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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.

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.

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.

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?

Surrender

Its Thanksgiving, one of my favorite holidays, for various reasons.  I love that it falls on a Thursday.  Having a holiday on Thursday makes Wednesday feel like Friday so that when Thursday rolls around my internal clock is delightfully messed up and I feel like its Saturday, but of course it isn't. Then when Friday rolls around it feels like a bonus Friday, even if I have to work.  I am working tomorrow but it doesn't bother me at all. Actually it makes today feel even more special, not part of a four day weekend but a special day.

We are having 10 today around our table ranging in age from 3 to 89.  The turkey is in the oven, pies (pumpkin, apple and mincemeat) are waiting for a knife, stuffing, sweet potato casserole, a vegetable casserole and cranberries.  I am very, very fond of cranberries. My mother tells the story of my first Thanksgiving (I would have been 4 months) where I only ate rolls and cranberries. I can forgo the rolls now but don't get in between me and cranberries!

I love the time with family and I am so looking forward to our house filling up with more bodies more voices the stories of our lives.  I love the moments of prayer, the time to simply thank Abba for all He has given us, not only materially but spiritually as well.  There is a peace to taking the time to reflect and thank from our hearts and with our voices.

I have been thinking about gratitude, thinking about what is entailed in the exercise of gratitude.  I keep coming up with the word surrender, a giving over of myself, my family, my home and all my possessions, holding to all of Abba's blessings with an open hand.  Nothing is permanent in our lives including the breath we take on a regular basis.  There is a peace to knowing, acknowledging a power much greater and higher than we are.  It actually is a peaceful place to be, to rest in Him who loves us with, as Brennan Manning says, a furious longing for us.  I love those two words put together to create a mental picture. We are loved furiously, with abandon to the point His son came and died for us that we can simply be with Abba.

We don't know what the next moment of our lives will bring, tragedy or joy but we can know our Father who will stop at nothing to go after us wherever our decisions take us.  So today I am in a state of surrender, surrender to the love that will not let me go, surrender to a Father whose heart is good, beats for me and every member of my family no matter where they are. Today my thankfulness, gratitude, is couched in surrender.  I am His, He is mine.

Have a happy, blessed Thanksgiving surrendered to His deep, deep love.

He's Got It

This might ramble a bit, just a warning.

I've watched this past political season fairly closely. I am sure many of us have. We almost all have some opinion one way or another. There have been a couple of issues of vital importance to me, so I have a bit of "skin" in the game. To some extent, most of us do, so we are likely to come out on the other side of this day either elated or dissapointed.

I've watched a lot of mud slinging as well. I am not speaking of the candidates, both nationally and locally, but rather the words of anger and frustration, the assumption of rightness at the expense of relationships.  We just think we have so much at stake believing we are correct in our conclusions. The question then becomes, "How could anyone think differently"?

I think I've seen a lot of fear on both sides of our very divided house. Dismissal of others has been rampant. Fear that "we" will lose and what will happen if "they" win. Fear fuels the anger, the anger fuels the words; harsh, hurtful words.

So, I was driving home tonight after a very long day where I hit the ground running at 6:30 and didn't stop until I climbed in my truck for the ride home at almost 6 pm.  I was mulling over this day and realized I really am at a very strange place of peace.  I don't know how this night will end.  It does matter, yet strangely, it doesn't. Let me say it again, I am at peace.

This is a God thing.  I am not manufacturing a sense of unconcern, a very poor imitation of peace.  I really do have "skin" in the game and do have an opinion about what "I" think is the right direction. But I am holding it all very gently, with an open hand.  It really is a place given by Abba to my heart.  Here is the thing, we often go to Him in concern, anger, anxiety, fear in a manner a bit like hitting the aspirin bottle with a bad headache.  Its almost like we say to ourselves, "Let's add a bit of God to this mixture of angst and maybe I will feel better", or "Lets add a veneer of scripture over these tough places and we can overlook them".  Frankly, I no longer believe this does justice to what He really offers us.

The offer is LIFE, not an aspirin bottle, not a spiritual panacea for what we think ails us, not a bit of "something" to add with a near-blind hope all will be better in the morning.  Its LIFE offered to His followers in a time historically when those that were in charge could hang you on a cross for thievery.  He didn't offer life with the caveat that Rome would be defeated, in fact, it got worse, much worse.  So the offer of LIFE really must transcend the issues that have driven many of us to fear.

The offer is love, His love in the context of His sovereignty. He's in charge.  Do I trust Him enough to let His peace come in, not as an aspirin but as something to totally replace the anxiety about who will win this night?  Do I trust Him?  For me, that is the only good question here. And if I say I do, then I really need to let Him have this, no matter how this comes out. There just isn't any room for all the harsh words that have flown back and forth for months now.  There isn't really any room for anger or fear either. No room for gloating dismissively if you "won".  What has been won or lost, anyway?

Yes, I am anxious a bit, but there still is this very wonderful strange peace that is overruling all as I ponder Him, His hand in the future days ahead of us. He's got it.

Fence

We sit on the fence
Where our fatal games
Have been played
Games that still call
With their lies of
Completion,
Inclusion,
Satisfaction;
One word arises above
Authority

There are no tricks
No slight of hand
No magical words;
Acceptance,
Trust,
Faith
Are the postures needed
To wield the sword
Authority.

Falling we do well
Practiced and precise.
Abiding in the squalor of
Guilt
We
Trust the lie of
Self deprecation
More than the truth of
Grace.

His seeking of us when
We are at our worst,
The lifting of our heads
When we believe we deserve
A blow from
His righteous hand,
His gentle yet insistent voice
Calling us to a deeper truth;
Deeper than the mire of
Ourselves,
Alone,
On the fence.