Impossible

I find myself noticing that truth comes to me in bits and pieces. It usually starts with a tantalizing thought that leads unexpectedly to another, then another. If I'm attentive, I can follow these thoughts, one to another, until I'm on a trail to something.

I don't think I've arrived at the destination that these various things point to, but I am intrigued.

It started with some reading earlier in the week, when I came to Luke 1 in my One-Year Bible. Admittedly, I had that brief surge of "been there, done that" wash over me as I started a gospel I have read and taught out of many times before. I fought the temptation to skip over it, pretty confident that something would speak out.

I did not have to wait long:

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” 

But she was much perplexed (um, YEAH) by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” 

Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?”  The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.” Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her. (verses 26-380

I prayed for open eyes and ears as I read. And soon that statement, "For nothing will be impossible with God," stirred in me.

I thought to myself, "Do I believe that? I mean, really believe that?" Because if I did, I would pray bolder prayers. And I would never give up. That's what faith is. It means that I believe, and I am confident that God is who He says he is.

No, it doesn't mean I have to scrunch up my face and somehow prayer harder. But it does mean, like the persistent widow in Luke 18, that I keep showing up, and keep asking.

So I assembled a list of "impossibles." I don't feel the need to share most of them. But suffice it to say they point to the future, to forgiveness, to revolution big and small. And I have committed to praying about them every day. For healing in a friend's life, who just received a devastating diagnosis. For housing for two friends I have met in the last year who live on the street. For love to break through in some hearts....

As I said at the start, these truths come in bits and pieces. I pray for one, then two, then three days about the Impossibles. Then I heard last night as I studied for my class, a stunning reminder. We are working through the Torah, and are currently in the Book of Exodus. In chapter 32, there is a fascinating section, after God hears of the insane decision of Aaron and the Israelites to fashion an idol in the shape of a golden calf for worship right at the time when Moses is received the Ten Commandments. God is furious at their utter foolishness in praying to other gods. Moses speaks up on their behalf:

Turn from your fierce wrath; change your mind and do not bring disaster on your people. Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, your servants, how you swore to them by your own self, saying to them, ‘I will multiply your descendants like the stars of heaven, and all this land that I have promised I will give to your descendants, and they shall inherit it forever.’”  And the Lord changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people. (verses 12-14)

There is not room here to go into the Hebrew and explain what this passage means. But certainly, we have imposed the English meaning of "change your mind" and tried to make it to fit into our little theological boxes, thinking we can constrain and quantify God to fit our favorite posture. But God will not be boxed!

I have enjoyed this round of reading Exodus, seeing an intimacy between Moses and God that is beautiful, and in many ways (I believe) archetypal of what we can have with God as we now have His Spirit in us. What I take from this is that if you find yourself in disaster, you can pray to God and ask him to have mercy or even remind him of his promises.  Some want to say that prayer is only for our benefit, to help shape us to conform more to God's unbending plans. Sure, that is part of the process. But I also know God to be a God of relationship and dialogue and mercy and love. The Bible is one unending story of God's pursuit of his people, repeatedly chasing us down and calling us to Himself, the Author and Sustainer of life.

Does that mean that I think God is my personal cosmic vending machine? Absolutely not. But do I know him to be one who wants to hear from me, placing every one of my hopes and fears and prayers into his hands, every moment and every day? Absolutely.


Today I came across a question that carried me further into these truths that have been eeking themselves out in front of me. I receive a daily reading from the Christian Quotation of the Day. (Have no fear, these are definitely worth subscribing to. They are not corny, Precious Moments, power-of-positive-thinking crap... they are historic, profound words from all sorts of writers, leaders, and saints.) 

Today contained this question. Let it bother you.

Do I exhibit the unexplainable in my life?

Like Mary, I am trying to have my reply be, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” May we live lives of faith in the impossible.

Fear and Faith

I started a new phase of my life yesterday: I am back at seminary, this time at Azusa Pacific University, taking a couple of courses in order to get the extra units needed to start another graduate degree in Fall 2013. It is wonderful to be back in school again. I am a lifelong learner, and simply enjoy the entire process of lecture, reading, discussion, and application. So my Inner (Outer?!) Nerd was blissfully happy.

The course is Pastoral Counseling for Adolescents, and it is remarkable to take this course after so many years already logged in youth ministry. My first seminary courses were taken in 1984, and it is incredible to me what has ensued in those intervening years in terms of learning, experience, mistakes, joys, sorrows. Naturally, I wish I had known then what I know now, but that is what life is all about, right?

I am beginning to reflect on all the things that have changed in youth ministry in this long season of experience. There are simple things like going from using dittos to promote events in 1984 to creating Facebook events! But there are deeper, more profound issues as well, and the one that comes to mind on this anniversary of 9/11 is fear. Many horrifying events occurred well before 9/11 in our history -- two World Wars, AIDS, Vietnam, assassinations, atom bombs, nuclear threat, racism to name a few... but I would say there are two significant game-changers in the way we work emotionally in the United States: Columbine on April 20, 1999 and the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon on September 11, 2001.

I am challenged to come up with words adequate to describe the level of fear I now sense with parents in comparison to the ways I related to parents at the beginning of my career. The intriguing part is that in the mid-eighties, it's not as if parents had lived in a world of puppies and rainbows. The decades of drugs and free love in the 60's, along with the cynicism coming out of Vietnam, Watergate and Jonestown in the 70's were not exactly a walk in the park!

But 9/11 and Columbine feel different. The fear and unimagined terror hit so close to home, and feel so tangible and invasive. How can we allay such paralyzing concerns? I look to scripture and there are some fundamentals that keep me anchored:


Isaiah 8
11 The Lord has given me a strong warning not to think like everyone else does. He said,

12 “Don’t call everything a conspiracy, like they do,
    and don’t live in dread of what frightens them.
13 Make the Lord of Heaven’s Armies holy in your life.
    He is the one you should fear.
He is the one who should make you tremble.
14     He will keep you safe.
But to Israel and Judah
    he will be a stone that makes people stumble,
    a rock that makes them fall.
And for the people of Jerusalem
    he will be a trap and a snare.
15 Many will stumble and fall,
    never to rise again.
    They will be snared and captured.”

16 Preserve the teaching of God;
    entrust his instructions to those who follow me.
17 I will wait for the Lord,
    who has turned away from the descendants of Jacob.
    I will put my hope in him.


I have had countless conversations with students over the years of what it means to "fear the Lord." But I think this passage begins to capture it. It is an issue of whom we give power to ~ someone utterly trustworthy, or someone who seeks to destroy us? Fear can be positive, believe it or not, according to whom we fear.

I do not mean to oversimplify or trivialize. Fear can be a dreadful thing, and I know it well. But I am seeking to understand the reality of what it means to walk by faith and not by sight: to not look at immediate circumstances and to what I can see as the final answer. That is to think like everyone else does. Instead, I yearn to wait for the Lord... (and) put my hope in him. My fear becomes one of healthy respect and awe.

May we not be a people of anxious fear, but ones of sober reality who live anchored in the One who keeps us safe in the truest, most reliable and eternal way. If you continue to read in Isaiah (and I encourage you to do so) we find unbelievable promises. Here's the teaser, and with this I conclude; from Isaiah 9:2,


The people who walk in darkness
    will see a great light.

Focus

With a little breathing room in my life I am unpacking some of my stuff from my trip earlier this month to Italy. Here is a brief quote I read during my first full day there ~ we were in Naples:

I came to the monastery to learn to live in the presence of God, to taste him here and now, but there is so much "ego-climbing" going on within me. I have so many ideas I want to write about, so many books I want to read, so many skills I want to learn... that I do not SEE that God is all around me and that I am always trying to see what is ahead, overlooking him who is so close. (Genesee Diary, Henri Nouwen)

Then I saw this reference from the 6th century monastic Rule of St. Benedict, chapter 4:

Your hope of fulfillment should be centered in God alone. When you see any good in yourself, then, don't take it to be your very own, but acknowledge it as a gift from God.

Reading all of this today, the day before Easter, I am reminded...

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith Because of the joy awaiting him, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame. Now he is seated in the place of honor beside God’s throne. Think of all the hostility he endured from sinful people; then you won’t become weary and give up. After all, you have not yet given your lives in your struggle against sin. (Hebrews 12:1-4, New Living Translation)

Indeed, those "cloud of witnesses" are the faithful believers who have gone before us. Help me run the race and live the daily life, Lord, knowing it is not about "success" and accomplishment in this life. It is simply about you.

I am so driven, and really, nothing in me will be able to stop that impulse. But certainly the Spirit can re-direct ~ re-focus ~ my intensity more appropriately on the eternal, and less on the temporary gains that could be made here. Come Lord Jesus.

Still Waiting

Nouwen builds on the theme of waiting from yesterday:

How do we wait for God? We wait with patience. But patience does not mean passivity. Waiting patiently is not like waiting for the bus to come, the rain to stop, or the sun to rise. It is an active waiting in which we live the present moment to the full in order to find there the signs of the One we are waiting for.

The word patience comes from the Latin verb patior which means "to suffer." Waiting patiently is suffering through the present moment, tasting it to the full, and letting the seeds that are sown in the ground on which we stand grow into strong plants. Waiting patiently always means paying attention to what is happening right before our eyes and seeing there the first rays of God's glorious coming.

My life is full of waiting: for lost ones to know the Lord, for unrealized hopes to come to life, for struggles to get easier, for fears to end... So I want to understand this active waiting that Nouwen is describing, in order to enter the moment, as he says, and find the signs of Jesus in the strain of it all. Otherwise, I just bear down and endure and somehow hope the yuck and hurt go away.

In Romans 8:19, the Apostle Paul uses this word "waiting":

For all creation is waiting eagerly for that future day when God will reveal who his children really are.

That phrase, waiting eagerly, is apokaradokia in the original Greek. It is only used here, and in Philippians 1:20,

For I fully expect and hope that I will never be ashamed, but that I will continue to be bold for Christ, as I have been in the past. And I trust that my life will bring honor to Christ, whether I live or die.

One commentator, Kenneth Wuest, breaks it down this way:

Apokaradokia comes from apo (away), kara (the head), dokein (to watch). A watching with the head erect and outstretched. Hence a waiting in suspense.

The Greek scholar Colin Brown says this:

Translated as anxious waiting. The Greek fathers, however, interpreted the noun without any negative tinge as intense anticipation, strong and excited expectation... free of fear and uncertainty... bearing witness to the fact that the power of expectation does not lie in strength of feeling but in the certainty which God has given and which is peculiar [unique] to hope.

In other words, I don't have to generate some sense of excitement on my own and pretend I'm happy all the time. Instead, I must lean into God's spirit to give me peace and rest and deep hope -- a hope that is secure, and as it says in Romans 5:5, does not disappoint, because it is anchored in God's love for us.

This week I have watched many of my students eagerly await the opening of the latest Harry Potter movie (friends too perhaps?!). They stay up late for midnight showings, they talk about favorite characters, they dress up... this is all fine. (Admittedly, I don't get it, but I won't judge).

But if I understand all these smart Bible scholars, it is apparently possible for us to be that excited in the midst of our struggles and trials as well, "watching with our heads erect and outstretched," as Wuest describes it. It's a mental picture that helps me get my head and heart around this concept of active waiting.

I know I am not there yet. But "Christ in me, the hope of glory" (Colossians 1:27) can reveal it to me. In my Benedictine devotional yesterday I was called to live ordinary life with extraordinary awareness and commitment. May it be so, Lord Jesus.

Legacy

(Claire is pictured with several of her beloved colleagues from Santa Barbara High)

Being back at school this week was especially poignant for me as I still reel with so many of you in losing Claire. Working with students was always a point of connection for Claire and I. We worked together for years in youth ministry -- I even had her work with me one summer as an intern, running our little start-up jr high ministry at the time.

In June 2000 we were going to take on 10 girls together as small group leaders -- she had worked with them through jr high, and I was going to join her as this group had grown. But two weeks before we got to do that, she had her first seizure and the rest, as they say, is history.

I went on to have one of the nuttier weeks of my life at camp that year (note to self: NEVER try to be the counselor for ten incoming high school freshman girls by yourself). We were already traumatized by the shock of Claire's new diagnosis, and let's be honest, that age group is already one walking ball of emotions, so it was Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, to say the least.

Claire tried to join us later that year, but the ordeal of recovery proved to be too much for her, on top of trying to maintain her teaching career. Sadly, she had to pull out of youth ministry -- but went on to give everything she had to teaching.

This week I received a lovely email from a colleague of mine regarding Claire. It's such a small world -- this woman, with whom I now work at Providence Hall, had Claire as her master teacher when she was getting her teaching credential. Here are some of her memories of Claire:

What i would want people to know about Claire is that I think teaching brought out her true essence. Claire never pushed her beliefs on anyone, but loved those kids so much that Christ shined through her. Whenever I talk to people about Claire, I tell them how lucky was to have her as a master teacher. She took kids that other teachers had given up on and found a way to make class fun. She genuinely cared about helping them succeed, and they respected her for it. Claire was a model teacher. As long as I've been teaching, I've thought of her as the type teacher I aspire to be like, and I know there are past students of hers, future teachers, who will do the same.

I want to honor Claire's memory and note the power of her life upon mine by considering these words. As I continue as a teacher and youthworker, I want the same sort of things said about me. In my consulting with churches and pastors, we always spend time discussing the principle of how to "begin with the end in mind." In other words, we should live our lives NOW as we want to be remembered. Claire did that. I want to do that too. That is a life of integrity -- being who I say I am.

Russell Smelley, a dear friend who has suffered profound loss, passed these words, among many, on to me last week:

We tend to deal with death in the same manner as we deal with our daily lives. Grieving can take many forms, but it seems to conform to our personality and life experiences; nonetheless we grieve. We need to learn to live life well because we are going to die. We tend to be fearful people but we can learn to live not in fear but in the hope of God's grace. We have a particular amount of time on earth as our days are numbered and known only by God. Peace comes with accepting the reality of our imminent demise.

May we lean heavily on Christ as we live our "pre-lives" now, in preparation for our "real lives" in eternity. Let's push each other to live lives of truth, beauty, grace, and bravery. These words compel me:

And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment, because in this world we are like him. There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. (1 John 4:16-18)

No fear.

Savor

(Written one night during my recent trip to Alaska)

As I write this I am sitting at a small desk in front of a window overlooking the Kantishna Valley in Denali National Park in Alaska. The view is simple and completely compelling. A green belt of wilderness spreads out broadly, filling my window, with a river braiding through it in several different directions at once. Birds sing and trill sporadically. Dandelion fuzz floats through the air, glowing and glistening as it reflects the strange solstice sunlight of Alaska. It is 10:20pm, yet with the sun high in the sky, beating down on us with a steady heat, it feels like 5:30 at home on a lazy summer day. What a bizarre effect it is, this never-ending summer light way up north.

I will have difficulty sleeping tonight. Not because the accommodations are not comfortable, or because it is noisy or crowded around me. Instead, I will probably not sleep much because it is so lovely here. I can’t stop looking at it. I can’t stop savoring the view and really, the whole of it all. These are one of the few times in life where you cannot hold on to it tightly enough. As much as I will want this to last for a long while, it simply will not. Like trying to hold onto a fistful of sand, the tighter you squeeze, the more quickly it trickles away. If I try too hard to hang on to this, by taking photos or oohing and ahhing over and over about how beautiful it is, I will actually lose it.

I have one other distinct memory like this. One night, five years ago, I was on a tour of Turkey and Greece, tracing the travels of the Apostle Paul. The trip brought us one night to Assos, just below the ancient city of Troy. Assos is a remote fishing village perched on the Aegean Sea. The tour bus stopped outside the town, and we had to walk in, because the roads, as much as you could call them that, were far too narrow and uneven to allow for a bus. As we stumbled over the cobbles, I thought I’d walked into a time warp. Life had essentially remained the same for centuries.

We ate well that night – fresh baked crusty bread, earthy red wine, an endless array of olives and hummus and feta and lamb and fish and roasted vegetables. I was so outrageously full I could barely breathe. Yet when dessert came, I refused to miss it. It was some sort of baklava, I’m sure, or lovely custard. As I finished, the food coma made me almost dizzy. I clambered up to my tiny little room to go to bed and found the full moon reflecting on the absolutely still Aegean Sea, boring a laser beam right into my room. The moonglow was stunning. I sat at the end of my bed, leaning onto the solid, plastered windowsill almost all night. I simply took it all in -- the water, the moon, the silent night, the soft marine wind, the smells, the timeless nature of the town. I shake my head still as I think about it. It rests in my memory fondly, just as this one from Alaska will, as a complete sensory delight.

This is joy – something so astounding and powerful in the feelings it creates. We cannot help but smile as it wells up in our memory. At the same time, we are slightly shaken. The experience is so strong we can hardly absorb it, and the power of it nearly knocks us over. We are not built to handle its full effect, but it's irresistible! So we squint, inhale deeply and dive in, grateful and thrilled and scared. As C.S. Lewis once wrote, "All joy...emphasizes our pilgrim status; always reminds, beckons, awakens desire. Our best havings are wantings."

These are tastes of heaven. To quote Lewis again, "Joy is the serious business of Heaven." Every so often, ever so briefly, God pulls back the curtain and give us a peek. “I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living,” it says in Psalm 27. These deep draughts of eternity are meant to feed us as we press on in the heaviness of now.

Wait for the LORD;

Be strong and let your heart take courage;

Yes, wait for the LORD.

This is how Psalm 27 ends. We are able to wait when we get these glimpses of the "not yet." May I savor them and linger on how deeply they satisfy me. Especially when I have to plod forward through conflict and loss, cancer and fear. This life is not all there is, I will remember. I am meant for more.

The Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis

John Baillie's A Diary of Readings is a banquet of great devotional writers. I would recommend it highly.

Here is a portion of what I read this morning:

ALL HOPE AND TRUST ARE TO BE FIXED IN GOD ALONE

THE DISCIPLE

WHAT, Lord, is the trust which I have in this life, or what is my greatest comfort among all the things that appear under heaven? Is it not You, O Lord, my God, Whose mercies are without number? Where have I ever fared well but for You? Or how could things go badly when You were present?

I had rather be poor for Your sake than rich without You. I prefer rather to wander on the earth with You than to possess heaven without You. Where You are there is heaven, and where You are not are death and hell.

You are my desire and therefore I must cry after You and sigh and pray. In none can I fully trust to help me in my necessities, but in You alone, my God. You are my hope. You are my confidence. You are my consoler, most faithful in every need.

Book Three, Chapter Fifty-Nine