My wife and I took a much anticipated trip the first week of August to the Grand Canyon. Neither of us had ever been there so we hitched up our new-to-us trailer and drove the 800 miles to this magnificent sight. Oh my, was it something. It is so huge, so magnificent, it almost doesn't seem real. It nearly felt like looking at a huge wall papered with the canyon. I couldn't take my eyes off it. We were only there about a day and a half so we didn't have much time. We were with another couple so on our full day there together we decided to take a tour. It was a good idea because someone else was driving and giving us insight into the sites we viewed along the canyon road. I took a bunch of pictures but frankly, they don't do it justice.
I've had the opportunity to visit several national parks: Yosemite, Lassen, Crater Lake, Redwood, Grand Teton, Yellowstone, Arches and Canyonland are some I've been able to visit. Most of them I've had the opportunity to get out and hike a bit, experience being "in" the wonder these places hold. Unfortunately our trip to the Grand Canyon was too short for me to get into the canyon. There is something about getting into these places that brings them closer. When we get back, and hopefully that will be soon, I plan on hiking into the canyon. I am not one of those that would need to get clear to the bottom but I really do need to get into it for the beauty of it to become more real. It felt like we were just on the edge and something for me was lacking in our gazes along the edge of this site.
It did cause me to think of how we experience the love of God. Are we too content with "head knowledge" of who He is and unwilling to get deeper into what He has for us? I wonder if our fixation on knowing the information Scripture gives us, just a mere slice of Him, keeps us from actually knowing Him, His love so deep, so wide, so all encompasing, keeping us at a "safe" distance, just standing on the edge of Him when He wants us to go so much deeper. Going deeper though can feel a bit frightening. It calls us to be more open, vulnerable, honest with Him about how little we really know of Him and how little we know of ourselves. The path deeper is narrow and rocky at times, just as a path into the Grand Canyon has risks.
Some things have recently entered my life that have stirred some things in my heart, things I'd rather not face. I've agreed to participate in a couple of endeavors that have caused this stirring. One endeavor will play out over the next three months, the other is more open-ended without a set "sunset". I believe Abba wants me in both situations so it might be logical to assume a broad road as I journey down the path of these endeavors. I am finding a narrow rocky road instead.
One path is a well trod one involving places in me I usually enjoy. I usually sense feelings of satisfaction because it aligns with some of my abilities. The other is working on a committee tasked with a very important job in the life of my ecclesiastical community. Both situations are in their infancy.
At this point I am finding some uncomfortable things arising. Old wounds, jealousy, fear and deep seated feelings of incompetence wash over me at times. In one situation I will see things that may need to be spoken to but I will need to remain silent; in the other I will be expected to speak but I have no words at this point. Both have brought on some anxiety.
In our christian culture of "God has a wonderful plan for your life" we don't easily equate anxiety with such a plan. When anxiety does arise we might second guess our decision and His leading down certain paths. So what do we do with this anxiousness and the things being stirred? Do I "white knuckle" it trying to make the best of it without really engaging what God might be wanting to do? We often hold on in these situations wanting to get through to the other side, traversing as quickly as possible the uncomfortable terrain in our hearts. I know in one endeavor there are others struggling with some of the same questions I'm struggling with; "Why was I not chosen to do what I know I can do well?", or "Why were they chosen?". Sometimes we then turn this to God and question His goodness with "If You've given me this ability, why did this door remain closed for me?" Maybe it even comes to questioning the notion of any real plan for our lives that leads to significance in His kingdom.
I'm not happy with where this has led me. These things have stirred me to a startling conclusion, I'm not well. But another, more breath-taking thought comes on the heels of "I'm not well", Jesus came for the sick, not those who have deluded themselves into religious wellness with pithy little quotes to get them "white knuckling" quickly through these times.
So now I ponder the interior stirring in my heart that these two endeavors have caused. Perhaps this is part of going deeper into the canyon of His love. It is an opportunity to turn to the lover of my soul, my Abba and my elder brother Jesus and try to release to a safe place some of the ugly things I have found on this path downward into Him. I look expectantly for the healing touch only His indwelling Spirit can bring to what He has stirred in me.
Its not an easy path downward but it is real, bringing me closer to His heart. For some time I have not been content to stand on the edge of the canyon of His great love. I have experienced a deepening in my relationship with Him so I know, by faith, He will be doing something good on these paths He's asked me to journey on even if there are some uncomfortable things ahead.
Closer to His heart, deeper in the canyon of His love, isn't that what we all want?
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Monday, August 5, 2013
Ashes
Due to two recent events I have had the opportunity to spend time with family and friends. The first event was a birthday party my wife gave me, the second was last weekend when we hosted a birthday party for my mother's 90th birthday.
At both events I had some bits of time to talk with folk who I sometimes don't see often. Some I really didn't have the opportunity to speak with but I know enough of their story to know some of the twists and turns of their lives.
I have a friend who has struggled with dependency issues and is now having to walk through a divorce initiated by his wife.
A friend just suffered the loss of a sister and is in the throes of grief.
A family member shared with me the hurt of losing a job. It was a short-lived job after a very protracted and humbling unemployment. She is smart, conversant, was at one time successful in the pharmaceutical business but has been unemployed now for years. Unfortunately, this is a common story.
Another person at one of these events struggles deeply with forgiveness, forgiveness for others and forgiveness for themselves. Sometimes this struggle causes them to do and say things that are regretful and only add to their ongoing struggle.
I had a conversation with one person I once was close to. I longed for more depth but sensed the closed door to anything deeper than the surface issues.
I too have had my own struggles with old things surfacing causing me to wonder if healing ever will come.
Ashes. I am writing about ashes. They come into all our lives. Some are the remains of things completely out of our control, death of a loved one causes us to sit in the ashes of grief. In other events we are trapped in the outcomes of others who we have interacted with, our interactions cause problems and relationships are strained or broken. Some ashes come simply because we have chosen poorly and the outcome is a dry and barren place of ash.
I've experienced all of these. I see, all too often, answers to these things, these places of ash, reduced to snappy little religious cliches. We love to latch on to them in hope they will be the quick pill of deliverance. We don't want to spend time in the ashes. We don't like to see others there as well so we are quick to offer up the bits and pieces of these cliches, or the bits and pieces of scripture that come to mind. For a time this approach works but I've noticed in those seeking something deeper with Abba the efficacy of these short quips taking a tumble downward. It leaves us wondering what happened, where is God, why does this not work any more?
Some, at this point, shut down, dig deeper into the cliches and hold on tighter thinking they must not have enough faith or that some sin is blocking the pathway. Others walk away and abandon the beginnings of vital faith, vital relationship. They may continue to hold on to the shell of religion but deep down they just have stopped showing up. Others don't even pretend anymore, they simply abandon the faith they once had.
Few will sit in the ashes. We believe there is something wrong with this approach, surely God wants us to be happy and out of this as quickly as possible. Perhaps He wants to take us deeper into Him, into understanding how dependent we are upon Jesus.
I could write something about every situation I've mentioned above and I might not be "off mark" but after examining my own times in the ash heap, I know the only thing truly effective was simply Jesus. No pithy scriptural quotes or religious cliches would do. I discovered He was there with me, even if the ash heap was of my own making. He said at the end, "Lo I am with you always" and offered the words with no caveat, no depending clause to His presence. It is grace that He is there when the ash heap swirls around us. His grace is enough but we would never know this if we rush away from the pain and confusion. Finding Him at those times is startling, disruptive and almost always full of weighty matters for us to learn from, lessons that can only be found in those ashes. We will rise, but let it be in His time, not ours.
At both events I had some bits of time to talk with folk who I sometimes don't see often. Some I really didn't have the opportunity to speak with but I know enough of their story to know some of the twists and turns of their lives.
I have a friend who has struggled with dependency issues and is now having to walk through a divorce initiated by his wife.
A friend just suffered the loss of a sister and is in the throes of grief.
A family member shared with me the hurt of losing a job. It was a short-lived job after a very protracted and humbling unemployment. She is smart, conversant, was at one time successful in the pharmaceutical business but has been unemployed now for years. Unfortunately, this is a common story.
Another person at one of these events struggles deeply with forgiveness, forgiveness for others and forgiveness for themselves. Sometimes this struggle causes them to do and say things that are regretful and only add to their ongoing struggle.
I had a conversation with one person I once was close to. I longed for more depth but sensed the closed door to anything deeper than the surface issues.
I too have had my own struggles with old things surfacing causing me to wonder if healing ever will come.
Ashes. I am writing about ashes. They come into all our lives. Some are the remains of things completely out of our control, death of a loved one causes us to sit in the ashes of grief. In other events we are trapped in the outcomes of others who we have interacted with, our interactions cause problems and relationships are strained or broken. Some ashes come simply because we have chosen poorly and the outcome is a dry and barren place of ash.
I've experienced all of these. I see, all too often, answers to these things, these places of ash, reduced to snappy little religious cliches. We love to latch on to them in hope they will be the quick pill of deliverance. We don't want to spend time in the ashes. We don't like to see others there as well so we are quick to offer up the bits and pieces of these cliches, or the bits and pieces of scripture that come to mind. For a time this approach works but I've noticed in those seeking something deeper with Abba the efficacy of these short quips taking a tumble downward. It leaves us wondering what happened, where is God, why does this not work any more?
Some, at this point, shut down, dig deeper into the cliches and hold on tighter thinking they must not have enough faith or that some sin is blocking the pathway. Others walk away and abandon the beginnings of vital faith, vital relationship. They may continue to hold on to the shell of religion but deep down they just have stopped showing up. Others don't even pretend anymore, they simply abandon the faith they once had.
Few will sit in the ashes. We believe there is something wrong with this approach, surely God wants us to be happy and out of this as quickly as possible. Perhaps He wants to take us deeper into Him, into understanding how dependent we are upon Jesus.
I could write something about every situation I've mentioned above and I might not be "off mark" but after examining my own times in the ash heap, I know the only thing truly effective was simply Jesus. No pithy scriptural quotes or religious cliches would do. I discovered He was there with me, even if the ash heap was of my own making. He said at the end, "Lo I am with you always" and offered the words with no caveat, no depending clause to His presence. It is grace that He is there when the ash heap swirls around us. His grace is enough but we would never know this if we rush away from the pain and confusion. Finding Him at those times is startling, disruptive and almost always full of weighty matters for us to learn from, lessons that can only be found in those ashes. We will rise, but let it be in His time, not ours.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Father's Day
Some days the holes we all carry, points of weightless weightiness, can't be ignored. Today, Father's Day, is one of those days. My dad was 40 when I was born. He passed away in 1999 at the age of 86. I miss him, actually no, I don't miss him but I miss what I wish I knew about him. Dad's main philosophy of life, at least what I could pick up from someone who hardly ever expressed a deep opinion, was "Don't rock the boat". I miss what I wish he'd said to me. I miss hearing anything that might have said I was going to make it as a human being, an adult, a man. I miss knowing anything about my dad's hopes, dreams, thoughts, feelings. His main goal, it would appear, was to remain as benign as possible in all dealings with anyone. That may have seemed wise in his eyes and there are people who knew him, other family members who will tell you he was a "nice man", but for me, I wish he'd risked being less benign with me.
I inwardly bristle at those two words. It was not all that nice to leave gaping holes in the heart of his only son, a son that probably deeply disappointed him with his total lack of sports interest, total lack of mechanical skill, a slightly effeminate voice and carriage of himself, sensitive heart with tears that came all too easily and often, and a deep interest in all things beautiful whether they be music, theater, books or art. His silence left me to find my own value and I did not do that well. He didn't do this out of any spite but simply didn't know any better about how to father a son.
Dad was born in 1913, a whole different world. He was a very handsome man but oh so quiet about who he really was. I do wonder about his own demons and if they are so very different from mine. The closest I ever got to hearing "I love you" from dad was the morning after my first suicide attempt. He walked into my hospital room, stood there a few minutes, his eyes filling with tears, got embarrassed and turned and walked away. I was 17.
There are friends who will suggest I allow God to father me. I've allowed God to do that to some extent the last several years but, frankly, on Father's Day, the holes remain. There is something powerful about hearing from your earthly dad that you are loved and you are believed in. I know many who never heard this from your dads either, they were either absent or, like my dad, silent with their hearts. To you, I know and hear you even if you have never told me about those holes.
I have two children and I hoped to be different from my own dad. I know I was, I am not shy about saying what I think and I deeply wanted to be with these two children no matter what, enjoy who they were. I do hope that I said some of the things that needed to be said while they were young. I don't want them to be full of the holes I have. I know none of us parent without inflicting some damage on our children, I just hope some of the good I tried to pass on outweighs the bad. We do have reasonably good relationships with both of them now into their 30's. I love them, tell them this and enjoy them GREATLY. I do remember things I wish I'd done differently and it is hard for me to forgive myself but I do believe I did the best I could.
Funny thing, in spite of the holes my Dad's profound silences created, I too believe he did the best he could. I don't think he knew any better
I don't know if I am going to leave this post up in my blog. I am not seeing much transcendence in this but I needed to get some thoughts down, needed to be known on this day.
I inwardly bristle at those two words. It was not all that nice to leave gaping holes in the heart of his only son, a son that probably deeply disappointed him with his total lack of sports interest, total lack of mechanical skill, a slightly effeminate voice and carriage of himself, sensitive heart with tears that came all too easily and often, and a deep interest in all things beautiful whether they be music, theater, books or art. His silence left me to find my own value and I did not do that well. He didn't do this out of any spite but simply didn't know any better about how to father a son.
Dad was born in 1913, a whole different world. He was a very handsome man but oh so quiet about who he really was. I do wonder about his own demons and if they are so very different from mine. The closest I ever got to hearing "I love you" from dad was the morning after my first suicide attempt. He walked into my hospital room, stood there a few minutes, his eyes filling with tears, got embarrassed and turned and walked away. I was 17.
There are friends who will suggest I allow God to father me. I've allowed God to do that to some extent the last several years but, frankly, on Father's Day, the holes remain. There is something powerful about hearing from your earthly dad that you are loved and you are believed in. I know many who never heard this from your dads either, they were either absent or, like my dad, silent with their hearts. To you, I know and hear you even if you have never told me about those holes.
I have two children and I hoped to be different from my own dad. I know I was, I am not shy about saying what I think and I deeply wanted to be with these two children no matter what, enjoy who they were. I do hope that I said some of the things that needed to be said while they were young. I don't want them to be full of the holes I have. I know none of us parent without inflicting some damage on our children, I just hope some of the good I tried to pass on outweighs the bad. We do have reasonably good relationships with both of them now into their 30's. I love them, tell them this and enjoy them GREATLY. I do remember things I wish I'd done differently and it is hard for me to forgive myself but I do believe I did the best I could.
Funny thing, in spite of the holes my Dad's profound silences created, I too believe he did the best he could. I don't think he knew any better
I don't know if I am going to leave this post up in my blog. I am not seeing much transcendence in this but I needed to get some thoughts down, needed to be known on this day.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
HOME
You've been swimming so long under the thick, unrelenting ice encrusted water, desperate for a break in the frozen ceiling. You had no idea you could stay under so long. Has it been minutes, hours, days? Perhaps years of swimming and swimming and swimming, always looking up for a beacon of a hole; your lungs bursting for the sweet taste of warm, free air. Suddenly you see it, the longed for break and you burst into the opening, lungs gasping for life giving air, life above the ice.
There is the first hint of hope intermingled with disbelief at the possibility of this kind of life. You want to believe it but quickly you remind yourself of all the evidence to the contrary. There is this tension between the two realms but you realize this startling interjection of new hope has caused a shift. You are now thirsty and hungry for something very new, yet very old.
We all started much the same, open, trusting, but the zing of hurtful arrows and the hurled sling-slung stones have done their job. Wounded, you live in a greyed-out world of going through the motions under the ice. The creeping weed of cynicism seems more real, more wise as you gasp you way along the edges of life. Wounded and alone you find others in the same state and attempt colorless community.
Perhaps the community is a circle of friends from work, your common bond bringing some thin sense of belonging. Or maybe you've chosen a religious community, the teaching inculcates sets of truths and dogma into your mind. But there is still a deep sense of aloneness as you wander through the hoops laid out for you. The A + B = C approach has failed you but you know of nothing else to do.
Suddenly a bursting flare in the night sky briefly illumines. Another flare arises and your eyes follow the arc to it's source. There is something or someone who wants you. The deeper truth of your heart has been pierced, a territory long forgotten in your attempts at survival in a world bent on your destruction. Something has come to light within.
Your eyes focus and see the smiling man, quiver full of lightening arrows and without noticing you've moved closer to him. With sudden warmth and joy you know this is Jesus. Not just the Jesus of religion but a real man standing with the offer of a new life, a new heart. You embrace this man of sorrows who knows your grief. You've found home.
"Follow me", he says, and you do.
There is the first hint of hope intermingled with disbelief at the possibility of this kind of life. You want to believe it but quickly you remind yourself of all the evidence to the contrary. There is this tension between the two realms but you realize this startling interjection of new hope has caused a shift. You are now thirsty and hungry for something very new, yet very old.
We all started much the same, open, trusting, but the zing of hurtful arrows and the hurled sling-slung stones have done their job. Wounded, you live in a greyed-out world of going through the motions under the ice. The creeping weed of cynicism seems more real, more wise as you gasp you way along the edges of life. Wounded and alone you find others in the same state and attempt colorless community.
Perhaps the community is a circle of friends from work, your common bond bringing some thin sense of belonging. Or maybe you've chosen a religious community, the teaching inculcates sets of truths and dogma into your mind. But there is still a deep sense of aloneness as you wander through the hoops laid out for you. The A + B = C approach has failed you but you know of nothing else to do.
Suddenly a bursting flare in the night sky briefly illumines. Another flare arises and your eyes follow the arc to it's source. There is something or someone who wants you. The deeper truth of your heart has been pierced, a territory long forgotten in your attempts at survival in a world bent on your destruction. Something has come to light within.
Your eyes focus and see the smiling man, quiver full of lightening arrows and without noticing you've moved closer to him. With sudden warmth and joy you know this is Jesus. Not just the Jesus of religion but a real man standing with the offer of a new life, a new heart. You embrace this man of sorrows who knows your grief. You've found home.
"Follow me", he says, and you do.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Greed
Its an ugly word, I think one of the ugliest in the language of humans. It speaks of the desire for more, no matter how much we already have; often no expense is spared. There is often an accompanying desire for others to know how much we have. At the end of the movie "The Hobbit, An Unexpected Journey" the eye of the dragon opens. Either he's hungry for more gold or something in him has awakened to the coming threat to his horde of treasure; perhaps both. It is a fairly accurate picture of what greed, unrecognized and certainly unchecked becomes.
It is easy to miss our own propensity to greed. I live, by U.S. standards, a fairly simple life. By global standards I am fabulously wealthy. I don't want to ever forget this, I am blessed simply because of where I was born.
This is not the kind of greed, a greed focused on wealth and possessions, that has stirred my thoughts lately. The greed I am thinking of is the centered around what we think we know theologically - a greed to be right.
I've grown up in and continue to be associated with fairly conservative, mainline protestant, non-liturgical denominations. This has been a blessing in that I've nearly always been led by well trained pastors who deal thoughtfully and communicate well the scriptures we believe to be inspired by God. In addition, I've spent some of my own time in study personally and have been richly blessed.
There is nothing wrong with this, in fact, we are commanded to study in order to more deeply understand and follow our eldest brother, Jesus. Again, I write again, there is nothing wrong with this.
What concerns me is the manner in which we conduct ourselves with what we believe we know. I see, all too often, the tendency to bash others with our modicum of knowledge. On various social media sites I see harsh words directed towards others who hold differing views or who are associated with other ecclesiastical traditions. Often and all too quickly the label "apostate" is used to dismiss others. The deep divisions we see in our political landscape have seeped into our so called christian culture. One believes they are correct and others who differ in non-essentials are wrong, written off as "outside".
It looks like we have hoarded our "gold" of knowledge, what we think is correct, and are all too willing to use our gold to bash others and show to the rest of the world how wise and wealthy we are. We are greedy to be right. It is really very unbecoming.
Jesus' last evening with his closest friends reveals much of how we, his followers, should conduct ourselves. Read John's gospel, chapters 13 - 17 and see what He believed was important. Love, servant-hood, unity, humility. These are the hallmarks of how we should handle whatever truth we understand. His harshest words were directed not at those in bondage to sin but to those who used what they knew to bash others, lorded over others with their "superior" knowledge and offered themselves as having "position" in a very theological culture.
Humility is offered when I consider two things. The first is simple; I am a man who still sins, all to frequently. I fall short in many ways and am in constant need of Jesus' grace and mercy. If I am to have any real "John 10:10" life, I must abide in Jesus.
The second is found in something Jesus said that last night. He told those eleven men that the Spirit would come and lead them into all truth. Any true knowledge I have is because of Abba's Spirit in me revealing the riches of His mystery to me. It is not my intellect. I am simply his wick He has lit and it is His gold he has entrusted me with. What little I know is good, more precious than gold, but it is not mine, it is His. I need to use it wisely, with humility and love, never to make myself look good, or wise, or that I have the corner on what is right. I need not be greedy with what I've been entrusted with nor should I pass quick judgement on those who hold to traditions that differ from mine.
It is easy to miss our own propensity to greed. I live, by U.S. standards, a fairly simple life. By global standards I am fabulously wealthy. I don't want to ever forget this, I am blessed simply because of where I was born.
This is not the kind of greed, a greed focused on wealth and possessions, that has stirred my thoughts lately. The greed I am thinking of is the centered around what we think we know theologically - a greed to be right.
I've grown up in and continue to be associated with fairly conservative, mainline protestant, non-liturgical denominations. This has been a blessing in that I've nearly always been led by well trained pastors who deal thoughtfully and communicate well the scriptures we believe to be inspired by God. In addition, I've spent some of my own time in study personally and have been richly blessed.
There is nothing wrong with this, in fact, we are commanded to study in order to more deeply understand and follow our eldest brother, Jesus. Again, I write again, there is nothing wrong with this.
What concerns me is the manner in which we conduct ourselves with what we believe we know. I see, all too often, the tendency to bash others with our modicum of knowledge. On various social media sites I see harsh words directed towards others who hold differing views or who are associated with other ecclesiastical traditions. Often and all too quickly the label "apostate" is used to dismiss others. The deep divisions we see in our political landscape have seeped into our so called christian culture. One believes they are correct and others who differ in non-essentials are wrong, written off as "outside".
It looks like we have hoarded our "gold" of knowledge, what we think is correct, and are all too willing to use our gold to bash others and show to the rest of the world how wise and wealthy we are. We are greedy to be right. It is really very unbecoming.
Jesus' last evening with his closest friends reveals much of how we, his followers, should conduct ourselves. Read John's gospel, chapters 13 - 17 and see what He believed was important. Love, servant-hood, unity, humility. These are the hallmarks of how we should handle whatever truth we understand. His harshest words were directed not at those in bondage to sin but to those who used what they knew to bash others, lorded over others with their "superior" knowledge and offered themselves as having "position" in a very theological culture.
Humility is offered when I consider two things. The first is simple; I am a man who still sins, all to frequently. I fall short in many ways and am in constant need of Jesus' grace and mercy. If I am to have any real "John 10:10" life, I must abide in Jesus.
The second is found in something Jesus said that last night. He told those eleven men that the Spirit would come and lead them into all truth. Any true knowledge I have is because of Abba's Spirit in me revealing the riches of His mystery to me. It is not my intellect. I am simply his wick He has lit and it is His gold he has entrusted me with. What little I know is good, more precious than gold, but it is not mine, it is His. I need to use it wisely, with humility and love, never to make myself look good, or wise, or that I have the corner on what is right. I need not be greedy with what I've been entrusted with nor should I pass quick judgement on those who hold to traditions that differ from mine.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
UNTIDY
I usually think these posts out, if not on paper at least in my mind. I am currently sitting out front smoking a decent cigar. Tried to read but I simply can't shake off a restless, untidy feeling. As a result, I probably won't tie this up into some nice neat package but looking for transcendence isn't as tidy as one might think. So I might ramble on a bit here.
I am missing some friends today. They were a couple we knew in our previous church. They were the kind of friends who look at each other after church and ask if they had plans. If not, we'd end up at either house with our kids and would probably play a game or do something. It was often spontaneous. Finding others who have the luxury of time to be spontaneous is a hard thing to find.
Some of this is an outgrowth of my not going to a retreat a good friend of mine in Pennsylvania put on. Several men I don't see often enough were there and I wished I'd gone.
A good friend of mine, our Pastor of Missions and Education has accepted a new position and will be moving on sometime this May. Derek and I rarely spend time together but I will miss him.
Our Sr. Pastor is also leaving for another church. Next Sunday will be his last weekend with us. I've not been able to put my finger on exactly why, but his presence somehow makes me feel safe. His leaving feels a bit like a stool has been knocked out from underneath me.
In addition, I am sensing Abba asking me to do a couple of things. I won't go into detail about these but one is stepping up and serving my church in a capacity I previously held. I've not been formally asked but I believe that request is coming. The other will stretch me more as I don't know if I really have what it takes to do it. Both of these are associated with people seeing things in me I don't easily see in myself. I am pretty quick drawing out the "disqualification" gun and shooting myself in the foot.
Unsettled and untidy. That describes the condition of my heart today. Honestly, I believe we Christ followers try to rush through these periods in our lives. They are uncomfortable and we expect following our Elder Brother to be settled, clear and peaceful. Really though, where did he promise that? That wonderful passage in Matthew 11 comes to mind, towards the end of the chapter when he invites us to live and rest in his yoke. It is not heavy or ill-fitting but it is a yoke nonetheless. The way some of this is playing out is not how I imagined. I have thought about writing some about what that looks like but not today.
Today I am sitting here on a beautiful late winter day in Elk Grove resting honestly alongside my Lord, Savior and best friend Jesus. I refuse to be anything less than honest with him in spite of the untidiness of this afternoon. I suppose therein lies the transcendence I watch for.
I am missing some friends today. They were a couple we knew in our previous church. They were the kind of friends who look at each other after church and ask if they had plans. If not, we'd end up at either house with our kids and would probably play a game or do something. It was often spontaneous. Finding others who have the luxury of time to be spontaneous is a hard thing to find.
Some of this is an outgrowth of my not going to a retreat a good friend of mine in Pennsylvania put on. Several men I don't see often enough were there and I wished I'd gone.
A good friend of mine, our Pastor of Missions and Education has accepted a new position and will be moving on sometime this May. Derek and I rarely spend time together but I will miss him.
Our Sr. Pastor is also leaving for another church. Next Sunday will be his last weekend with us. I've not been able to put my finger on exactly why, but his presence somehow makes me feel safe. His leaving feels a bit like a stool has been knocked out from underneath me.
In addition, I am sensing Abba asking me to do a couple of things. I won't go into detail about these but one is stepping up and serving my church in a capacity I previously held. I've not been formally asked but I believe that request is coming. The other will stretch me more as I don't know if I really have what it takes to do it. Both of these are associated with people seeing things in me I don't easily see in myself. I am pretty quick drawing out the "disqualification" gun and shooting myself in the foot.
Unsettled and untidy. That describes the condition of my heart today. Honestly, I believe we Christ followers try to rush through these periods in our lives. They are uncomfortable and we expect following our Elder Brother to be settled, clear and peaceful. Really though, where did he promise that? That wonderful passage in Matthew 11 comes to mind, towards the end of the chapter when he invites us to live and rest in his yoke. It is not heavy or ill-fitting but it is a yoke nonetheless. The way some of this is playing out is not how I imagined. I have thought about writing some about what that looks like but not today.
Today I am sitting here on a beautiful late winter day in Elk Grove resting honestly alongside my Lord, Savior and best friend Jesus. I refuse to be anything less than honest with him in spite of the untidiness of this afternoon. I suppose therein lies the transcendence I watch for.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Dachau
I step off our little Mercedes bus along with the rest of the 11 of us. In heavy silence I walk towards the low modern visitor center. We enter and stand about in restless silence while Alex, our tour guide, arranges for our entrance. We each receive a audio guide and are given about 2 hours to explore on our own.
The gate is another short walk from the center and again none of us are really saying much, we know this is important given the closeness we all feel to this event, we are all one short generation from those dark days that began here in 1933. Dachau was the first camp built within months of Hitler's ascendancy in Germany and is located less than a half hour north of Munich.
I walk the short walk, to my left is the remains of the railroad that brought the living cargo and to my right is the gate so many were forced to walk through. I stand in stunned silence, wanting to and not wanting to drink in the echo of memory and feeling those gates still hold. I don't know what to expect when I walk through the gates but there is no longer the threat of violence, torture, starvation and death that the original inhabitants faced.
With a tightness in my gut and a hint of fear invading my heart, I walk through the horrible, ominous gates. I take a moment and look around asking for a taste of what it might have been to walk through those gates 80 years ago. I am overcome with dread. I can only imagine what it felt to know those gates would close behind me shutting out all life as was once known.
Immediately to my right is one of the few remaining buildings from those days. It is a long, low masonite block building. This is where new inductees were forced to go. I walk in and am overwhelmed by the echoes of even the very quiet voices of those visiting that day. I imagine this to be a very noisy, confusing place for anyone entering for the first time. I discover my audio guide is not working. Either it is malfunctioning or I am doing something wrong. At first I am irritated but then I think of what it must have been to walk these doors with shouts demanding I give up the last shreds of my dignity, my humanity or face dire results. The echoes of those voices still reverberate if one listens carefully.
Since my audio guide is not working I decide to simply read along at the many, many displays telling the story of this place and some of the stories of those sent here. At one point there is a very large map of Europe showing the locations of every camp and sub-camp built for this industry of death. It is shocking to see hundreds of various colored squares representing millions who walked this journey. It is also shocking to imagine the thousands of people needed for this industry to make it work as efficiently as it did, thousands of workers in this government funded industry.
About two thirds of the way through the building I can read no more and I step out into the very large graveled courtyard or plaza..... neither word works to convey this place. We've all seen depictions of this place, the very large open area where inmates are forced to stand in cold or heat no matter what condition they are in for as long as their captors deem necessary. There is a crunch under my feet, the gravel feels fresh, uncomfortable and I imagine them bones, the bones of millions offered up to the Third Reich.
There are only two barracks standing, rebuilt at one time so that visitors can see what it might have been like. They do little justice to what row upon row of these buildings must have looked like. The foundations are still there, so very neat, so very orderly for this industry. Neatness must have served them well, these captors of humanity, but the neatness feels oppressive to me as I slowly walk down the main street separating the rows of skeletal foundations. There are stumps of trees that once lined this main thoroughfare and I wonder if the trees offered a taste of life and hope or mocked the conditions one now found themselves living in. Perhaps both.
It all felt so heavy to me, a deep, deep sadness infuses my thoughts, my prayers as I slowly wander the grounds. "What do you think of this, God?" I ask. My sadness deepens. I am not writing as one who understands the sovereignty of God nor do I feel the need to try to defend Him in this place. I simply can't fathom this place from His perspective. I know many demand He answer for this inhuman place and His seeming disinterest or impotence to have done anything to alter the course of the 12 years this camp operated. I ask my question and I am engulfed in sadness. Perhaps it is the slightest hint of His sadness at what we humans are capable of doing. That is part of my take away from this day.
I am also haunted by another thought, perhaps a scandalous thought. Thousands of men and women were conscripted into the inhumane work of running the thousands of camps. What of them? What of the indescribable weight of guilt they must have lived with for the remaining days they lived? I am sure some willingly joined the effort to eradicate unacceptable humanity but could there not have been many returning to their homes and family weighed down by what they did?
I asked Alex, our guide, what did Germany do for those who worked in these camps after the war? He simply said nothing, it was swept under the carpet and hoped to be forgotten. I have guilt. I have made poor decisions at times that have wounded people I love. I have hurt others. Some days those black places resurface and the pain arises. I pray, I take this to Jesus and ask for Him to walk with me through those memories. I have experienced some healing, some relief. But what if I had no such companion? What if I was left to my own devices to deal with guilt?
I am left with a deep sadness for not only the millions who died and those that lived through incarceration. I am somewhat scandalized by my own sadness for those who lived with unrequited guilt for what they did. I know some will say they deserved the guilt. Perhaps that is true but here I am, finishing this up on the Saturday before Easter and I can't help but think this sin too was paid for by Jesus, the weight of this guilt borne on the cross. It seems almost scandalous to think that this too, this inhumanity would be paid for that day but can we really decide what was to be paid for that day? We Christ-followers believe all sin is sin without degree, but do we really?
The gate is another short walk from the center and again none of us are really saying much, we know this is important given the closeness we all feel to this event, we are all one short generation from those dark days that began here in 1933. Dachau was the first camp built within months of Hitler's ascendancy in Germany and is located less than a half hour north of Munich.
I walk the short walk, to my left is the remains of the railroad that brought the living cargo and to my right is the gate so many were forced to walk through. I stand in stunned silence, wanting to and not wanting to drink in the echo of memory and feeling those gates still hold. I don't know what to expect when I walk through the gates but there is no longer the threat of violence, torture, starvation and death that the original inhabitants faced.
With a tightness in my gut and a hint of fear invading my heart, I walk through the horrible, ominous gates. I take a moment and look around asking for a taste of what it might have been to walk through those gates 80 years ago. I am overcome with dread. I can only imagine what it felt to know those gates would close behind me shutting out all life as was once known.
Immediately to my right is one of the few remaining buildings from those days. It is a long, low masonite block building. This is where new inductees were forced to go. I walk in and am overwhelmed by the echoes of even the very quiet voices of those visiting that day. I imagine this to be a very noisy, confusing place for anyone entering for the first time. I discover my audio guide is not working. Either it is malfunctioning or I am doing something wrong. At first I am irritated but then I think of what it must have been to walk these doors with shouts demanding I give up the last shreds of my dignity, my humanity or face dire results. The echoes of those voices still reverberate if one listens carefully.
Since my audio guide is not working I decide to simply read along at the many, many displays telling the story of this place and some of the stories of those sent here. At one point there is a very large map of Europe showing the locations of every camp and sub-camp built for this industry of death. It is shocking to see hundreds of various colored squares representing millions who walked this journey. It is also shocking to imagine the thousands of people needed for this industry to make it work as efficiently as it did, thousands of workers in this government funded industry.
About two thirds of the way through the building I can read no more and I step out into the very large graveled courtyard or plaza..... neither word works to convey this place. We've all seen depictions of this place, the very large open area where inmates are forced to stand in cold or heat no matter what condition they are in for as long as their captors deem necessary. There is a crunch under my feet, the gravel feels fresh, uncomfortable and I imagine them bones, the bones of millions offered up to the Third Reich.
There are only two barracks standing, rebuilt at one time so that visitors can see what it might have been like. They do little justice to what row upon row of these buildings must have looked like. The foundations are still there, so very neat, so very orderly for this industry. Neatness must have served them well, these captors of humanity, but the neatness feels oppressive to me as I slowly walk down the main street separating the rows of skeletal foundations. There are stumps of trees that once lined this main thoroughfare and I wonder if the trees offered a taste of life and hope or mocked the conditions one now found themselves living in. Perhaps both.
It all felt so heavy to me, a deep, deep sadness infuses my thoughts, my prayers as I slowly wander the grounds. "What do you think of this, God?" I ask. My sadness deepens. I am not writing as one who understands the sovereignty of God nor do I feel the need to try to defend Him in this place. I simply can't fathom this place from His perspective. I know many demand He answer for this inhuman place and His seeming disinterest or impotence to have done anything to alter the course of the 12 years this camp operated. I ask my question and I am engulfed in sadness. Perhaps it is the slightest hint of His sadness at what we humans are capable of doing. That is part of my take away from this day.
I am also haunted by another thought, perhaps a scandalous thought. Thousands of men and women were conscripted into the inhumane work of running the thousands of camps. What of them? What of the indescribable weight of guilt they must have lived with for the remaining days they lived? I am sure some willingly joined the effort to eradicate unacceptable humanity but could there not have been many returning to their homes and family weighed down by what they did?
I asked Alex, our guide, what did Germany do for those who worked in these camps after the war? He simply said nothing, it was swept under the carpet and hoped to be forgotten. I have guilt. I have made poor decisions at times that have wounded people I love. I have hurt others. Some days those black places resurface and the pain arises. I pray, I take this to Jesus and ask for Him to walk with me through those memories. I have experienced some healing, some relief. But what if I had no such companion? What if I was left to my own devices to deal with guilt?
I am left with a deep sadness for not only the millions who died and those that lived through incarceration. I am somewhat scandalized by my own sadness for those who lived with unrequited guilt for what they did. I know some will say they deserved the guilt. Perhaps that is true but here I am, finishing this up on the Saturday before Easter and I can't help but think this sin too was paid for by Jesus, the weight of this guilt borne on the cross. It seems almost scandalous to think that this too, this inhumanity would be paid for that day but can we really decide what was to be paid for that day? We Christ-followers believe all sin is sin without degree, but do we really?
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