I love rock climbing (though not usually so hot on big wall, I'm starting to get pretty solid on them boulders) and I like analogies (sometimes), so I'm shooting this one out there. When I was first learning to top-rope, my housemate pointed out to me that at some point, in order to get comfortable on the rock, I just had to take a fall and trust that the rope will catch. (It's similar to weight-lifting in the sense that, without a spotter in some exercises, you don't increase in strength if, for safety's sake, you always stop just before pushing out that last would-be muscle-building pinnacle rep.)
For me, Jesus is the Rope that Always Catches, the Spotter who pushes me to the place where I would have definitely failed trying to get to on my own.
...with my God I can scale a wall.
[Psalm 18:29b]
_____________________________________________
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Desert Land
Day in and day out, it's a grind. How do people do this for forty years? Not even four years in and I'm already burning out. I suppose the difference-maker is relationships. Boldly introverted and running with a solid support structure, I was doing pretty good for awhile. Now in this desert of a season, five o'clock hits and busy busy just switches to null and void.
People say you should love what you do. Scripture says the land was cursed after the fall of man (Gen 3:17-19). All things were created by God and for God (Col 1:16); man was made to love and man was made to work. I get that. The crux of the matter is making it count.
Easily ("easily"), I feel, can I go minimalist and serve people in a third-world country in exchange for daily necessity-driven closeness to God. (I know the times in my life that I was most joyful were with people in places that had less stuff.) But where I stand now (already having paid off debts A and B and living well below my means), I still have a massive financial abyss to climb out of. Oh how I wish I could just declare bankruptcy, forsaking my credit score (and my ability to take on new debts) and just live off the grid. But never do I fail to hear my Conscious say, "Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's" (Mark 12:17).
A line from Relevant resounded with me the other week:
We’re getting theologically fat and spiritually bored with our safer versions of sunshine-pumping Christianity.*
My body has all that it needs in this area of affluence, but my soul... I'm dying out here.
Maybe this rich place is my desert land, my third-world country. Certainly, the needs look different, yet my spirit cries out to God all the same (and dangerously for my soul, it often does it unbeknownst to me). I've realized that, sometimes, it's harder to stay behind and send than to go. The world is not for me to save; I can only do my best to be faithful where God has placed me. He doesn't need me to accomplish His will, but obedience transforms me and serves others, perhaps with the former sometimes being His greater purpose. Nevertheless, obedience (even in the mundane) honors Him.
Despite my pre-mission-minded collegiate recklessness, I know that God can be glorified through my debt. And despite working corporate to pay off that debt, rarely seeing the difference I make and often feeling neutralized in my cubicle, I trust that whatever plan He has for me is good; all the days ordained for me were written in His book before one of them came to be (Psalm 139:16). Wait no longer to make it count, I pray, for where I am now is my battleground.
LORD, make today Count as defined by You. Amen.
_____________________________________________
*How Much Should We Risk? by Mike Barrett,
Relevant Magazine (06/23/2010)
People say you should love what you do. Scripture says the land was cursed after the fall of man (Gen 3:17-19). All things were created by God and for God (Col 1:16); man was made to love and man was made to work. I get that. The crux of the matter is making it count.
Easily ("easily"), I feel, can I go minimalist and serve people in a third-world country in exchange for daily necessity-driven closeness to God. (I know the times in my life that I was most joyful were with people in places that had less stuff.) But where I stand now (already having paid off debts A and B and living well below my means), I still have a massive financial abyss to climb out of. Oh how I wish I could just declare bankruptcy, forsaking my credit score (and my ability to take on new debts) and just live off the grid. But never do I fail to hear my Conscious say, "Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's" (Mark 12:17).
A line from Relevant resounded with me the other week:
We’re getting theologically fat and spiritually bored with our safer versions of sunshine-pumping Christianity.*
My body has all that it needs in this area of affluence, but my soul... I'm dying out here.
Maybe this rich place is my desert land, my third-world country. Certainly, the needs look different, yet my spirit cries out to God all the same (and dangerously for my soul, it often does it unbeknownst to me). I've realized that, sometimes, it's harder to stay behind and send than to go. The world is not for me to save; I can only do my best to be faithful where God has placed me. He doesn't need me to accomplish His will, but obedience transforms me and serves others, perhaps with the former sometimes being His greater purpose. Nevertheless, obedience (even in the mundane) honors Him.
Despite my pre-mission-minded collegiate recklessness, I know that God can be glorified through my debt. And despite working corporate to pay off that debt, rarely seeing the difference I make and often feeling neutralized in my cubicle, I trust that whatever plan He has for me is good; all the days ordained for me were written in His book before one of them came to be (Psalm 139:16). Wait no longer to make it count, I pray, for where I am now is my battleground.
LORD, make today Count as defined by You. Amen.
_____________________________________________
*How Much Should We Risk? by Mike Barrett,
Relevant Magazine (06/23/2010)
Monday, July 26, 2010
Heinous
Heinous. I like that word (its meaning, not so much). I like words that really pack a punch. How was your weekend? Say "fun" or even "exciting" and I'll respond with a "oh that's nice" and throw in a nod. Even though "devastating" sounds better than "bad," by no means would I rather have you experience the former over the latter. When something stands out as truly extraordinary (ever find that word kinda ironic?), people naturally tend to gravitate towards it.
Now, allow me to digress for a moment. I didn't grow up in the church (at least not at a place where I made my faith my own), went to a prestigious university which contributed to my inward arrogance, was part of a fraternity where I did some real stupid things, and made light--into games even--of things I'm now ashamed.
But shortly after college, God somehow landed me in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of winter, with nothing to turn to but Him. He gave me the grace to put my trust in Jesus, and everything's turned 180 since then (though obviously not without its kinks). Finding God later in life, one understandably slingshots in spiritual growth as there (usually) is more maturity to work with. And that's what I did. Much had been forgiven, so much love was shown (Luke 7:47).
Even though I'm in a good place now, I've still caught myself plenty enough times to fully know that apart from God, I have no good thing in me (Psalm 16:2). Yet pride leeches on and, honestly, it's hard to shake off, especially when you're not aware of it; in the back of my mind, I admit I'm not perfect, but also that I'm not that bad.
Now, back to the point. Today, at church, the pastor said something along these lines:
If you've been raped, how can that go unpunished with a loving God?
It doesn't; Jesus bore the punishment Himself.
I once had a real close friend who was assaulted, and I took on her pain (to whatever extent another person could) along with her. To me, rape is one of those traumas to which I would appropriately assign the description of heinous (actually, I really hate that word). The Cross sheds new meaning to me in this light.
Jesus bore the punishment Himself.
The wrath poured out on Him by God the Father wasn't only to the extent of what mounts to be adolescent blunders when compared to heinous rape or cold-blooded murderous sickness. No, the Father's wrath encompassed all and Jesus' incomprehensible love, translated into willful obedience, paid it all.
That is extraordinary.
__________________________________________________
Now, allow me to digress for a moment. I didn't grow up in the church (at least not at a place where I made my faith my own), went to a prestigious university which contributed to my inward arrogance, was part of a fraternity where I did some real stupid things, and made light--into games even--of things I'm now ashamed.
But shortly after college, God somehow landed me in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of winter, with nothing to turn to but Him. He gave me the grace to put my trust in Jesus, and everything's turned 180 since then (though obviously not without its kinks). Finding God later in life, one understandably slingshots in spiritual growth as there (usually) is more maturity to work with. And that's what I did. Much had been forgiven, so much love was shown (Luke 7:47).
Even though I'm in a good place now, I've still caught myself plenty enough times to fully know that apart from God, I have no good thing in me (Psalm 16:2). Yet pride leeches on and, honestly, it's hard to shake off, especially when you're not aware of it; in the back of my mind, I admit I'm not perfect, but also that I'm not that bad.
Now, back to the point. Today, at church, the pastor said something along these lines:
If you've been raped, how can that go unpunished with a loving God?
It doesn't; Jesus bore the punishment Himself.
I once had a real close friend who was assaulted, and I took on her pain (to whatever extent another person could) along with her. To me, rape is one of those traumas to which I would appropriately assign the description of heinous (actually, I really hate that word). The Cross sheds new meaning to me in this light.
Jesus bore the punishment Himself.
The wrath poured out on Him by God the Father wasn't only to the extent of what mounts to be adolescent blunders when compared to heinous rape or cold-blooded murderous sickness. No, the Father's wrath encompassed all and Jesus' incomprehensible love, translated into willful obedience, paid it all.
That is extraordinary.
__________________________________________________
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)