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)

---

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. 

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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. 

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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. 

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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. 

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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.

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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

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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. 

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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

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." 

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Freedom From The Inner Ring

You and I cannot escape the pull toward self-promotion. It invades each day through various mediums. And the very culture that tells us to hoist up our personal banners everywhere is the same culture that empowers us to act as our own judge and jury. It tells us that permissive behavior is the norm.

But though we cannot escape the cultural pull, we need not give in to it.

On Wednesday I wrote about the lost art of reflection. I discussed how, if we wait and reflect instead of reacting to situations, people and "news," we should find a most helpful friend: discernment. This friend draws a hard line, one our pride finds stark and uninviting.

Today, as we ready our hearts and minds for the coming Sunday gathering let's consider how we might join the practice of quiet reflection with true Christian freedom.

They seem opposed, restraining from reaction yet exercising freedom. But they are, in fact, kindred.

The Apostle Peter reminds his readers: “Live as people who are free, not using your freedom as a cover-up for evil, but living as servants of God. Honor everyone. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honor the emperor (1 Peter 2:16–17 ESV).”

Christian freedom means we are free to follow God's will. We are, like Paul, slaves to the Gospel. As such we do not live as permissive agents of cheap grace and license.

Rather, we adhere to a specific code: every person is to be shown respect, our Christian brothers and sisters are to be loved, God is to be approached in reverent fear and our authorities are to be respected.

Actions Reveal Motives

It's easy to forget this Christian Code. In the pursuit to build leadership platforms, influence, personal brands, secure a raise, or position we pounce on opportunity.

I often see this in the world of blogs and writing. In the name of "being prophetic," or "holding some Christian leader accountable," or "just because I can" writers and talking heads wield their words as battle-axes. They scramble to be heard and seen and, of course, followed.

At some level we all of us desire to exist and be seen as a person of the inner circle of our chosen professions.

But why?

In his address titled "The Inner Ring" C.S. Lewis exhorts his listeners to beware of pursuing such an inner ring. Such a pursuit often demands character compromises. Because we desire exclusivity, to be "in the know," to be cool, to be accepted, to be viewed as exceptional, we disregard our Christian code. We offer convenient excuses for our selfish actions.

Lewis offers this bit of wisdom that I find helpful as a daily reminder (pardon its length):

The quest for the inner ring will break your hearts unless you break it. But if you break it, a surprising result will follow. If in your working hours you make the work your end, you will presently find yourself all unawares inside the only circle in your profession that really matters.

You will be one of the sound craftsmen, and other sound craftsmen will know it. This group of craftsmen will by no means coincide with the Inner Ring or the Important People or the People in the Know.

But it will do those things which that profession exists to do and will in the long run be responsible for all the respect which that profession in fact enjoys and which the speeches and advertisements cannot maintain.

And if in your spare time you consort simply with the people you like, you will again find that you have come unawares to a real inside, that you are indeed sung and safe at the centre of something which, seen from without, would look exactly like an Inner Ring.

But the difference is that its secrecy is accidental, and its exclusiveness a by-product, and no one was led thither by the lure of the esoteric, for it is only four or five people who like one another meeting to do things they like. This is frienship.

If we set out each day to work, to hone our craft—whatever it may be—then we create a culture that cares little for the pull of self-promotion and permissive behavior. We, in fact, create a safe place where respect and love and reverence flourish.

We will find ourselves free in Christ, yet bound to the hard and beautiful words of his Gospel. We will find ourselves caring less for the Inner Ring and more for those we should be caring for anyway: our true friends.

Lord, grow us in your patience. Strengthen us as we strive to live in the freedom of your Way.

His Leaking Brilliance

On Tuesday night I sat with several friends in a basement. Musicians and worship leaders all, we spent the evening in quiet prayer and song-giving-to-God. Spontaneous prayers emanated as several players picked and keyed. I sat with eyes closed and listened. 

I didn't want to leave. It was as if Jesus had walked among us, sat down and picked up a guitar just to be ​with us. I find my soul yearning for times like this more and more. I'd rather sit with friends in quiet worship than imbibe in entertainment. I'd rather walk in the woods with him, than busy myself with, well, busy-ness. 

And do not think I am describing an experience brought on by emotion. Yes emotion was part of it, God evokes our deepest emotions when we draw close to him. It is a by-product of standing in his presence. We fall down as dead like John standing before the Shining One. But what draws me to God, to the worship of God, is God himself. ​

Worship, Our Omnibus

Worship acts as a vehicle. We close our eyes and at once our imaginations transport us into the presence of God. If we're somehow able to cut through the noise of the morning, the noise of stress and the noise of our own thoughts we can, in our mind's eyes, stand before God.

If we define worship as giving worth to God, then worship can mirror the gospel in that we proclaim God's worth through music and song and we live it daily in acts of service and love. And God is the center of that worth giving.

Think about what you sing to God when you worship him in song. Think about what you do during your day to ascribe glory to him. Why these words and songs? Why these acts?

His Being, Our Center

Because God is true. Truth, as J.I. Packer puts it, “… is the quality of a person[s]”[1] before it is something that can be proved or disproved. Packer, of course, is speaking of God’s qualities. We inherit truth from God because he is truth. Augustine says, “And ‘your law is truth’ (Ps. 118:142) and truth is you (John 14:6).”[2] We receive God's moral stamp of truth when we enter the world and live as ambassadors of his truth, which is rooted in his very being. It's that shard of moral purity stuck in our souls that frustrates us so much. It wars inside of us our whole lives.

Because God is good. When we say God is good we describe his being; "in him we live and move and have our being. The early church apologist Athenagoras says, "Goodness is so much a part of God that, without it, he could not exist."[3] His goodness creates for us a moral origin—it is this perfect morality that pain and suffering shatter against. For no matter how much they rise to conquer us God overwhelms them, causing good to come from even the blackest of circumstances. This is who we worship, our good God.

Because God is beautiful. The concept of beauty vexes even the greatest minds among us. From Aristotle to Aquinas to Lewis, we all of us fall at the feet of the beautiful. Some say beauty demands form first—that we must behold something in order to know beauty exists at all. Others, like C.S. Lewis, remind us that the forms of beauty we behold point to something else, the thing behind the thing. It's not really the thing we desire at all. We see beauty, and we long for God.[4]

His Leaking Brilliance

When we close our eyes and find ourselves transported during our church gatherings to the throne room of God, this is the God we worship. He is altogether true. He is altogether good. He is altogether beautiful.

When we step from the church building and into our everyday, when we begin our day in quiet, then move to serve our friends, our spouse or our co-workers, when we sit down for coffee with one of our friends in order to work through a problem that demands forgiveness, these are our spiritual acts of worship.

This is the God we worship. He is altogether true. He is altogether good. He is altogether beautiful.

And it is this "all of him" that we encounter in the everyday, that constitutes his brilliance (glory). When we center our lives around him, his glory follows. It shapes us and with it, we shape the world. 

It's a kind of magic, this worship of ours. Give worth to him today and watch his brilliance grow and compel you toward heaven itself. ​

---

[1] J.I. Packer, Knowing God. (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1973), 113.

[2] Saint Augustine, The Confessions. (Publisher: City, year), p. 61

[3] “APOLOGISTS,” New Dictionary of Theology, 38.

[4] For more on the perplexing concept of beauty see: The Weight of Glory, C.S. Lewis, Rainbows For a Fallen World, Cal Seerveld, The Glory of the Lord, Hans Urs von Balthasar

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Ridiculous Lunatics

​This picture was taken when me and two of my best friends quit our jobs to play music all over the country circa 1998. For me, it is a reminder of the beauty of our ridiculous faith. And yes, that is a 1963 Leprechaun. 

To be a Christian means to believe in the ridiculous. Of course one who is a Christian does not see belief like this. They view the ridiculous as normalcy and, in turn, the world views them with contempt for their sheer lunacy.

Abraham, that champion of faith, was chief of the ridiculous lunatics.

"… he stood there, the old man with his only hope! But he did not doubt, he did not look in anguish to the left or right, he did not challenge heaven with his prayers. He knew it was God the Almighty that tried him, he knew it was the hardest sacrifice that could be demanded of him; but he also knew that no sacrifice was too hard when God demanded it—and he drew his knife."

We stand daily in the light of certain ridiculousness—a paradoxical combination of certitude and unknowing. The writer of Hebrews spells it out for us.

"The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith, is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living. It’s our handle on what we can’t see." (Hebrews 11:1, The Message)

As one on the inside of ridiculousness, I view belief and faith in the same light. The world, however, views belief as separate from faith. Faith to the world is radical adherence to religious dogma and belief is that aspect of faith, which moves a person from onlooker to participant. The world views the holding of beliefs as helpful, but not as true.

How do you view belief? Faith? Is your Christian perspective founded upon what Kierkegaard refers to as a "remote possibility?"

Or do you live daily like Abraham, drawing your knife?

Our daily vision for work and life will either soar or flail depending on the veracity of your belief. Do you live like it is true, or merely helpful—a crutch to get you through the muck of life?

Once you and I pass over into the land of belief, action predicated on doubt is no longer an option. "Abraham had faith and did not doubt. He believed the ridiculous."

*Exerpts and ideas from this piece were drawn from Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling and C.S. Lewis's essay "Man or Rabbit," which you can find in the collection God In The Dock. I'd also like to thank the mystery writer of Hebrews for writing one of my favorites books of Holy Scripture. 

The Prayer Series // My Frail Belief

"Blessed are those who have not yet seen and yet believed." John 20:29

Do I believe in you one time, and that's it? Must I renew my belief each day? I confess I believe, and I do, but today I don't—at least I don't feel like I believe. Is that the same as not believing? Because I always return to you, eventually.

I want to live like I believe all the time. But some days everything I see, these trees, this sky, this grass, they all look void, though they remain unchanged since yesterday. Can you reach me here in this despondency?

Some days a simple physical meeting would do wonders. Can't you meet me here next to my bookcases and desk? Should we meet down on the deck before anyone rises, before the mayhem of the morning overtakes? Then I could walk through the day with a knowing grin—no one would know I saw you, just me. And the trees, sky and grass would regain their color.

Why isn't every day filled with the feeling of your presence, even though I know that it is? My belief only grows the more I seek you. But some days I grow weary of seeking. I want "all these things added unto me," but I'm tired of the pursuit. Can you wait for me?

I'm trapped in this place, this world where the cynic rules and ignorance guised in the sophistication of doubt makes belief unfashionable. And yet I recall the rules of belief. If I say I believe, then I must follow. I must trudge through this weak despondency—writing myself through it just to keep pace with you.

Bonhoeffer said, "Only he who believes is obedient; only he who is obedient believes." My obedience does not see the colorless sky and opaque trees. It only sees you. I obey even when I can't see and then find myself back in belief. Belief, that blind guide into eternity.

Help my belief today, Oh God. Strengthen my obedience.

​Pardon the adjusted schedule this week. Join me tomorrow over at A Deeper Church for my monthly post. 

The Prayer Series // Hope Blooms

"We always pray for you, and we give thanks to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. For we have heard of your faith in Christ Jesus and your love for all of God’s people, which come from your confident hope of what God has reserved for you in heaven. You have had this expectation ever since you first heard the truth of the Good News." (Colossians 1:3-5)

When I fell in love with my wife I was touring the country in a van playing music and she was finishing graduate school. We longed to be together. What's more we longed for the day when we'd consummate our relationship on our wedding day.

We lived in anticipation, and that longing fueled our love and painted each day with beauty and hope.​

Hope fuels our faith and our love. Or at least it should. It did so for the Christians

in Colossae. Paul loved hearing about their faithful, loving testimony. This kind of living was fueled by an anticipatory lifestyle—of a people looking toward heaven. That was their hope, the hope of future glory.

What does it look like to live in anticipation of the coming glory of Christ? How would such a longing affect our lifestyle, our choices, our consumption, our priorities?

Is eternity simmering in your heart?

Later on in the letter Paul reminds the Colossae Christians to keep Christ central in all they do: "… that in everything he might be preeminent." (1:18) For Christ to remain preeminent in our lives means he rules as chief over everything. It means he holds the first rank of highest dignity.

This verse resounds in my heart because too often I leave Christ out of my decisions and my everyday living. Pride chokes out the Light of Christ far too often.

And yet daily I press into Him and ask for the courage to obey, for strength to decrease so that he can increase. And when I find myself in that beautiful place where Christ holds the first rank of highest dignity, I find myself pining for heaven and all the glory of God therewith.

Today your assignment is to read Revelation 4-5. In these chapters John steps into heaven and observes a worship service unlike any other. The writing is glorious and will ignite a hope of heaven and awaken the eternity within you.

This passage will draw you toward Christ, the Slain Lamb of God. You will throw up your hands in praise as you sense the Holy Spirit strengthen your faith and galvanize your love.

"“Weep no more; behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered …" (Revelation 5:5a)

The Prayer Series // Cutting Your Own Path

I bumped around the corners of the kitchen, wheeling my bike through the back door and onto the deck. With my peanut butter and honey sandwich, my mini Moleskine and my riding gloves I set out on my rise-ride.

I arrived at the trailhead just before dawn. The woods, empty. Normally I'd ride in the quiet of the morning. But all week I had been listening to The Pilgrim's Regress by C.S. Lewis. I continued listening to the audio book. After I plugged in my headphones, I tore off into the trees.

John, the main character in Lewis's allegory, is on a journey. He hopes to find an island far to the west. But the journey winds it's way through allegorical valleys and side-trails and rough roads and cities—all representing varying philosophical influences of the times.

I descended Hare Trail with a "Woohoo!" and some whoopdeedoos. When I started climbing again, after the creek crossing, my mind wondered.

Like John we all of us journey onward. I suppose for most of us we too seek the shining island of heaven—experiencing it now already a bit, perhaps, and still not yet. And, like John we each must confront the Spirit of the Age. We must contemplate Wisdom and make decisions: Which path will lead me to the island?

But I wonder how many of us create our own pathways—also called bushwhacking. Are bushwhacking our way through this life? What about our jobs? Do we seek to leverage our way to the top? Beat the system by manipulating it for our own success?

John's problem was he was unconvinced in his own mind. His journey was a path to belief. But as brothers and sisters in Christ, belief is behind us really, and always before us. Our actions, the paths we take, the ones we create stretch out ever before us.

I flew down Fly Squirrel and looped back to White Tail Loop. I crossed the big stream and stood by the waterfall for a few moments. I Am the Way. The verse jumps out at me often. Yes, Christ is the way to salvation, to the island, but what does that imply regarding my business ethics? My family ethics? My political ethics?

As I loaded my bike on my Subaru my thoughts fluttered to prayer …

Jesus, help me on the trail. Strengthen me over the logs and obstacles and through the rivers and all the hard junk. Keep me on your path and forgive my bushwhacking ways.

Onward! 

The Prayer Series // Christ My Storm

A Pin Oak stands in my front yard, another in the back. They rise over the roof of my two-story house, their branches willow down in tangled rigidity.

In spring, the oaks receive their leaves last. In the fall, they golden, but well after the other trees have lost their plumage. The brittle-browns fall throughout winter; a leafy remnant whips on when the spring push begins.

In the summer the oaks blanket the ground with shade. When I prune them I always hold a couple branches—their slender bones, dense and heavy.

But the thrashing spring storms do not relent. By mid-April the brittle-browns disappear, giving way to the tiny-glories. I watch the buds frost the mammoth skeletons, dressing them in God's finest.

How like the Pin Oak am I? Clinging to the old season until shaken by the Wind of God, thrashing me towards his glory.

We must, through life, embrace the storm of Christ. We all of us live forever in a state of release and reaching—shedding the brittle-brown within us, clothing our dry bones in God's finest:The Way Everlasting.

This inner renewal looks like daily spring. When we gather as the Family of God we flutter and bounce, all glory given to Christ and his supremacy. When we in our homes love one another and entertain we flutter and bounce, our hospitality and possessions reflecting the principles of release and reaching—we give without condition, we serve until we die.

"Those who obey his commands live in him, and he in them. This is how we know that he lives in us: We know it by the Spirit he gave us." (1 John 3:24)"

How the Pin Oak catches the wind, first in its bare limbs, then in the applause of its plumage. Lord, teach us to release and reach that your glory and your supremacy may blow through us into your world.

All praise and glory to God, Amen.