferings. Life conformed to Christ is a beautiful, albeit difficult, thing; it’s the antidote to the futile, wasteful lives we live, the remedy to the ills and poisons of society, it’s what human life looks like “plugged into” God. It is, in a word, what genuine human living is all about. So often I despair at my lack of conformity, and instead of being propelled towards greater submission and co-crucifixion with Christ, I find myself overwhelmed by my shortcomings and failures. This should not be so: my struggles and sins, coupled with my desire to please God and conform to Christ, ought to elicit praise for God’s grace and mercy, and spurn me towards greater holiness in the Spirit. Conformity to Christ, life in the Spirit, seems a difficult thing; but Jesus says his yoke is good, and his burden is light. Absent the Spirit, conformity to Christ is impossible; but with the Spirit, we are able, by God’s strength and power in our weakness, to fulfill “the just requirement of the Law.” The Spirit lives within me and desires to shape my life around Christ, if only I persevere. The monk Thomas a’ Kempis insisted, over and over, that the life of the man of faith is marked by two things: (1) putting to death the deeds of the body, refusing to indulge worldly passions, lusts, and inclinations; and (2) pursuing the things of God, practicing virtue and striving diligently to be conformed to Christ.

* * *

I was walking around downtown and praying about things that have been going on, and God spoke to me: “I want to give you something: myself.” I pray constantly for this or that, thinking that if God would answer my prayer in such a way, that would relieve the feelings of hopelessness and helplessness, the chasm inside slowly consuming me like an incurable cancer. Those things won’t satisfy, and I know as much logically; but God is offering me something that does satisfy, and that’s his own self. Jesus said that God delights in giving good gifts, and the greatest gift God gives us his Spirit. The Spirit is the ultimate gift: God in me and me in God. Union with God is the prime reward; restoration to a vibrant, dynamic relationship with the Creator is what God offers us in the Spirit. I pray for deliverance, demanding that rescue to be done in a certain fashion, and God’s offering me something far better: life in the Spirit. That’s what I keep coming back to. I’ve received the Spirit, but I’ve slowly replaced life in the Spirit with a compartmentalized spirituality and faith by academia. I’ve quenched the Spirit in me, and the result has been toxic. I’ve replaced daily conformity to Christ with a meager template of “show people Christians can be nice and intelligent.” But God doesn’t want me to be a smart, friendly Christian; he wants me to die to myself and live for him, to live and walk by the Spirit, to experience genuine human living. Such a life has a purpose transcending myself: not MY kingdom come and MY will be done, but God’s kingdom come and his will be done. God isn’t calling me to an easy life, but a purposeful one. We’re created not for ourselves but for him, and genuine, fully-flourishing human life therefore entails turning from life-to-self to life-for-God. In such a life, I dare to believe, is satisfaction, joy, and hope found.

* * *

Life in the Spirit. Not an esoteric fascination with tongues and miracles but a life consumed by the Spirit of God. It is not I who live but Christ in me. Life in the Spirit is about conformity to Christ, conformity to the genuine pattern of human living. Life in the Spirit, involving death to self and life to God, spills out into our hearts. The Spirit works in us, changing our hearts, our desires, our motivations and inclinations. By the Spirit we are made new creations—and the Spirit means business. I yearn for my heart, my life, to be transformed; I want to be changed, inside and out. The Spirit is a gift going beyond anything we could have imagined. Indeed, the presence of the Spirit marked a new age in cosmic history, and I’m guilty of taking this mind-blowing gift and turning it into a doctrine to be studied rather than a person to be engaged. I’ve been holding the gift in my hands, studying the packaging and reading the manual; I want to unwrap the gift and plunge into it headfirst. Jesus said he brings life abundant; not a life marked by acquiring certain things or experiencing prosperity at the hand of God, but a life “plugged into the life source.” I want life to be more bearable with certain accompaniments, but God’s offering me, in the Spirit, a life illuminated, infused, and transformed by his Spirit in me. Life in the Spirit is a life of union with God, of being transformed into the image of his sin, of becoming a new sort of person in the world. I’m tired of fruitless, anxious, wasteful living; I’m tired of the struggle of trying to control my life and make it pan out a certain way; I’m tired of the emptiness and loneliness of a life spent pursuing my own kingdom and my own will. I want something different, and that’s what God’s offering me, if only I abandon my own thirst for glory and live for his glory instead. Down the path of life-for-self is an “easy life” that leads to death, and down the path for life-for-God (and, by consequence, life-for-others) is a “hard life” that, paradoxically, gives life. 

Gorman: "Cruciform Love"

This will be the last post of notes from Gorman's "Cruciformity": I had about fifteen more pages of notes to transcribe on the blog, but my own inability to be observant has cost me my leather journal I've been using for the past two years, in which I kept all my notes. It really is a tragic loss. 

* * *

Love is primary in Paul’s experience of God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit. In Philippians 3.12 he says that on the Damascus Road he was “taken over” by Christ’s love, and he says similar things in Galatians 2.20, Romans 8.35-37, and 2 Corinthians 5.14. Paul’s understanding of the human condition—that people are in the grip of disordered relations with God and others—finds its solution in “faith expressing itself [or working] through love.” (Galatians 5.6) This encompasses both dimensions of the appropriate human response to the gospel, both the vertical dimension (“faith”) and the horizontal dimension (“love”).

The Fundamental Meaning of Love. 1 Corinthians 13 is an encomium, or ancient text in praise of a virtue. Here Paul proclaims the necessity of love (vv.1-3), the character of love (4-7) and the endurance of love (8-13). Wedged between 1 Cor 12 (on the diversity of spiritual gifts) and 1 Cor 14 (proper use of spiritual gifts in church), love is set forth as the modus operandi of ALL spiritual gifts. In the wider context of 1 Corinthians—in which Paul addresses issues of division, pride, selfishness, etc.—love is held up as the appropriate way for Christians to live. Love is at the core of Paul’s understanding of individual and corporate life. It is “what counts” (Gal 5.6), as it puts faith—one’s fundamental posture before God—into action toward others.

Love isn’t something to have in small measure but great; and though focused on members of the Christian community, this love isn’t limited to them. Love is the only debt Christians are to owe one another (Rom 13.8). Love is the point of the Law (Gal 5.14), and as such Christians should, through love, become slaves to one another. Cruciform love doesn’t come naturally; it is the work of God, and first on the “list” of the fruit of the Spirit in Galatians 5. This cruciform kind of love has such power that Christians are “controlled” by the love of Christ. Love is the “litmus test” of the presence of Christ by his Spirit in a person or community. This love is a very specific kind of love, and Paul’s understanding of it is linked to his understanding of the cross as the expression of God’s love in Christ.

In 1 Corinthians 13.4-7, we find a chain of texts, including seven affirmations and eight negations. Each affirmation and negation is a “rule” by which the Corinthians (and us) can measure their use of spiritual gifts and personal and corporate behaviors. Key to this text is verse 5: “[Love] does not seek its own.” This phrase is a Greek idiom, and can be translated, “[Love] does not seek its own proper or improper interests and welfare.” Love doesn’t seek its own interest or welfare but (implicitly) seeks the interests and welfare of others. In 1 Corinthians 10 (the chapter where Paul addresses the question of eating meat sacrificed to idols), the “Strong” are those who understand eating such meat isn’t a sin, and the “Weak” are those who think it’s a sin. The Strong, Paul says, should exercise love NOT by being puffed up by knowledge (“I know this isn’t a sin!”) but by NOT insisting on the right they have to eat the meat, since this is unloving towards the weaker brethren. Love builds up, Paul insists, and as such the Strong should build up the Weak and show them concern.

Love has a 2-dimensional character: negatively, it doesn’t seek its own advantage or edification. It’s characterized by status- and rights-renunciation. Positively, it seeks the good, the advantage, the welfare and edification of others, and is characterized by regard for them. “Love… is the dynamic, creative endeavor of finding ways to pursue the welfare of others rather than one’s own interests.” (160) Love is others-oriented, not self-oriented. Love is characterized by self-giving for the good of others; in Phil 2.1-3, Paul makes it clear that love looks out not for the self but for the other. In Gal 5.13, Paul says that we are to become slaves to one another. It sounds harsh, so it’s often translated as “servants” in English bibles. Nevertheless, Paul sees true freedom consisting in the freedom to become slaves to one another, to serve one another rather than indulging the self.

This understanding of love isn’t pulled out of thin air but drawn from the cross of Christ (Galatians 2.19-21; Romans 8.34-37, 2 Corinthians 5.14-15). In Galatians 1.4, Paul says that Christ gave himself for our sins to set us free from the present evil age, according to the will of our God and Father. This statement was probably an early Christian “self-surrender” formula. “For sins” becomes “for me” in Galatians 2.20, so that “The cross is Christ’s loving gift of himself for ‘me’, for us, for all. His death for sins was not anything other than an act of love, a voluntary gift of the self.” (163) The love of God is the love of Christ, embodied on the cross. From the Father’s perspective, it is the selfless giving expressed in sacrificing one’s own dear Son; from the Son’s perspective, it is the self-giving of oneself. The love of Christ, expressed on the cross, isn’t limited to a one-time historical event but is an ongoing reality. Even now Christ is interceding for us, a natural continuation of the love displayed on the cross (Rom 8.34). Christ in love sought, and continues to seek, the edification of others.

the 49th week

Honesty is the best policy?

Monday. I woke at 4:30 AM, couldn't fall back asleep, lost in thoughts of the Wisconsinite. I went to The Anchor before opening the store with Eric. The ever present sadness drains my energy. I know the sadness will dissipate in time, but it doesn't make it any easier to bear. I went down to Louisville to see Mo. It was good catching up. We went to a local brewery and had honeyed wine and some quesadillas and walked The Strip and talked. Sleet came late, and she was kind enough to let me crash on her sofa.

Tuesday. I picked up a latte from Heine Brothers Coffee (a Louisville chain) before heading back to Cincinnati. Corey called, his car broken down, and I gave him a ride to Roh's Street before chowing down on Dusmesh with Amos. We went back to his place and watched the most recent episode of The Walking Dead, and we explored the woods behind the farmhouse: the ruins of the dairy farm's spring house, the winding creek, an old station wagon rusted-out and half-buried in a ravine. After some writing at The Anchor I went by the Bakewell House to see Mandy, and John, Mandy and I (plus Kevin, one of Mandy's friends) went to a quiet bar down the street called Dubb's Irish Pub (and there was nothing Irish about it). We drank beer and shot pool. "You've been so sad lately," Mandy said, "and my heart hurts for you." She's a good friend to have.

Wednesday. Wednesdays tend to be long days: I open the coffee shop at 6:30 and then work until 6:00 with Walk of Joy. Cindy from work told me, "Sarah and Brandon say you're a good soul, and they're right. I can see it." It isn't often I feel that way, though. I went by Rock Bottom once I got off work in Delhi, and I drank a pumpkin ale at the bar and took nachos-to-go. It was a quiet, lonely night, and I was in bed by 8:30.

Thursday. I woke early, unable to sleep, and went to The Anchor before working at the farm with Walk of Joy. I was half an hour late due to a seven-car pileup on 75. I ran down to Covington after work and dropped off first month's rent for the new place in Wallace Woods, and after carrying countless loads of heavy boxes of books up four flights of stairs, I was quite exhausted. Andy joined me at Rock Bottom for beer and ribs to wind down, and who sat across the aisle from us but my old friend Carly and her boyfriend Devyn? It was good seeing them again. It's been years.

Friday. Tori and I opened, and the afternoon was spent moving most of my things into the new place with the help of Brandon, Sarah and Ams. "This place is so cute and quaint!" Ams exclaimed; "It's perfect for you!" Brandon and Ams left, and Sarah picked up some whiskey and we sat in the apartment drinking by candlelight (no electric quite yet). Sarah's going to be living a few houses down from me, which is pretty cool.

Saturday. I woke at 5:30, sad and alone, and I went to The Anchor to perk up with coffee and scripture. I grabbed Dusmesh for lunch and spent the afternoon relaxing before working until midnight at a Sock Hop dance in Cleves.

Sunday. Corey, Mandy and I met up for coffee at The Anchor, and then I went to U.C.C.--"Spiritual Warfare in Ephesians 6"--before hanging out with John, Brandy, and Amos late into the afternoon. Clover couldn't stop shivering, bundled up in the guest bed's blankets. I did some writing at The Anchor and a series of awful storms swept through, sirens wailing and kids on the street shrieking that they saw a tornado (we were fortunate, but people in Michigan and Illinois weren't so fortunate). I worked eight to midnight with Walk of Joy and then crashed in the warmth of Park Avenue after a hot shower.

from the dairy farm

There's a game on the television and it's a pretty big deal, but I really don't know what's going on. There's the threat of delay due to a tornado watch, and that's all I really picked up. John's making beef soup and I'm browsing mind-blowing facts, such as:

1) This is what our skies would look like if Jupiter were as close to us as the moon:


2) The pyramids were as old to the Romans as the Romans are old to us.


3) The time that passed between Stegosaurus in the Jurassic and Tyrannosarus in the Cretaceous is FAR longer than the time that has passed between Tyrannosaurus and us.

4) Here's the ACTUAL size of Africa (and we've all but forgotten it exists, it's just that place ravaged by slavery and abandoned in a poverty-wracked shadow of its old self):



These facts are far more interesting than a Bengals-Browns game, and I may just spend the whole afternoon looking up cool facts. And eating Subway (next on the list). 

I'm Frodo Skywalker!

A pair of "Which character are you?" posters based on personality types have been bouncing around Facebook, and I think they're pretty cool so here's who I would be from Star Wars and Lord of the Rings (click to enlarge the pics and see YOU'RE character!):

Frodo: The idealist. Reserved, kind, quiet, sensitive, devoted, deep, passionate, curious, creative, introspective, sees possibilities, original, noble, imaginative, flexible, insightful, gentle, innovative, caring, individual, adaptable, idealistic, complex, virtuous, reticent, empathetic and compassionate. 

Luke Skywalker: Introspective, private, creative, and highly idealistic. Driven by their values, and interested in helping people and serving humanity. Adaptable and laid-back unless a strongly-held value is threatened. Imaginative, often talented in language and writing. Characterized by their ability to be present with another person on a deep level.

I'm a distracted sage!

Bored at home the other night, I decided to take a few “Spiritual Types” quizzes online. You know the ones: you answer a few questions, and they tell you what kind of “spirituality” you embrace. It’s all subjective, of course, but it’s interesting nonetheless. I’ve taken a handful of such quizzes over the last couple years, and “Mystic” is usually what I end up with.

You are a Sage. You’re characterized by a thinking or “head” spirituality. You value responsibility, logic, and order. Structure and organization are important to you. What would the world be without you? Chaos, that’s what! Your favorite words include should, ought, and be prepared. What makes you feel warm and fuzzy? Tradition! Because you love words, written or spoken, you enjoy a good lecture, serious discussions, and theological reflections. Prayer for you is usually verbal. You thrive on activity and gatherings of people, such as study groups. We need sages for your clear thinking and orderly ways. You pay attention to details that others overlook. Sages make contributions to education, publishing, and theology. You often are the ones who feel a duty to serve, give, care, and share with the rest of us. On the other hand, sometimes you seem unfeeling, too intellectual, or dry.

You are a Mystic. You are very prayerful and have a close personal relationship with God. Contemplation and meditation are very much part of your life. Mysticism has deep roots in the Christian tradition, from the Transfiguration and Pentecost to eastern Christian Jesus prayer and the writings of Spanish mystics like Saint Teresa of Avila and her interior castle. Just remember to avoid the dangers of the occult and syncretism, which have led many astray. Also, remember not to be too closed in on yourself.

You are a Seeker. Seekers are people who naturally connect with God through questioning. They have a healthy skepticism that makes it easy for them to explore different opinions, understandings, and experiences of faith. They do not feel the need to accept traditional faith patterns in order to come to a lively trust in God. They do not feel that faith needs to be categorized or institutionalized in order to be real. Inconsistencies and mystery are not daunting to them, but they sometimes find it hard to recognize God in ready-made answers to questions of faith. They seek to relate to God through exploration and journey. They tend to pray with hopefulness rather than certainty in God’s response. If they were to meet God face to face, they would want to ask God questions.

This last one—You are Distracted—makes me laugh. On the test, one of the questions was, “Your friend is moving in with her boyfriend and says she doesn’t believe in marriage anymore; what do you do?” I answered, “I have better things to think about than my friend’s view on marriage.” The appropriate answer, it turns out, was “I tell my friend that I disagree with her stance and won’t be visiting her at her house until she’s married.” Depending on how I answered that question, I want from being Distracted to being, well, a healthy Christian. Here’s the summary of You are Distracted: “You are probably quite busy and have a lot on your mind, or at least you don’t have a lot of time for religion. Many of the people called by Jesus in the New Testament were like this. They were busy with their jobs, and even in the case of Saint Matthew and Saint Mary Magdalene, they were ashamed of their lives. Being distracted is all too common nowadays, but that doesn’t mean that you have to close yourself off to the charity of Christ. Still, those who never seek the source of joy remain like seeds that fell among brambles. They are choked by the shade, hidden from the sun, and never given a chance to grow.” Bleak, is it not?

Goodbye African Rhino

"Radical"

I've been wanting to give this book a read for a long time, since I've heard such good things about it. Platt's premise is that the American gospel is a diluted version of the actual gospel (I totally agree) and that following Jesus demands a radical reorientation of lifestyle, thoughts, habits, priorities, everything. The first couple chapters make this argument, and the rest of the book (about 2/3) looks at the role of the church (and individual Christians) in (a) global evangelism and (b) social justice. Below are a few snippets from the first couple chapters, which were by far my favorite in the book.

* * *

"[We] are starting to redefine Christianity. We are giving in to the dangerous temptation to take the Jesus of the Bible and twist him into a version of Jesus we are more comfortable with. A nice, middle-class, American Jesus. A Jesus who doesn't mind materialism and who would never call us to give away everything we have. A Jesus who would not expect us to forsake our closest relationships so that he receives all our affection. A Jesus who is fine with nominal devotion that does not infringe on our comforts, because, after all, he loves us just the way we are. A Jesus who wants us to be balanced, who wants us to avoid dangerous extremes, and who, for that matter, wants us to avoid danger altogether. A Jesus who brings us comfort and prosperity as we live out our Christian spin on the American dream."

"[In] the American dream, where self reigns as king (or queen), we have a dangerous tendency to misunderstand, minimize, and even manipulate the gospel in order to accommodate our assumptions and our desires."

"The gospel reveals eternal realities about God that we would sometimes rather not face. We prefer to sit back, enjoy our cliches, and picture God as a Father who might help us, all the while ignoring God as a Judge who might damn us. Maybe this is why we fill our lives with the constant drivel of entertainment in our culture--and in the church. We are afraid that if we stop and really look at God in his Word, we might discover that he evokes greater awe and demands deeper worship than we are ready to give him."

"We are not evil, we think, and certainly not spiritually dead. Haven't you heard of the power of positive thinking? I can become a better me and experience my best life now. That's why God is there--to make that happen. My life is not going right, but God loves me and has a plan to fix my life. I simply need to follow certain steps, think certain things, and check off certain boxes, and then I am good."

 

"Ask Jesus to come into your heart. Invite Jesus to come into your life. Pray this prayer, sign this card, walk down this aisle, and accept Jesus as your personal Savior... [None] of these man-made catch phrases are in the Bible. You will not find a verse in Scripture where people are told to 'bow your heads, close your eyes, and repeat after me.' You will not find a place where a superstitious sinner's prayer is even mentioned. And you will not find an emphasis on accepting Jesus."

"We have taken the infinitely glorious Son of God, who endured the infinitely terrible wrath of God and who now reigns as the infinitely worthy Lord of all, and we have reduced him to a poor, puny Savior who is just begging for us to accept him... We have been told all that is required is a one-time decision, maybe even mere intellectual assent to Jesus, but after that we need not worry about his commands, his standards, or his glory. We have a ticket to heaven, and we can live however we want on earth. Our sin will be tolerated along the way." 

"Biblical proclamation of the gospel beckons us to a much different response... Here the gospel demands and enables us to turn from our sin, to take up our cross, to die to ourselves, and to follow Jesus. These are the terms and phrases we see in the Bible. And salvation now consists of a deep wrestling in our souls with the sinfulness of our hearts, the depth of our depravity, and the desperation of our need for his grace. Jesus is no longer one to be accepted or invited in but one who is infinitely worthy of our immediate and total surrender."