Yes, The Glory

Photo Credit: Emily Szabo

"Where is this place you have brought me? I don't recognize the shine. The sounds give life. Along the way you talked about it, you raved of glory. But when I see glory I see Hollywood and lights and the height of human pride. What is the glory you speak of?" 

"Don't look for it, Tim. When you look and strive, it only frustrates things. Do you know what I mean when I say, "Be still?" 

"I thought I knew. I thought so much of it was wrapped up in the religion I claim I don't possess--for religion is such a nasty word in this culture, you know?"

"Yes, but think of religio as the relational structure that holds you and I together. For you, religion became a matter of things, of places, of people, of positions." 

"Yes, I think I see now. I cannot achieve you." 

"No, you cannot. Though you've tried. And when you've tried, you shone indeed. But in your own glory, which is no glory at all." 

"So, be still?" 

"Yes, but being still is not a matter of physical action. To be still is to be within me. Remember that day at the Pacific Ocean?"

"Oh yes, how could I forget." 

"You felt the rush of the cold waters--I love the Pacific. But you also felt fear. You trembled a bit when you felt the force. But you did not back down. The fear drew you in, and then you dove." 

"I remember my breath being taken away." 

"You swam and played. Those waters took your breath away and they allowed you to breathe all at once."

"I felt. I gasped. I laughed, and played." 

"Yes, Tim. Glory. That is what it's like to be still. Do not forget the second part. 'And know.' Stillness is not an emptying of mind and spirit. Quite the opposite, really. It's filling. It's stepping from the world, the so-called religion, the glory you think is associated with me, and stepping into this place. This place where the sounds haunt you. Where the air feels alive, speaking to you, caressing you. And the shine." 

"Yes, the shine. I can't escape it. I walk to the trees but the shine permeates where shadows should rest." 

"Oh, Tim. You are slowly growing and it makes me smile but you are still so young. I AM the shine." 

---

There are heavenly bodies and earthly bodies, but the glory of the heavenly is of one kind, and the glory of the earthly is of another. There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars; for star differs from star in glory.

-1 Corinthians 15:40-41 (ESV)

---

My Birthday: Ten Things I Think I Think

Yes, it's my birthday so please, indulge me. I figured, why not reflect on some things I've learned over the years. I stole the idea from SI's Peter King who includes a "Ten Things I Think I Think" each week on his blog, and it's usually fantastic.  So, I thought I'd have some fun. 

If, at the end of this post you can surmise my age, then I'll send you (you being the FIRST person to guess it correctly in the comments) and your small group copies of my new book due out with Thomas Nelson April 29th, Home Behind The Sun: Connect With God in the Brilliance of the Everyday. I've included one major clue to help you. 

So, here goes. 

Ten Things I Think I Think ... 

1. I think when you're a kid, focus on being a kid. And adults, let that happen. 

a. All I remember about growing up in Florida is jean shorts, bike races, and kissing Lori Jones. When did we get so caught up with getting our kids into the right "Pre-school?" 

b. I think churches that let children be children, and encourage imagination and play are on the right track. 

c. As a dad to three little pixies, I see how important it is to be a kid with them; to romp on the floor and play; to leave the TV off, and keep the laughter loud. 

d. I think I miss how the Spanish Moss on the Florida oaks made the trees look like monsters.

2. I think I'm the man I am today because other men took time to build me up. Call it mentoring, apprenticeship, I call it good ole fashioned discipleship, and it's sadly missing in the church today. 

a. I think I'm thankful for Tim Weaver pulling me out of 7th grade youth group to set me straight. 

b. I think I'm thankful for a dad who was constant. 

c. I think I'm thankful for Ken Keener who offered no-holds-barred discussions. 

d. I think I'm thankful for Nelson Peters who told me, as a 20something, "Tim, you're Okay. Stop running." 

3. I think a good teacher is worth more than we know, and certainly more than they're paid. 

a. I can vividly remember my first grade teacher Mrs. Summerall, and how she taught me how to "feel" love bubbling up in my spirit. From American Political Behavior teacher Mr. Boyer to Dr. Lehy to Dr. Hugenberger to Dr. McGrath, I have been shaped by the minds and lives of teachers. 

The academic voyage has taken most of my life, and each teacher played a vital role. From challenging me to think for myself (Mr. Boyer), to telling me to pursue writing full-time, to telling me my writing needed to get tighter, clearer, to encouraging me to pursue something most thought I'd never accomplish, a PhD. 

b. Both of my sisters are teachers, and excellent ones at that--now, they collectively homeschool seven brilliant children. They've taught me so much, but mostly they've taught me how to be myself with kids, to let my imagination run, to challenge but always to love. I have the best sisters on the planet. 

c. C.S. Lewis had an excellent teacher of logic and Latin and literature when he was a teenager. The great Knock (Kirkpatrick) was of tremendous influence in Lewis's young formation. Even the most brilliant minds among us are influenced and formed by another. 

d. Some of the ladies I coached on the varsity volleyball team are now coaching and teaching. No greater reward than that! 

4. I think experience is vital. If you can travel, do it. If you can climb it, get your harness, if you can chase your dreams, then why not. 

a. Life experience must be mixed in with classroom learning. We're unwise to champion one over the other. 

b. Dreams come to life with the support of friends who will love you no matter what. 

c. Experience does not always look like a romantic dream-chasing. It hurts, it's hard, and it will leave you wishing you were home with family. 

d. Nothing can compare to shooting the Lehigh River rapids in a canoe. That insane adventure gave me a doctorate in risk management and "sucking all of the marrow out of life." 

5. I think there are four vital items in this life that you never skimp on and you always make sure you're never without. 

a. Orange Juice (with pulp)

b. Fresh whole wheat bread

c. Honey

d. The Holy Spirit

6. I think bonfires are essential to forge friendships. 

a. Most of my lifechanging decisions began and came to fruition around a fire. 

b. Fires in the winter are best: the sparks can go high into the trees and blend with the stars. 

c. Fires in the mountains near cliffs and waterfalls are preferrable. 

d. Fires with your brothers are life giving. 

7. I think music is essential to sustain life. 

a I've talked to adults who, sadly, have lost interest in music; as if once you turn a certain age you're not allowed to head bang in your office or mosh in your living room with your children. Whatever. 

b. I think everyone should get to Pearl Jam concert at least once. 

c. I think worship music is wonderful, but the church teeters dangerously close to idolatry by hoisting it up as a "draw" or "lure' to convince guests that a certain church is "relevant" or "cool." Be who you are church ... and that is Christ himself. 

d. I think Bach has to be the foremost musical genius ... ever. 

8. I think the church is in desperate need of revival. The burning kind! 

a. And by revival I mean a dynamic movement back to prayer, to yearning for God through fasting, to life swelling up in God's glory and beauty, and healing occurring in people's lives. 

b. I think the need of most Christian leaders is true affection for God. Our once vibrant religio has turned into the marketplace of ideas, best practices, efficiencies, and glorified self-help. 

c. Prayer marks all revivals. Ever wonder why? Where is prayer in our churches? Where is prayer in our daily lives? And by prayer I do not mean the liturgical, not to deny its benefits, but to point to an intimate conversing with the Lord of Hosts. 

d. I sat backstage in a church once and heard the worship team laughing and joking just before it took the stage. There was no spirit of prayer, no spirit of humility. It seemed like a job to them. Has our faith become something we turn on like the television each Sunday morning? 

9. I think your age doesn't matter. Do whatever you can to keep your heart vibrant. 

a. I was riding my mountain bike around my parents house last summer and the neighbor said, "Hey Tim, aren't you too old for that now?" Of course I bellowed out a loud laugh to let her know how ridiculous that notion was and rode on. 

b. Mountain biking keeps my heart young. I once had my lunch handed to me on the trail by a 60something who put the hammer down, as they say. I want to be that guy. 

c. I once repelled off a 300 foot cliff with a 50something gentleman. He's bagged most of the 14er's in Colorado. I want to be that guy. 

d. Each day, each dream, each opportunity is an opportunity to glorify God and to feel the joy he's infused into this life. Forget how old you are and do something that keeps your heart fully alive. 

10. I think God gives us everything we need to be brilliant in this life. But we miss it because we're too busy with, well, whatever. Look around you, what do yo see? I'll tell you. It's not what, it's who. 

a. My wife makes me brilliant because she digs past my muck and loves me still. My pixies wake each morning ready to hug the day. Today they woke me up, all dressed up in their best outfits and said, "Happy Birthday, Daddy." Brilliant! 

b. I have been richly blessed with a quiver full of brothers. Blood brothers, brothers-in-law, and brothers of heaven. Peter tells us to love deeply, to love the brotherhood. I take that literally. 

c. The Family of God should be a force to be reckoned with. And by reckoned with I mean a brilliant star of good ole fashion front-porch-love. What if we treated one another like a family rather than taking every opportunity to blast one another from our blogs, from our podiums, from our platforms.

d. I'm so sick of hearing about platforms. Think about the ramifications on relationships when every person is viewed for their network-ability, meaning how much their worth to your platform and network? I'm so tired of the ambulance-chasing (as my friend Jason calls them) bloggers who look for everything and anything to react to in the news. How about some blogs that praise, some that just offer poetry, some that offer thoughtful interaction with real topics--oh, right, those don't produce traffic. I get it. No, really, I do. 

e. In this life, it's not about what you do as much as it is about who you do it with. I'm on a journey, an adventure in England with three vivacious daughters and a wife who fears nothing. We miss our family and friends but we're making do with what God has given us right here and right now. Beauty abounds! 

So, today I'll head down to The Terf Tavern and do some writing. I'll walk the ancient streets of this beautifully bookish town and thank God for his brilliance, his glory, his wonder.

But then I'll speed home and hug my girls and we'll roll around and wrestle on the floor. I'll open their homemade cards and we'll laugh. Chris will prepare the cake and give me the biggest piece.

And when it's all said and done, we'll fall asleep in the peace of a love we can't explain.

The older I get the more at home in mystery I become.

In my twenties I wanted to argue and win arguments and fight. My writing read like rants. 

But now I've settled into the poetry of my youth.

I began writing to woo the girls, because I loved sonnets, because I loved rhyme and language. And now I see language and writing as a means by which to step daily into the brilliance. 

Sure there are times to pontificate and demand change and revolution. But more than anything I pray for a discerning eye and ear; when do I opine, when do I remain silent. 

The poetry of age rises, I fall deeper into it and I long to wade into the waters of beauty; letting all the rest bicker and argue.

Give me a bonfire and a brother. Give me music and a good book. Give me life, this life. 

What really matters? This. 

Reflections On Internet Engagement

Photo Credit

Each day we wake, new opportunities face us. The most important opportunities, however, are the relational ones.

We roll out of bed with our spouses, what words pour out first? Loving words, spiteful words, grudging words? Or we hit school or the work place, each step through the door, another opportunity to bite and bicker, love and encourage. 

And what about the virtual relationships, the social media interactions, the rogue blog-commenter, the public figures we read about, their lives now oh-so-public?

It occurred to me that our culture encourages an observational approach to maintaining and engaging our relationships. We watch and react. We observe and respond. We read and comment. We skim and tweet.

It's the way of it.  

But another way exists. 

It does not begin on the outside looking in. Rather, it originates from within. The most intimate of positions.

In a short essay titled "Meditation in a Toolshed" C.S. Lewis described a dark toolshed in which he was standing. The sun poured through a crack at the top of the door and into the shed. From his position outside of the beam he could easily say something about the shaft of light entering the toolshed. 

But then something changed. 

Lewis moved from his position and stepped into the beam. 

Within the beam his perspective changed. Through the crack he saw leaves swaying, and beyond that the sun shining 90 million miles away.

"Looking along the beam, and looking at the beam are very different experiences."

You and I, we're creatures of observations. We enjoy looking at the beam. It's much safer, and the view is great for we can see everything; at least we like to think we can. We can make keen observations about the beam of light and the surroundings. 

From our outside view we, then, create theories and rules about everything we see. 

Lewis was not fond of theories.

He did not think general laws (theories) could explain human behavior. We can't understand one another from the outside looking in. We can't create theories and psychological laws about one another and think we've solved the human conundrum of we-ourselves. 

Rather, we must daily strive to understand why a person acts a certain way based upon their explanation. And we must do this from within the relational experience. 

You let the kettle boil but do not make the tea. I ask, "Why?" to which you reply, "Because I did't feel like it." This may lead to an argument, or it may not. What it does lead to is the fact that we give ad hoc reasons for actions based on personal desire. Those desires, in turn, may hurt or help another person. But this is way of it, and no theory can determine our random actions within relationships. 

We may also not do something another person was expecting us to do because we thought it was wrong. Here we give moral reasoning for our actions based on reflection of the situation. 

Each day, then, on and on we interact based on personal desires and moral reflections of situations. "Soon," writes philosopher Paul Holmer, "we are all caught up in a web of everyday explanations by which we understand human actions." (Holmer, 26)

We're caught in the ad hoc everyday whim of explanations, the inside view, the inside interaction of being in the muck of it with those whom we encounter. This is how we know, how we climb inside one another. 

Rules break and fail, and what do we have? 

We must rely on our understanding of the person. And how do we achieve such an understanding?

We must be close enough, within the beam of relationship, to discern when the web of the ad hoc everyday explanations make sense, when our stated motivations are true, when our love for one another is real and not pretense.

This is understanding, and understanding begets wisdom. 

I suppose today's ramble is more for me than anything; a thinking through, a reminder:

I must adjust my position if I seek truth and wisdom about others and situations. And that is no small feat. What do I know about the co-worker in front of me, the school mate next to me, the public figure who messed up? If the answer is, "Not much," then perhaps I should hold my tongue, my pen, my blog post, my news article, my ___________. 

"Ah, but Tim, it's all well and good to desire intimate knowledge before we speak, but the public square is different. Hoist up the poles and burn the heretics, for we now have new means of accountability!" 

Do we, now? Does not the word itself presuppose a relational foundation: of friend to friend, of student to teacher, of husband to wife (and vice versa), of pastor to church and so on? 

Accountability cannot be divorced from understanding, from wisdom.

And that is what we find within the beam; not only the wisdom to truly see those we encounter, but also the grace afforded to us from others.

For there we stand, exposed in the sunlight and yet it is only from within the beam we find the ability, the grace and humility to truly understand, to truly know.

---

Take a few moments and listen to my friend Joy Eggerich's thoughts regarding our online engagement. 

---

The Man of Action

Post by Tim Willard.

Our Epic

"By yourself you're unprotected. With a friend you can face the worst. Can you round up a third? A three-stranded rope isn't easily snapped." Ecclesiastes 4:12 (The Message)

In a culture that prizes the individual it's easy to forget that strength to make it through every day, every trial, every disappointment comes from others. The Teacher (King Solomon) included this "saying" in his book of wisdom but it wasn't original to him. It was a common axiom in the ancient near east.

In the Epic of Gilgamesh there's a scene where Gilgamesh and his friend Enkidu take 50 men and travel to the "the land of the living" (literally, a land of cedar trees) where Gilgamesh falls into troubled sleep. Worried for his friend, Enkidu tries to convince Gilgamesh to leave but Gilgamesh replies, "Two people will not perish! … No one can cut through a three-ply cloth!"

We should remember two things about strength. First, we should always seek to be the strength others need, especially in their time of need. Second, we should not run in our rabbit holes when things get bad. We should, rather, call on a friend.

Interesting how in the verse we see a progression from two, to three. Apparently three isn't a crowd. It's just right.

Think about the times you've been most encouraged. For me, the times praying with my wife or sharing a hardship with a friend come to mind. And still other times brim up in my memory, times when I was surrounded with a group of people whom I loved. We shared, we sang, we prayed, we laughed and I left with strength to overcome.

In sports we hear about "team chemistry" and how important it is for a team to possess it.  But if players isolate themselves, or act selfishly, they weaken the team. If players, on the other hand, bond and place the needs of their teammates first, they find success.
 
It's possible to be, to work, to live within a group of people and yet remain isolated—many things put us there. Things like shame, fear, selfishness and greed—all stemming from a vision turned inward, toward the dark, toward our selves.

The greatest conqueror among us, however, finds new vision in the hope of conquest, in the light of service and in the strength of brotherhood.

Jesus said, "I call you friends." Then he went and died for us. Oh to wrap ourselves around him—each of us, locking arms, locking hearts. Strong. 

Today's Prayer: Lord, we are strong only in Your strength. Help our weakness. Be the strand we wrap ourselves around today. 

Check out the new FREE eBOOK my friend, Jason Locy, and I have just released. It's called The Sound of Silence: A Short Book on Rest. 

SIGN UP BELOW TO DOWNLOAD IT NOW

Everything You Have, Heart & Soul

 "The Way a Traveler Knows a Traveler," by Emily Leonard

Travelers grow weary, and we are all of us travelers. Our paths cross and intermingle and yet keep their unique direction. We can relate to one another. We should encourage one another.

Our culture likes to critique. Christians like to follow suit. But the words that drip from our lips should be wine to those whom need refreshed and honey for those whom need revived. We should stride with one another, barking courage into the hearts of our brothers and sisters.

“Be strong. Take courage," I say, "Don’t be intimidated. Don’t give them a second thought because God, your God, is striding ahead of you. He’s right there with you. He won’t let you down; he won’t leave you.”[1]

God himself strides with you!

"I won’t give up on you; I won’t leave you," he says. "Strength! Courage! Give it everything you have, heart and soul. Don’t get off track, either left or right, so as to make sure you get to where you’re going. And don’t for a minute let this Book of The Revelation be out of mind. Ponder and meditate on it day and night, making sure you practice everything written in it. Then you’ll get where you’re going; then you’ll succeed. Haven’t I commanded you? Strength! Courage! Don’t be timid; don’t get discouraged. God, your God, is with you every step you take.”[2]

And so we travel on, through the lay-offs, through the disappointments, through the loss, through the betrayals, through the grit of it all. For we will not be overcome—Jesus himself is the Overcomer!

"I love the man that can smile in trouble," writes Thomas Paine, "that can gather strength from distress, and row brave by reflection. ’Tis the business of little minds to shrink; but he whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves his conduct, will pursue his principles unto death."

Row brave today brothers and sisters. He is with you—and so, peace goes with you. Be brave. Be brave.

Today's Prayer: Stride with me, Lord Jesus. Help me to stride with others in your strength, being your agent of peace and blessing. 

[1] Deuteronomy 31:6 (The Message)

[2] Joshua 1:1-9 (The Message)

Check out the new FREE eBOOK my friend, Jason Locy, and I have just released. It's called The Sound of Silence: A Short Book on Rest. 

Sign Up Below To Download It Now

And be sure to tell a friend if you find it to be a blessing. 

Cheers, 
Tim

Photo: Painting - "The Way a Traveler Knows a Traveler," by Emily Leonard. 

I Am Violent And Lost

I found myself out upon the waters, the waves and breakers crashing. I left my fear back inside the boat and my trust unfolded in front of me—"a trust without borders."

A Holy presence circled around me, calling me further into the unknown.

But Jesus did not appear out the darkness. He didn't walk across the stormy waters.

Or did he and I couldn't see above the waves? Was I sinking? Drowning? Was my soul in peril, consumed by my doubt?

Doubt looks like my everyday—it's the familiar and the safe, it's the known and the controlled.

Water-walking sticks out in my reality. How about yours? It makes no sense; neither does faith. Faith finds us lost and violent, but yet, alive. It carries us toward our love, the object of eternal goodness. Woe to the one faith finds stuffed and vacant, not lost nor violent, but pure nothing.

It's only out here, in the violent mystery of the unknown that my faith finds resonance—echoing into the realm of the above. "Voices are in the wind's singing" or is it just a singular voice calling through my drowning.

He finds us flailing, calms our arms and sets us on the path to the above. The world ends for most in a trickling "whimper." But not for me, not today. I will flail and rise, because your hand seized mine. You pulled me up threw me up into the mysterious above, where your fiery messengers sing in rapt worship.

I know well enough how the wind blows this way and that. I hear it rustling through the trees, but I have no idea where it comes from or where it’s headed next. That’s the way it is with everyone ‘born from above’ by the wind of God, the Spirit of God. (John 3:8)

Today's Prayer: Set my feet upon the deeps. Make water-walking my everyday. 

Check out the new FREE eBOOK my friend, Jason Locy, and I have just released. It's called The Sound of Silence: A Short Book on Rest. 

DOWNLOAD IT FOR FREE HERE

Leadership That Flourishes

"Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You’re not in the driver’s seat; I am. Don’t run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I’ll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to finding yourself, your true self. What kind of deal is it to get everything you want but lose yourself? What could you ever trade your soul for?" (Matthew 16:24-26)

The flourishing leader looks like a man or woman following Jesus with passion and intent. Henri Nouwen says the mature leader is willing "to be led where they would rather not go."

To follow Jesus to his cross demands a deep spiritual affection—you and I must love Jesus so much that we'd go anywhere with him and for him. Some think this kind of leadership weak. But that is not the case.

Jesus does not call us to roll over or be spineless. But he does call us to a place of powerlessness. "It is not a leadership of power and control," writes Nouwen about Christian leadership, "but a leadership of powerlessness and humility, in which the suffering servant of God, Jesus Christ, is made manifest."

The humble leader understands and lives by the truth: truth of self, truth of others and the truth of their situation. The powerless leader abandons power "in favor of love," performs their work  with precision and grace so that those who rely on him or her feel cared for and valued.

This is the person whose leadership knows no bounds, it is the leader who is led by Christ. Do you know this kind of leader? Are you this kind of leader? In your home? In your friendships? In your school? In your business? In your church?

You can spot a leader who leads for their own gain; the one bent on self-help, power and control. They're the one vying for the limelight and the accolades.

Who among us will lead the church and our families and our businesses into the future? It is the leader, as Nouwen says, who can be led.

"I AM the Way …" And so he is. May we follow him as we walk in him. 

Today's Prayer: Strengthen me to be strong enough to follow you, Lord Jesus, and humble enough to lead those whom I serve.

The leader that flourishes also needs to understand the value of rest. Check out the new FREE eBOOK my friend, Jason Locy, and I have just released. It's called The Sound of Silence: A Short Book on Rest. 

SIGN UP BELOW TO DOWNLOAD OUR FREE EBOOK 

When All You Do Is Not Enough

Photo by John McNamara

"To obey is better than sacrifice." (1 Samuel 15:22)

What else can I do? I've put in the time. I've done my duty. I've fulfilled my obligations. And still, still it's not enough. Why do you tease me with dreams, when they dissolve with ease and without care to my heart?

Even though I doubt, I still persevered. And for what? For character? What will that get me?

I return to my first love, over and over—it's resonance shaking me within and without. But though I love, I do not overcome.

The straight is so narrow, I lose my balance. But the path seems to end—weeds and thistles reach into the path and cut. Where does this path lead anyway?

How can Habakkuk speak those words? "Though the fig tree does not bud, and there are no grapes on the vines … yet I will rejoice in the Lord."

My heart is no God target; he does not pull his bow to unleash his hot arrows upon me. I do not lift up idols. I am not running from my task. Why then, the travail?

And yet, my heart knows nothing else but the fierceness of his love. I walk. I run. I bound up the mountain set before me. I fall back to the place where I began. Broken bones, broken spirit, I sit in a heap.

The wind blows my name, and pushes me back to the mountains side. "Climb," it says. "Climb, my son."

The dead-end path of narrow thistles landed me here, in front of this mountain. And a spirit wind speaks to me.

"We are not responsible for success," writes theologian Klaus Bockmuehl, "but we remain responsible for obedience."

And so, I climb.

DOWNLOAD MY NEW FREE EBOOK BY SIGNING UP BELOW

I Won't Be Trampled

Most of us think that rest will just happen. We'll catch a nap on Saturday or sleep in on Sunday. We'll download a popular pastor's recent sermon and pray over our coffee—praying to just hang on for this "season." It's almost over. Then we'll get some real rest and really dial into God and all that.

We all deal with seasons of life. But fast and furious seasons of life should not negate the rhythms of Sabbath and continual prayer in our lives. In order to keep our sanity and health and spiritual vitality, disciplined living is essential. And disciplined living begins with Sabbath rest.

What does it mean to rest in God?

God rested from His creation work on the seventh day. We, therefore, should follow suit. We take time off from our work and do something else relaxing, or we do nothing at all. But Sabbath rest does not necessarily mean we become sedentary for a day. In fact, Sabbath rest is less something you do and more a place you go; or put another way, a way that you are.

The writer of Hebrews says, “So then, there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God” (4:9). Israel, because of their lack of faith, did not enter into the promised land and so did not enter into God’s rest.

When we fail to enter into God’s rest, we live in rebellion and anxiety. We all know what that means for our work: stress. But when we learn to trust in God's provision and leave our projects for a day, we find that place where God rests. It’s a place of “quiet alertness,” as author Richard Foster puts it.

A Sabbath rhythm is an act of trust. It’s an active and deliberate decision to obey God, weekly. But not only weekly. You can practice Sabbath each day as you take time to retreat in your mind and heart, leaving space for reflection upon God's Word, expressing thanks for His provision, asking Him to be your teacher daily and trusting in Him as your friend.

Too easily we crowd our schedules with our dreams and to-do lists. These are not bad in and of themselves. But they become bad when they become our idols. When was the last time you took a real Sabbath? Took a hike? Played with your kids all day? Had early morning breakfast with your spouse? Spent an afternoon reading the Scriptures, confessing and giving thanks? Took a real break from your work to enjoy God? One of my professors used to say, “Sabbath should be a little slice of heaven.”

Sabbath rest not only helps us regain our physical composure and focus on God, it also allows us to finally listen to His voice. More than anything, this has challenged and encouraged Jason and me the most. When I rest during each weekday, taking time for silent prayer and just breathing, I am truly able to hear His voice more clearly.

When I get to my Sabbath day and find myself playing with my girls or fumbling around my truck engine, I hear God more clearly. These times are not always times of great epiphany either. Often they are times of confession and conviction—when His truth bears down on me, crushing me.

Once, I faced a ten-hour travel day from Belfast to Atlanta with an L.A. trip waiting just a day after my return to the south. So I rose early and walked to Queens University in the Northern Ireland rain. I was winded and tired, but the time with God was sweet; full of “Thank You” and praise as the blue glow of the morning swelled. What a way to start the day!

When we Sabbath we are not taking part in mere ritual. We are joining our Heavenly Father in a place of quiet alertness. And in that rest, in that quiet, He speaks.

Today's Prayer: Keep me from being trampled, Oh Lord, by busy-ness and my own idolatry. Refresh me in tiny bits of heaven as I step into your rest. 

Today's Prayer Series is taken from a new FREE eBOOK my friend, Jason Locy, and I have just released. It's called The Sound of Silence: A Short Book on Rest. 

DOWNLOAD IT FOR FREE HERE

And be sure to tell a friend if you find it to be a blessing. 

Cheers, 

Tim

A Shame That Glorifies

"Come, see a man who told me all that I ever did. Can this be the Christ?" (John 4:29)

Where did shame go? We live in a society where authenticity means to share everything, all our dark secrets, and all things we wish someone knew about us. We applaud such authenticity and call each other brave when we share or blog about something that we've kept in the shadows.

I love authenticity. I love it because it champions the truth about a person. But sometimes I wonder if we've allowed ourselves to play into the zeitgeist, exchanging discernment for license. No shame, no holds barred, no distinction between sacred and profane.

The push for authenticity stems from our innate desire to be known. My friend Jason Locy and I discuss this in our book Veneer. We quote Brennan Manning who says, "God calls me by name, and I do not answer because I do not know my name."

Though we're hard wired to be social, to want to share, to want others to know us, we struggle, as Christians, to find peace in who we are in Christ.

Who Will Satisfy?

When the woman at the well ran into Jesus, he asks for something to drink. She struggles to understand why a Jew would ask a Samaritan woman for water. But Jesus turns the conversation around on her and says, "If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, 'Give me a drink,' you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water." (John 4:10, ESV)

She tells Jesus he has nothing with which to draw from the well, because it's deep. But Jesus tells her that if you drink from this well, you'll still thirst. But the water he offers comes from a well of eternal life—all satisfying. The woman presses Jesus for this living water.

Then Jesus tells her all she ever did. She was astonished he knew so much about her: about her past marriages and her current living arrangement (living with a man who wasn't her husband). We don't know too much of her past, other than she might have been living in shame—due to being dependent on someone not her husband, due to abandonment, we don't really know.

What we do know, however, is the woman realized she'd been seeking something or someone to satisfy her and found this very person in Jesus, the one person who shows he knows her inside and out. This story is not about immorality; it's about identity."[1] 

Shame Drives Us To Christ

And that's what we all of us desire. Jesus didn't condemn her for her past mistakes or unfortunate circumstances. Instead, he offered her himself. He offered her a safe place where she could be known. Her shame dissipated as she ran from the well and told everyone she'd met a man who knew everything about her. What acceptance! What peace!

Sometimes our desire to be known gets the best of us and we jettison shame and discernment so we can fling ourselves into the world hoping someone will identify. Ravi Zacharias says Secularism has created a culture where there's no distinction between what should be viewed and used as profane and what is viewed and used as sacred. He says, "Show me a culture without shame and I will show you a monstrosity in its making." (Watch this video to hear Ravi make this point.) 

I believe, as Christians, our collective lack of shame comes from our individual desire to be known. The irony being, Christ calls us each by name and he invites us into intimate relationship with him and yet we ourselves do not know our names.

What would happen if we reveled in our knownness in Christ and told others about the one who knows us through and through?

Today's Prayer: You search me, you know me, Oh Lord. When I sit and when I rise, you know my thoughts deep inside. I want to find rest and peace in my knownness with you.

[1] David Lose, Electronic source: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/david-lose/misogyny-moralism-and-the_b_836753.html

IF YOU LIKED THIS POST, CHECK OUT THIS ONE.  

Sign up here and receive The Prayer Series right in your inbox.  

The Violence of Bees

I'm running too fast. So, I decide to make it fun and throw myself down the hill—a perfect head first grass-stain. I slide right by her. She keeps running and throws herself on me, “Yeah!” she shouts. The mountains sing.

When I catches my breath, I runs, just fast enough, into some old friends and they talk about life and babies and church and the mountains—how beautiful they sing. The wedding party is detained with photos, so I sip lemonade, nibble cupcakes and continue to run into my past and present relationships. Quick nuanced discussions, the kind that corner and reveal.

I pile the family into the truck and drive home through the mountains—in the graying the mountains sing. The river echoes the round.

Beautiful Collisions

Shuffle, shuffle. Plunge the press. Coffee-hot, the morning soars. Hymns on the Airport Express usher me and the girls on to “the gathering,” to church—it is a celebration. The pastor speaks of Thomas, “My Lord, and my God!”

After the Body and the Blood, the congregation is dismissed. I wipe my eyes, turn to leave and collides into radiating faces—brothers and sisters united. The soundman runs into me and grabs my baby girl. “I just want to hold her. She is beautiful.” We smile together, he gets his fill and more collisions ensue.

Lunch is a lovely fiasco. Two families, six children, and a floor full of Teddy Grahams; the wait staff is patient as the girls scream and run. We adults raise our glasses and toast: “To the celebration!” Once home, we all nap long and hard. Somewhere in the distance, the mountains sing again.

The weekend emerged from the week and grabbed us by the throat. We loved and laughed, fought and cried, and passed through the other side shaped by it all—the run-ins, the discussions, the here, there, and everywhere. 

Eucharist Signature

When I am finally able to sit and reflect on it all, life doesn’t seem so grand—just full of tension.

But I think of the Eucharist, how it always seems to break me (and everyone) in half. How, on this past Sunday, it reminded me that grace and confession and love all coalesce in the person of Jesus—they are signatures of humanity made beautiful through the Divine. The immensity of Jesus’s sacrifice wells up and pours from my eyes. So much to take in.

From the Eucharist my thoughts land somewhere amid the Trinity. I thinks how God runs fast toward humankind, overwhelming everyone with his lavish love. God can’t help but love—I love that fact. And those loving fingerprints are everywhere—especially on my family and friends.

So Much Like Bees

We are social creatures. With our loved ones we dance through this life, though it most often looks like frantic running. And we lean into one another, pushing headfirst to see who will give. Then we fall in a heap mid tears and laughter and pain and joy. God created us this way and the mystery of the Eucharist completes the puzzle. We are only able to love because he first loved.

The bees in my back yard love the jasmine blossoms and blueberry buds. They hover, and then climb the popping plumage. They collide and swirl into each other high up into the maples. In a frenzied disappearing act, they abscond into the holly tree—a violent aerial display.

Are they fighting? Love making? Discussing? Laughing? Killing?

We are so much like bees, living the Gospel mystery of the Eucharist in the wild collisions of life. And we disappear into death and sex and work and play in a violent showing that rings out, like the mountain song. One another, one another, one another, “our fellowship of kindred minds … like to that above.”

*This post is an excerpt from my book Veneer: Living Deeply in a Surface Society  that I co-authored with my friend @jasonlocy. You can pick up a copy here. 

On Spiritual Intimacy

Sometimes I think people fancy spiritual intimacy as a final destination, something you achieve. But that's not true. Spiritual intimacy is an ongoing pursuit, a developing conversation.

Being that it's a conversation with an unending and unfathomable being [God], our pursuit of intimacy will never see an end. Our pursuit will never experience the fulfillment of the finish line. When we, therefore, approach the topic of spiritual intimacy we should remember not to be discouraged when we drift. 

Like any relationship, either with our friends or spouse or sibling or parent, we will drift in our affections and may even experience estrangement for a time.  

But evenso, those times of distance contribute to intimacy. For we draw from those times just as we draw from those times of beauty and closeness—all times close and far layering our relationships, coloring intimacy. Each creates a depth and artistry appropriate to our existence and form. 

"Love never ends." (1 Corinthians 13:8) 

This partial verse reminds us that God is love. It's not our love that never ends, it's his and it's him. All the earth passes, but he remains. We grope through the fog of the world. We squint through the murky glass of reality.

And all in pursuit of that which has no end. All in pursuit of that which prompts our hope, and undergirds our faith. All in pursuit of an eluding closeness. All in pursuit of the tremenda majestas ... of God our Aweful Majestic.  

Do not dismay in "the drift." Close your eyes and listen. He is close. Intimacy stands, just over there. Simply reach, and hold.  

How To Move God

I played in your land, Oh Lord, scoring the trail with my aggressive tread and steal steed. My bike lunged, wheelied and billygoated up and up. I pushed through switchbacks, laughing for the sheer dominance of man over earth. I laughed for the sheer joy of man communing with earth.

I jeeprolled through the swollen creek, muddy with summer rain, and fell into the water atop river rocks and salamanders—and I hollered and spoke out damnation on the trail. I hollered and spoke out blessing on the trail. I climbed Heart-attack Hill praying out loud while the spike-deer running next to me taunted me with graceful leaps.

And the prayer lifted, coming regular off my lips like friendship conversation, pub-like and frolicking, loving just the moment of sharing and the moments of laughing. I called out to you, "Change this reality. And, Lord, you can do this." I wasn't struck down for blasphemy. Instead joy sprung from my brazen, yet thankful, words.

I was not silent in my prayer. In the open, my words fell. The laurel heard me and rustled. The spike-deer bounded back into the trees to tell his brethren. And we all of us raised our spirits. Oh, the wonder of hearing words spoken to God. The sheer 'YAWP' of our faith, of my faith.

Am I barbaric, in the woods yelling out strange requests to God? Do I revel in something profane when I splash around in the mud and sing praise at the same time?

I am convinced we pray, not to change ourselves, but to change reality. We cannot bend God to us, yet he condescends to our offering of prayer. And he moves in our reality. He bends things to his righteous ones.

Are you hurting? Pray. Do you feel great? Sing. Are you sick? Call the church leaders together to pray and anoint you with oil in the name of the Master. Believing-prayer will heal you, and Jesus will put you on your feet. And if you’ve sinned, you’ll be forgiven—healed inside and out.

Make this your common practice: Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you can live together whole and healed. The prayer of a person living right with God is something powerful to be reckoned with. Elijah, for instance, human just like us, prayed hard that it wouldn’t rain, and it didn’t—not a drop for three and a half years. Then he prayed that it would rain, and it did. The showers came and everything started growing again. (James 5:13-18, The Message)

Can I, Lord, be righteous for one day? Can you hear my prayer? It rises on thanksgiving and glows into the heavens with petition. I need you to stop the rain. I need you to bring the deluge. I need you, I need you.

In my prayers I find delight. I fold it back and find you—the joy of my salvation. I am carving up this trail of life with my big wheels of hope and faith. You bend for me and all I can do is sing.

Where To Find Refreshment

I need refreshed.

Two nights ago, I headed over to Brian's house. He's a good friend (in the medieval-transcendental sense of the word) and he's also my worship pastor. We sat on the back deck with his wife, fireflies and candles lit the dusk and a cranky possum joined us from his noisy treetop perch.

We three drank the dragon's milk of friendship, played guitar and sang "Amazing Grace" and started writing a new song and talked about "hallelujah". Then we sang it. "Hallelujah," over and over.

I found my way home; it was late. I took the pixies to the potty. Half asleep they draped over my shoulder and I whispered, "I love you." Then, I found sleep. The next morning I found an email string from a group of friends—each post in the string, a translucent prayer held together by the gossamer strands of Holy Communion. I cried for the despair and death we all of us face each day. I hollered at the cynicism, the bastard god who daily rages against belief—I hate her.

"Further up and further in," my friends! As we sing and hold, pray and cry with those we love. For what are we if not givers of love—killing ourselves daily in love to those we hold most dear.

"The sun doth not only enrich the earth with all good things," writes the old Puritan theologian Thomas Goodwin, "but glads and refreshes all with shedding immediately its own wings of light and warmth, which is so pleasant to behold and enjoy. And thus doth God, and Christ the Son of righteousness."[1]

It is God who spreads his wings, the avian Spirit wrapping you and I in pinions of celestial peace and holy warmth. Beneath his cowl of light our days unfold. Some days we linger in shadows; others, we sing and dance in the light of His High Noon.

The days I need refreshed, I listen to friends—friends who ask how they can pray for me, friends who play guitar with me, friends who write with me, friends who start bonfires for me. I find in them, God's light of renewal, his comfort transmitted through all the good things. "He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge …"[2]

[1] Reeves, 87-88. Reeves's little book Delighting in the Trinity is a book everyone should read—short, intelligent, and beautifully written.

[2] Psalm 91:4, NIV

Why We Trample One Another

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law." —Galatians 5:22 (ESV)

I can be about as patient as a two-year-old wanting more Cheerios at breakfast. It's a virtue that, for me, comes only after much practice and copious amounts of prayer. And even then, it's only the Holy Spirit's work within these dry impatient bones.

There are times when I lose all patience, and my reaction to a situation spirals into self-serving anger. It's during those moments I wonder if the Spirit really has any power over the old me at all. For, at base, I am a creature of force.

My Strength Is No Strength

In Paul's letter to the Galatians he emphasizes true Christian freedom because the Galatians fell under a false interpretation of it. After being duped into a lifestyle of law keeping, emphasizing works of the flesh, the Galatians ironically fell into a self-serving immorality.

The commentators remind us, "Our efforts to please God in our own strength result only in sinful behavior." The Galatians experienced this firsthand. Their sinful behavior festered in their personal relationships. They lived in danger of devouring one another through their biting and loveless interactions.

We think the law is so bad. By God, we want our Christian freedom, and now! But the law is less a list of do's and don'ts and more of a "way". The Hebrew idea of living by the law is walking in the way. John the Beloved often refers to this "way". And for John, he ate with, and talked with and lived with The Way. For it is Christ himself.

"I am The Way!" says Jesus.

Hell Pursuing, Spirit Living

And so when we fail to walk in The Way, we tend to walk another path—a path we think will lead to the good life. But that way crumbles into selfish immorality. Our self-producing godliness deceives us—we sleep our holiness away in the arms of other people, we destroy one another with our words and we trample each other under the force of our stride as we walk down the way of hell itself.

I feel hell biting at my heels when I act out of my impatience—it's like the Spirit evaporates from the room, replaced by the stench of a wayward morality.

Am I making too much of our relationships? I don't think so. How we treat one another is how we treat the rest of the world, a world searching for The Way. Our relationships form our families, form our friendship circles, form our communities and form our work environments. It all starts with how we treat our siblings and parents, our spouses and children and friends.

I want to walk in You, Oh Lord. For you are The Way. Help me stride with you as your Spirit works in me—producing the life-giving fruit rising from my ashes, and blooming into patience. 

Stop over here and share an encouragement or insight on patience or another fruit of the Spirit.  

New to The Prayer Series? Sign up to get them every week in your inbox.  

When Your Mother Suffers

Long shadows stretched over the newly paved 178th St. near Shore Acres Drive in late July, and this meant the day was nearing its end. 

"Don't you think you should be getting home by now?" he smiled.

We'd been discussing my mother's arrival after a long trip. She should be home by now, and I should be home to see her. 

Late July in Grand Haven as a budding youngster means rising out of bed some time in the mid to late morning, with the sun streaming through the windows, offering light and life to the cave of slumber now faded with the flood of dawn. Then, it's grabbing a piece of fruit and getting a run-and-jump start on a BMX bike, hitting the trails, swinging on vines in the hills, and taking the raft out on Lake Michigan on days where you can see the bottom from thirty feet up, and the sand ripples together in wavy, congruent lines like the rings of sawn tree stumps. 

Late July in Grand Haven means riding all day, all over town, never caring for a bite to eat, because, "Who has time to eat?" Late July in Grand Haven means folks go on vacation, and maybe your mom goes to visit relatives in Chicago or some other big city. 

That was 1985. Late July in Grand Haven.

"Your mother's been in an accident."

"Is it bad?"

"Yes. Go take a shower; we need to go to Indianapolis."

Indianapolis? How did Mom end up there?

The Crash

Mom lives at Sanctuary on the Shore, a nursing home only a mile or two from where I grew up. She's in a wheelchair, and has only one leg. Her brain is damaged, she has diabetes insipidus, and suffers with bipolar as well. (As long as she's on her medication, she's "alright.") There's been some serious weight-gain over the years, sitting in that wheel chair and eating chips. Her favorite? Diet Coke with a ton of ice in the glass. 

You know something? She was more beautiful than Barbara Streisand in her hey-day.  But it was the accident when she was 40 which served as the progenitor of her demise, and it was the accident that killed another Mommy who had four children of her own. 

"I remember seeing headlights," she told me a couple years ago. That was news to me.  I had always thought she didn't remember. Huh. What do I remember? Seeing my mom in a hospital bed in Indiana hooked up to tubes and machines pumping life into her, and the shock I felt in looking at her swollen, black and blue and yellow face, and at her bloated, bruised body; and then her lifeless eyes open like a dead cow's, she rolls her head toward me, fixing her gaze upon me. Her body heaves up and down under the will of the machines' beeps and sighs. Mom? Her head turns away as her eyes close.  

This morning we were asked, "So, what are the issues that bother you when we talk about predestination?" (We're studying Romans in church.)  I have a couple: If all things are under God's eternal decree and command, how is God not the author of sin and evil?  If God knows the future, how do humans make free choices? 

The sovereign power of God as it relates to how things work in the world, especially regarding suffering and evil is a mystery, obviously (duh). Some get around it by denying omniscience (Cicero and Open Theists). Some deny free will (many--not all--Augustinians and Calvinists). Some affirm both (compatibilists). Some don't bother about it at all because it makes the head swim (pragmatists). Some try to resolve it with modal logic (scholastics and analytics). Others deny Christ because of it (apostates and rebels).      

"Don't you think you should be heading home by now?" That was John. He was older--in his 20's, and he smiled at me through his John Lennon specs. His feathered hair wore like a kind and gentle hat.  

"My mom went to visit my gramma a few days ago. She left this morning to come back."

"She's not home yet?"

"No." 

"Where'd she go?"

"Chicago." 

"And she left this morning?"

"Yeah." 

"And she's not home yet?"

"No."

"You're mom should be home by now." 

 "Yeah."   

"Don't you think you should be heading home by now?"

Pedals pushed hard in gyroscopic fear on that BMX bike, with a huffed and puffed worried flash to home. He's right. My mom should be home by now.    

There's my dad, on the phone with the police, his head on the freezer door. Now he's talking with my mom's parents, and he's leaning against the wall, face in.  

"She left long ago," they said. 

That's when I grab the little golden cross from my bedroom and start rubbing it between my fingers and thumb. Something to provide solace. Or maybe good luck.  Maybe an answered prayer. Never really prayed before, and not sure I know how to. The stars are out now, and it's dark all over. Where's my mom?

Hope Trumps Evil

How that does indeed fit with the predestination of God? "He comforts us as we comfort others with the comfort we receive from him" (2 Corinthians 1:4). That's a perfect circle if there ever was one. But does he actually send the pain, only in order to comfort us through it? Odd. But is he not in control of all things, as surely that nothing happens by chance? 

Hard to figure out. Sailing between the Charybdis of determinism and the Scylla of human autonomy ... not sure how to do it at this point.  

Just now, my daughter shows me a leaf with a flower attached to it. She's written on it, too. "I'm making a card for Jade. She's vomiting really hard." My daughters (8 & 6) came home from church today to find out that one of the neighbor girls next door is sick. So they decided to make some cards for her.  

They took green leaves from the trees and put flowers on them, and wrote her little notes on the leaves. "I hope you get well soon." Signed, "Nylah."  

"Hope" was missing the "e" and instead had a macron (long-vowel marking) over the "o."  Interesting. She's bringing someone some comfort, because she has been given comfort by God. How did they get the flowers to stick on the leaves? God, I love my daughters. 

Mom's speech is usually slurred due to her medication and normally, she "doesn't feel well." That's been the story for 20 years. Just now, she told me she woke up this morning and said to the Lord Jesus that she was ready for whatever he gave her today--whether to stay there in that place, or to throw off the garment of this temporal body and wait for the resurrection. 

"Whatever the Lord wants, Chris," is what she told me. I'm 41. How would I like to live the next 30 years the way my mother has lived hers?  God, no. It's what philosopher Marilyn McCord Adams calls "Horrendous Evil." 

Horrendous evil is evil that happens to someone that renders their life meaningless or simply unable to live. 

One example of horrendous evil is knowing that you are personally responsible for the death or disfigurement of a loved one. Or maybe it's being responsible for the death of someone else's loved one and then suffering mental and bodily damage to the point of being made inoperative in most of life. Or maybe it's being 13 years old and having this happen to your mom. Our hometown newspaper reported that she had been found naked. Naked. What? How? 

On the other hand, Adams says that such evil is capable of being "engulfed" and "defeated" by the love and power of God, because of his overwhelming presence. This seems to push off the "problem of suffering" to the next life, so I'm not sure how that helps us here and now. 

Still, knowing that Christ was tortured means that when we suffer, we are suffering with him and he with us. And perhaps the knowledge of the beatific vision (presence of God in the next life) aids us in coping with evil here and now. And maybe a get well card made by a little girl from a tree and a flower is a little way of defeating the evil, bit by bit.  Maybe with every good deed, every act of kindness, every act of forgiveness and reconciliation, there is the defeat of evil: with every act of faith.  

In His Hands

It's raining outside, and it's a real downpour, like liquid spikes made of crystal. Steady rain on a Sunday brings the soul into restorative sleep, and my mom's response is the restorative rain of faith: trusting the Lord for good or for ill.

"My life is in your hands," she told the Lord this morning. That's what she told me, in her crackling, slurred voice, her 68-year-old voice. 

"Honey, I told him, 'Lord, my life is in your hands.' Are you there? Honey? Hello?"

"Yeah, Mom. I'm here. I'm just listening to you." 

Her faith leaves me numb and speechless. It's not a bad kind of numb, but a good kind. Still, I can only listen at this point.

So, my mother is comforted by the Lord and the little Vietnamese girl next door is comforted by my daughters, and I am comforted by the downpour of rain outside and by my mother's faith. It's an act of the will to have the faith that is comforted by these things, and it's something that is like a buoy, keeping us afloat, as we await the rescue ship, for surely it is coming, and we must hold on. 

---

*Read more from my friend Chris at his blog. It's here ...  

Stop Fussing

Sometimes Wormwood crawls into my brain and begins to whisper obscenities and lies. "Do more," he says. "It's not enough and you'll probably fail. You need more money. You need more accomplishments. You need … you must … go and get."  

How do I respond? In my weakness, I fuss and worry.

I like to think of myself as not much of a fusser. Truth is, in the quiet, my heart beats fast and I lay awake. Do you really have me, Lord?

Then Paul sneaks up beside me and says …

Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.[1]

Then, Jesus climbs next to me, agreeing with Paul …

Well said Paul, he says. Tim, Don’t fuss about what’s on the table at mealtimes or if the clothes in your closet are in fashion. There is far more to your inner life than the food you put in your stomach, more to your outer appearance than the clothes you hang on your body.

Look at the ravens, free and unfettered, not tied down to a job description, carefree in the care of God. And you count far more.

Has anyone by fussing before the mirror ever gotten taller by so much as an inch? If fussing can’t even do that, why fuss at all?

Walk into the fields and look at the wildflowers. They don’t fuss with their appearance—but have you ever seen color and design quite like it? The ten best-dressed men and women in the country look shabby alongside them.

If God gives such attention to the wildflowers, most of them never even seen, don’t you think he’ll attend to you, take pride in you, do his best for you?

What I’m trying to do here is get you to relax, not be so preoccupied with getting so you can respond to God’s giving. People who don’t know God and the way he works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how he works. Steep yourself in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met.[2]

Paul concludes …

Tim, this is how we should live if we follow Jesus. So, if you’re serious about living this new resurrection life with Christ, act like it. Pursue the things over which Christ presides.

Don’t shuffle along, eyes to the ground, absorbed with the things right in front of you. Look up, and be alert to what is going on around Christ—that’s where the action is. See things from his perspective.[3]

God I need these words. I need to settle down. I need to relax in the peace of Christ. 

[1] Philippians 4:6-7, The Message

[2] Luke 12: 22-32, The Message

[3] Colossians 3: 1-2, The Message

Unsafe God

Today's Pipe Series draws us into a place of worship. I often find myself looking around when I attend gatherings of The Family of God. I catch myself wondering how odd it must be for visitors witnessing several hundred, even thousands, of Christians singing their hearts out to a God they cannot see.  

It can feel so pagan at times; pagan in the raw sense of the word, ruddy and beautiful, haunting and mysterious. 

Last night at just such a gathering, my friend Mandy Joy Miller sang while her husband (and some friends) played. Caught in the moment I found myself staring out into the woods behind the house, remnants of day's last light filtering through. Mandy read from one of my favorite passages in Revelation, the one where the beasts with eyes all over their bodies cry out, "Different, different, different, is the Lord God Almighty." 

Mandy then spoke of her prayers lately, and how she'd been overwhelmed with a vision of a great lion; the kind of lion that is "strong and loving." (Psalm 62:11-12) 

I love the scene in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe where Lucy says of Aslan being a lion, "Then, he isn't safe?"

"'Course he isn't safe," replies Mr. Beaver. "But he is good."  

Lewis here appears to draw from Rudolf Ottos's theological classic The Idea of the Holy  in which Otto describes the numinous. The  numinous is the experience that underlies all religious experience, it's that something "wholly other" than experienced in ordinary life. It's made up of three parts: mysterium (evoking a sense of silence), tremendum (overwhelming power), et fascinans (attractiveness in spite of fear). 

In The Problem of Pain Lewis describes the numinous like this: 

Suppose you were told thee was a tiger in the next room: you would know that you were in danger and would probably feel fear. But if you were told 'There is a ghost in the next room,' and believed it, you would feel, indeed, what is often called fear, but of a different kind. It would not be based on the knowledge of danger, for no one is primarily afraid of what a ghost may do to him, but of the mere fact that it is a ghost. It is 'uncanny' rather than dangerous, and the special kind of fear it excites may be called Dread.

With the Uncanny one has reached the fringes of the Numinous.

Now suppose that you were told simply 'There is a mighty spirit in the room,' and believed it. Your feelings would then be even less like the mere fear of danger: but the disturbance would be profound. You would feel wonder and a certain shrinking—a sense of inadequacy to cope with such a visitant and of prostration before it. ...

This feeling may be described as awe, and the object which excites it as the Numinous.  

Last night, in our little gathering space, I felt what Lewis and Otto describe as numinous. I also felt it Sunday morning while singing songs of worship. 

But there are times when I don't feel it. I know I'm speaking a lot about feelings. And I know I need to guard myself from emotionalism, but I stand with Jonathan Edwards in espousing a religion that is based on positive affections for God. I want to be caught up in him; I want to dangle my heart over the chasm of his love and feel the gulping fear that accompanies.  

So it is, when my spiritual affections lack I then reflect on how my actions reveal their absence. I can feign true religious affections, but that veneer will invade my every day and draw me away into haughtiness, pride and fear. 

I find my spiritual affections grow when they stem from organic action, like frequent gatherings of free worship through song, discussion and testimony.

I remember one morning this past winter I was visiting my friends Josh and Lacey Sturm in Pittsburgh. We were finishing a project on a Sunday morning when Josh hit the pause button, picked up his guitar and began to lead us in a time of worship through song. I stood across from Lacey and just listened as she sang soft notes of praise. The quiet time of whisper-worship dangled me over the chasm of Christ's love. 

At once I was struck with a different fear; a wholly other kind of feeling that prompted tears, adoration and thanksgiving. We ended our time of song with lingering silence. I could almost feel the holy breeze of the Spirit passing through the chasm. 

I wanted, like Lucy, to throw myself into God's massive fury neck and cling to him while trembling. Indeed, Lucy, he is not safe. But oh, is he good.  

So give yourself permission to feel a bit more today. Expose yourself to the chasm of his glory and see if it doesn't just scare you further into his love. Let go of the cynicism that so defines our culture (even our Christian culture!) and clothe yourself in numinous. See what the great eyed-creatures saw and shout, "Oh God, how different you are! And oh, how I love you!"  

New To The Pipe Series? Sign Up And Receive Them In Your Inbox!  

Three Pathways To Mystery

If you've lost your sense of mystery, then do what you must to retrieve it. Mystery emerges in the most simple of places. Most often it manifests itself in reaction to the beauty and goodness encountered in our everyday life—through feelings of awe and wonder, events that elicit thanksgiving. 

The late German theologian and writer Hans Urs Von Balthasar wrote: ​

All things can be considered in two ways: as fact and as mystery. Simple people, farmers for instance, can often integrate both ways in a lovely harmony. In children it would for the most part be easy to develop a sense of mystery; but teachers and parents can seldom generate enough humility to speak of it.

Keeping and cultivating a sense of mystery protects against pride and keeps us as children before the Lord. As I think through how to keep mystery in my life, three pathways emerge. ​

Pace of Life - ​Evaluate your everyday—your context. Mystery reveals itself to the simple because their pace of life allows them to encounter more. The to and fro of busy-ness can too often blind us with a false sense of efficiency and success. 

Slow down. and see  ​life. If you do, mystery will blindside you daily and in the most uncommon ways. 

Offering of Praise - ​Celebrate the simple things. Celebrate the beautiful things. "Sing joyfully to the Lord, you righteous; it is fitting for the upright to praise him (Psalm 33:1)." 

As God's children it makes sense to celebrate hm for all that he's done and will do. "By praising something," writes C.S. Lewis, "you complete it's enjoyment." ​

A Thankful Heart - ​Thankfulness marks the contented heart. Not so the prideful heart. Pride desires more, and even more—it bears the insatiable marke of avarice. When we say "Thank you" to God, we live in the contentment of his grace-blessing. 

This week I found several dahlia blossoms collected in the crook of one of our little Sweet Gum ​trees in the back yard. My girls leave little faerie offerings like that all over the landscape; I love finding them while I'm pruning and weeding.

Their pagan delight reminds me of the importance of spiritual mystery in my life. It slows me down so I can feel the cool spring air yet lingering on the late May breeze. It reopens my eyes to behold his glory I so often miss because of a godless frantic pace.

And in that time of glory and easeful stride I am able to catch my breath and whisper, "Thank you, Jesus." 

New to The Prayer Series? Join us here each week by signing up. ​