"Illusions......................................."

The road just outside my front door, early this morning, bore witness to at least some rainfall over night; and then, when I left church a little after ten, the sky was smeared with a grey paste mixed with an all-day off-and-on drizzle. In spite of all that, driving out to the first service I was blessed in experiencing a few minutes of a cloud-free, bright sunshiny existence. It was like the world around me was just waking up for another face-to-face encounter with the source of life. My mind was on Him, turning over questions, dealing with the veil around all of us, the mystery of Christ “in” me, me still a mess in many ways; when, halfway up the hill that takes me from river level to higher ground, something connected in my “belly”. There was no small inner voice, no tongues, just a touch of His presence in the depths of this old man; and, with a tear in my eye, my spirit offered thanks…. During worship a bit later, the choir would lead the congregation in several rounds of a popular contemporary chorus that declares how God “surrounds” us in our walk “everywhere that we go”. Leaning toward my niece sitting there beside me, I whispered in her ear and asked if she believed it possible to sing, albeit in ignorance, a lie. The lyrics sound good. The melody is catchy enough to draw us into it. There’s little truth, however, to the claim that a believer’s journey is encased in a Holy Ghost bubble. Divinity is in the well. While it may be that nature and events can speak to us of His reality, it is not until a man is “born-again” that he can begin to “see” or “enter into” the kingdom. Semantics? Possibly. It’s just too easy in our humanity, though, to build an image, a theology, out of words and then fail to return to the oasis, content with the god we hold in our heads…….

"Mechanics..............................."

Our Wednesday evening Bible study left me a bit disappointed last night, the question of “Do you have all God wants for you?” reduced to a mixture of Joel Osteen and Norman Vincent Peale theology, a serving of clever analogies meant to encourage us in ourself. There were a few references to chapter and verse wherein Christ was acknowledged as being involved in whatsoever we might attempt in His name; but, for the most part, the emphasis was placed on us gaining understanding of our own potential and not much attention at all given to the Holy Ghost’s role in our endeavors. The teacher spoke, in truth, of our culture being the underlying factor in the freedom Pentecost gives to expressing oneself in worship and the need to apply wisdom in such area; yet prophesying unto others, believing yourself to be “anointed” merely out of your own volition and His participation in your actions taken for granted, was simply a matter of taking the New Testament for its promise unto us. Perhaps I’m just old and rooted in my own thinking; but when Francis Chan, in “Crazy Love”, pointed to Solomon warning that men ought not to be fools, rushing into the Creator’s presence with words, it occurred to me that nowadays, in my ecclesiastical neighborhood, anyhow, believers are told to boldly charge the very gates of hell, His authority theirs by proxy, victory guaranteed if their “faith” doesn’t waver. When we’re told in Romans, however, that God predestinated us to be “conformed” to the image of His son, the Greek for that particular term brings it down to any transformation taking place being “jointly” accomplished. It is a “merger”, then, wherein two are made one; and, as far as I know, it is a temporary condition, nobody yet having become anything more than a vessel through which He might be manifested in a time of His choosing. Yes! We need to be hungry to serve Him in such fashion. We need to see ourselves as possibilities for such an event. Always, though, we must recognize that He is the vital piece of the puzzle. While we must move, the goal in front of us should never be the mountain, itself, but a surrender in which the well within us comes forth to the task at hand……

"Illumination.........."

”Shadows define the real. If I no longer see shadows as dark marks, as do the newly-sighted, then I see them as making some sort of sense of the light. They give the light distance. They put it in its place. They inform my eyes of my location here, here, O Israel, here in the world’s flawed sculpture, here in the flickering shade of the nothingness between me and the light”….Annie Dillliard

School is down to the nitty-gritty: four full weeks with a couple of days of fun and games tacked on at the end to celebrate the journey completed once again. A lot of reviewing taking place right now; and all staff are staying late for one hour tomorrow afternoon once the buses have departed, a yearly ritual wherein everyone goes over any new rules for final testing. I’ll be one-on-one with one of my boys, if nothing changes, the teacher opting for the fellow with anger issues and assigning me the lad who is more prone to vent his emotions through tearful lament. The job, from start to finish, is baby-sitting, for the most part, often questionable as to whether much is being accomplished; yet relationships are nurtured with these kids, a sense of worth in what you are doing, and a belief that it matters somehow, to me if to no one else. The old man turns seventy-two in October, but has signed up for another go next year, the future always uncertain, this moment, this hour enough in the long run… The author’s words, above, speak volumes to me. I find her perspective making more sense, though, when it’s turned around, me, rather than God, being “put it its place”, the shadow, if in front of me, indicating I’m going in the wrong direction. Even in facing the light and moving forward, however, the image is blurred, the Source, itself, enough to blind me if I try to capture it in my focus and a slew of other things between me and the light messing with my mind. So maybe it’s not so much that the shadows, the lack of understanding, make “sense” of Him as it is that they make me see my need of His warmth, His promise and confirmed assurance that yea, though I walk with a stagger and a stumble, He is there with me. He is with me each day, each hour, the sun that I orbit, the giver of Life……

"Reflection............................"

Francis Chan stepped into my radar at least a couple of years back, a friend pointing me to a You-Tube copy of him preaching a sermon entitled “Luke Warm and Loving It”. He had a book out at the time, one called “Crazy Love”, but I kept ignoring the impulse to purchase it. With nothing to read while on vacation in Pensacola, however, his latest, “Forgotten God”, caught my eye at Barnes and Nobles, held my attention, and has fed me well, its pages devoured at least twice since. Hopefully, our Wednesday evening Bible class can discuss its content after we conclude with Tozer. In just the introduction, this author speaks of a “tragically neglected Holy Spirit”, and “entertainment model of church adopted in the 1980s”, and how “we are not all we were made to be when everything in our lives can be explained apart from the work and presence of the Spirit of God”. The line that says it all, though, is a suggestion that “Perhaps it’s not theology we’re missing, but rather theology with integrity”. Now that will rattle some sabers… My own roots are in Pentecost. I was “born-again” into old-time holiness on March 27th of 1972 and have watched it lose most of its legalism as it chased Charismatic television evangelists into its present state. If we, as a denominational body, have over-“theatricised” the Third Person of the Trinity in our midst, seeing ourselves as somehow authorized to operate under the anointing regardless of whether or not the Anointed is in it or not, it might also be said that too many others seem to have settled on the extreme other side of that condition, His reality reduced to ritual if maintained at all. It amazes me God’s patience with our humanity. It bothers me that those who come to our altars connect with Christ only to drown in doctrinal dogma that fails them in the journey that follows, health, wealth, and prosperity not necessarily an automatic benefit secured through conversion. Laodicea, it seems to me, crept in somewhere along the way and we are too busy counting our “blessings” to look in the mirror……

"Communication..................."

Thursday afternoon found Beth and me about ninety minutes early for my appointment to talk with a nurse practitioner concerning an upcoming biopsy and therefore patiently sitting in a second floor waiting room over at Veterans Hospital. In all my previous visits to the location, it was impossible to find a parking spot, not just in their lot, but anywhere within walking distance in the surrounding neighborhood. On this occasion, however, no more than we approached the front entrance, as if the Red Sea had been parted, an opening awaited us not more than a hundred feet or so from the sliding doors. Beth was there at my request, to circle outside and wait, had we not been so fortunate on this occasion, but also because my decision in this affects her life as well as mine. Not that there’s real cause for alarm yet. Blood tests a year ago revealed a sudden jump in a certain area. Doctors want to investigate. Yesterday, however, was the first time any of them has explained to me in any depth as to why this event required “going where no man has gone before, at least in the sense that the object being explored is me. We left with a much better understanding of the situation, her fears calmed and my perspective still not all that thrilled with the options before me, but at least at peace with me using some wisdom in the next step. The anchor holds… Thursday morning, I had been listening to Fox News, two regulars bringing viewers up to date on the bombing in Boston, the explosion near Waco; and, in hearing the one fellow speak of “keeping the victims in our prayers”, it hit me how we, as believers, so frequently bring forth that solution, tossing it out there as if just mouthing those words somehow put substance into what we are suggesting. I say “we”, finding myself as guilty as anyone else, often giving promise and then failing to remember the pledge until a day or two later. For me, though, the commitment was more like “this is going into my well”, that place where, at no certain appointment, with no attempt to “categorize priorities” with a list to fulfill, what comes forth is a merger of Him and my heart. It’s not about vocalizing anything, not about breaching heaven’s walls and getting His attention. The connection is “in” me. This is “life”, not a scheduled meeting, another obligation on my daily calendar. The oasis goes with me and, although best in a quiet place, the old man swimming in His waters, its presence is never far, an inner witness able to be found in a waiting room as much as anywhere else……

"Assurance......................."

Tomorrow morning I return to school after ten days of Spring Break, a reunion met with at least some welcome, working with these Special-Ed kids a bit of food to an old man’s existence. It’s approaching one a.m., though, and after only two hours sleep, my mind has me sitting here in my recliner, wide awake with too many thoughts rolling around present events, lives elsewhere who are dealing with questions tonight. People up in Boston still didn’t have any explanations when I went to bed earlier; but, then, answers never supply any remedy to the damage done. Too much too often makes no sense in the first place. Life comes with no guarantees, no warranty, one to a customer, no refunds. All we have is hope, each other and a spiritual umbilical cord, an anchor-line provided in Christ… A young four year-old boy I know in Pittsburgh is lying in an ICU unit tonight, having undergone heart surgery today. His family, I’m sure, is near, his grandfather even closer, no doubt, his unexpected death occurring last Thursday. Over three decades ago my wife and I occupied a similar room here in Cincinnati at Children’s Hospital, our youngest daughter, nine at the time, having been thrown accidently under a two thousand pound hay wagon. There wasn’t much encouragement about her chances. To see her body hooked up to several machines, a maze of tubes keeping vital functions from ceasing all together discouraged faith, the image a reality right in front of us. Something deep inside me, however, said otherwise. Call it what you want; but I am grateful in this moment for a reconnection that came to me way back when there seemed to be no reason for breathing, my whole identity clearly a mess, the journey more than I could handle. Surrender brought more than relief. Grace had substance when it stepped into my abyss back in March of ’72, His presence remaining to meet me again and again in times of need, strength, peace, love all in an inner well yet available now. Prayer is more than words……

"The Journey.........................."

”Teach me Thy way, O Lord; I will walk in Thy truth: unite my heart to fear Thy name”…a prayer of David, Psalm 86:11

While on vacation this past week in Pensacola, I read something in one of the books taken with me, Elizabeth Hoekstra quoting the above Bible verse in terms of the giant slayer asking God to give him an “undivided” heart. Close enough, I suppose; either way occupying my thoughts this past weekend. Late Thursday evening, a telephone call changed our plans about returning home today. An old Navy friend, a shipmate with whom I served in ComSixthFlt during the early 60s, had passed unexpectedly, his heart just ceasing to beat on his way home from the hospital, tests just undergone to determine possible treatment for his condition. When you’re in your seventies, such loss is part of life, but never easy to accept, this one, for me, even more of a hurt, knowing another friend of ours from those days had just verbally attacked him over nothing. One wonders if the event sparked too much at the wrong time. Beth and I left early Friday morning, making a few stops along the way, but arriving in Pittsburgh yesterday afternoon in time for visitation. It was a journey made out of love and respect, the departed and I reconnecting after five decades a few years back, a bond between us restored mostly through e-mails. He stopped by once, on his way to a reunion, going with me that evening down to the rescue mission.... What makes us who we are on the inside? I wonder. There is no anger in me at the fellow who assaulted my buddy in print. As long as I’ve known him, he has been “at war”, with himself, with the world. He speaks continually of the need for “peace among men” and the “brotherhood” established back when we all were young men turned loose on liberty in various countries around the Mediterranean. His actions, however, have always marked him as a “loose cannon”. It seems to me, though, that all of us are no more than products of our hurts, our history, and our environment, each of us shaped even beyond that by the very genetics of our birth. The only sense, I’ve found, to any of it is God missing from the original creation, a situation cured through what Christ brings to us, but such restoration still not a complete remedy for what ails us. Salvation doesn’t equate to instantaneous transformation, humanity dissolved and divinity assumed. We yet stumble down the path along with everybody else, the difference just an “anchor-line” acquired and any improvement a matter of how often we merge, stepping into His flame……