Rememberance can be unpleasant...but it's important.

Today is December 7th, the 68th Anniversary of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. The Japanese people, with their rich culture, fascinating history and beautiful home islands, are no longer an enemy of the U.S. On the contrary, Japan has become not only a healthy commercial neighbor, but also an ally in resisting the present-day threats from North Korea and China (not to mention the Soviet Union during the decades-long Cold War). Therefore, remembering the attacks on Pearl Harbor is not intended to resurrect indignation toward a historic enemy. Indeed, Japan is not the only former enemy to become a close ally against mutual threats. The United Kingdom is an excellent example of this, for July 4th celebrations do not strain the current U.S.-U.K. alliance. So the reason for remembrance must serve another purpose.

I posit that the reason why we MUST take time to remember and reflect on such days (i.e. Dec 7th, June 6th, Sept 11th, July 4th, etc.) is not because we love war, but because we love those who have fought and must fight them for us. Our moments of remembrance are the opportunity to soberly reflect on the nature of humankind, and the necessity for bravery and sacrificial duty in the face of unjust aggression. In essence, remembering historical moments of conflict is to reflect on the unpleasant reality of humankind's perpetual need for valor and courage in resisting evil aggression. Battlefield virtues may illuminate positive sides of humanity, but their necessity at all displays the negative sides of us as well. It's unpleasant business to reflect on man's need for defense and bravery, but it's important.

This principle is applicable to the Christmas season as well.

For example, our priest pointed out the other day that Advent is for "building up to Christmas," without celebrating it too soon. I found this curious. Does not the Christmas season begin the day after Thanksgiving ("Black Friday" insanity notwithstanding)? Should not the Christmas carols be sung jubilantly as soon as possible? Apparently not according to the "spirit" of Advent (mind you, I'm new to much of the historic Christian calendar, so my understanding of Advent must not be taken as authoritative). From what I'm learning, Advent is for reflecting on our need for a Savior in anticipation of His coming. It is to soberly reflect on why God would need to fully take humanity onto himself, enter our experience as a vulnerable newborn in a stinky, untidy stable. Indeed many carols are sung in a minor key because the tragedy/triumph of God entering humanity as a newborn is as much mourning over our need for salvation as it is a celebration of how he meets that need. Some aspects of remembering when Emmanuel ("God with us") was born can be unpleasant business, but it's so important.

For some, the unpleasant aspects of remembering deter them from taking the time to do so. "Why dwell on unpleasant things?" so goes their logic. The answer? Because it's important; because failing to remember can breed unhealthy ignorance regarding our needs, our flaws and our potential. All of the ways one should reflect on the reality-exploding nature of the Incarnation can be left for another time, for today is Dec 7th, deserving of it's own emphasis.

Memorializing the attack on Pearl Harbor is good because it reflects honestly on the nature of humankind, and remembers those moments when courage and valor were brought to the surface by the the scalding heat of combat dynamics. It's right because it celebrates a period in history when defensive might and national unity were (rightly so) held less suspect than can be assumed in the present culture (cynicism regarding present day military application must not retard appreciation for times when the cause was more clear and the goals more noble). I would encourage many to read FDR's "Infamy" speech, or watch a movie about the Pearl Harbor attack (accuracy is not the key objective with such films, but instead to remember and emote with the historic figures that lived through it precisely as it happened).

Take time to remember what occurred during that generation, and to those servicemen and women. Remember the virtues of sacrifice, duty, bravery and valor. Remember that such events are still possible today, for humankind has not evolved so much since then. Remembrance can be unpleasant... but it's necessary.

Technology "Fast"

Experiencing an interruption in internet and television service has been an inconvenient, yet not altogether undetectable blessing. The resulting effect has been a greater necessity to engage those activities that exercise the mind and nurture relationships better. In place of surfing the net, we have books to read. In place of the news to watch, we converse over dinner. In place of cartoons, my kids watch movies from our collection (2 hours long) that keep their attention for longer than minutes (with commercial breaks every 5 minutes). Instead of immediately turning on the football game that I enjoy watching, my wife and I go walk a couple of miles. Yes, the interruption of information and entertainment technology at home may be inconvenient, but there has been an "up side" that can be extracted from it.

In light of this unexpected benefit, it would behoove us to voluntarily perform this technology "fast" from time to time. Imagine the relational and concentration wealth that can be developed from the simple voluntary denial of the image-drive world to invade the harmony of the household. This can be taken so far as to even prefer candlelight for an evening over the simple flicking on of wall switches. Perhaps this practice can be incorporated into our Feast of Apartments held in May.

A Smoke-filled Room

As the thurible waved back and forth behind me, while I processed into the the sanctuary carrying the cross, I could already smell it. The incense burned sending its smoke rising into the rafters. For some, this is a strong scent that might distract from worship. For me, it's an olfactory journey into the throne room of God. The fumes drift around and invade the atmosphere. Such elements can lead you, literally, by the nose into the images of worship conjured from Revelation 5:8, 8:3-4. When we had arrived at the front of the sanctuary and entered the area of the altar, the priest waved the incense over the altar, the sacramental instruments and toward us acolytes. It's a wondrous thing to worship Christ with "the prayers of the saints" wafting over and around you. In ideal conditions, the air conditioning can be disengaged so that the smoke develops stratigraphic layers of fog rising up to the ceiling (and symbolically up to heaven). Indeed Christian worship can, and should, be a multi-sensory enterprise.

The incense smoke activates a historic "trigger" in the brain that hopes the ancient saints would be pleased with how we have received their "baton" of worship rites. It also powers up a futuristic instinct regarding saints' collective worship of Christ in heaven. It agitates and quickens an awareness of the present-day participation in timeless worship that has been being conducted by angels since their creation. The incense, therefore, has the past-present-future aspects of all legitimate celebration. I have discussed before how this rubric measures the validity of all ceremony and celebration. The finest elements of church practice uphold this philosophy.

The lingering "scents of worship" stay with me throughout the week as I engage in morning and/or evening prayer. Prayers from the Book of Common Prayer contain such creedal truth and ancient language, that I sense I'm still engaged in "common prayer" with those saints I thought about when enveloped by incense smoke. My "smoke" mingles with theirs to waft up before Divine nostrils. The Father, Son and Holy Spirit take a big whiff and say to one another, "Do you smell that? I love it."

For this reason, there's nothing like worshiping in a smoke filled room. For us at the Church of the Holy Trinity, this happens on the first Sunday of the month. O that it was a weekly occurrence! For some in episcopal churches (albeit Reformed Episcopal - Anglican), some elements of worship simply smack too closely of Roman practices, and therefore must be introduced judiciously. Nevertheless, having chosen to "eat the whole buffalo," I've developed an 'appetite' for all that ancient liturgy and practice offers. Our wise and temperate priest is including new/ancient elements with measured incrementalism. My default response remains, "swing that burner at me again, father. Nothing aids an atmosphere of worship like atmospheric worship." The smoke-filled room is exactly the place where I want to pray with all the saints (past, present and future).

The Strength of the Confessing Soul

The ancient discipline of confession is a strange and mysterious practice that seems to inexplicably release energy of the spirit. Many may attempt to explain this using mere psychological terms and reasoning, but it would seem greater than that. Thus the conversation between myself and my priest/friend yesterday:

We sought to differentiate the sacramental from the merely sentimental.

In the conversation, we teased out the differences as residing primary in the "source" of the meaning ascribed to a symbol, object or practice. If a person is ascribing special meaning to it, that would fall under the sentimental category. However, sacramentalism is, at it's core, the belief that God is ascribing meaning to it; that he mysteriously has attached spiritual efficacy to the symbol, object or practice. We do not reverence the Cross in worship simply because it's a meaningful symbol to us. We instead believe that, through the replica of the Cross in worship, God is performing a tangible and spiritually vital work in our soul. Therefore, we reverence the Cross not because of a sentimental attachment to the symbol. We do so because of a sacramental belief in God's use of the symbol to effect change in us. This applies to any practice in Christian development and worship.

Likewise, the ancient discipline of confession has its place in this conversation as well. A sentimental view of confession may seek to view it in a primarily psychological light. Some may engage in this practice for reasons that explain it on primarily anthropological levels. All of the reasons offered may very well be valid, giving rise to the psychiatric profession and counseling vocations. Nevertheless, this is merely viewing a spiritual exercise through a sentimental lens.

On the other hand, the practice of confession can be just as validly seen (possibly more so) through a sacramental lens. The "magic" of connecting with a spiritual director, or "Soul Friend," regarding specific struggles, temptations and lessons of life would appear to involve the Holy Spirit in a specific way as well. Peculiar energy infuses the process of being transparent with a spiritual mentor/director. The soul is massaged and exercised. Spiritual fitness is encouraged. The health of the soul is assessed by the spiritual "Doctor," a diagnosis shared and a prescription given. How is it that anyone would seek to have their body known more by a medical doctor than their soul is known by a spiritual "doctor?"

I am learning the value in this, more than I have known it before. Surely the transparent soul, laid bare in confession, has a better chance of pursuing health and strength of spirit than the one hidden by itself. Through weakness I am made strong.

Sibling Care in the Community of Faith

"No one can have God as Father who does not have the Church as Mother" (St. Cyprian, died A.D. 258).

Why such a drastic emphasis on the Church by such early church fathers? Cyprian was not the product of an overbearing Roman Catholic Church, for the abuses of power that the Protestant Reformers reacted to occurred well over 1,000 years after him. Indeed for Cyprian to have written thus about the Church prior to even the Council of Nicaea (A.D. 325) explains the unity of the Church affirmed in the Creed: "And I believe one Catholic and Apostolic Church." What, therefore, did St. Cyprian know that some, who today find church to be "optional," do not know?

There is a great deal that we might argue Cyprian knew that many today are ignorant of, but significant among these is the manner that brothers and sisters in Christ support one another in Christian fellowship. It would be cliche' to insert a sports analogy here, but the universal principle is that humans are designed to be communal creatures. The archaeological record reveals a oft-repeated evolution of hunter-gatherer bands into more and more complex societies. Strength of numbers help people to survive dangers of predators, repel attackers and weather environmental change. Technologies of agriculture, dwellings and tribal defense all develop in sophistication along with population numbers. People have, historically, seen it as more to their advantage to be together than alone.

How is it then, that many in current society (particularly in Christian circles) would think it advantageous to proceed through spiritual life having only a "personal experience," or worse, avoiding church commitment altogether? Imagine a duck saying to Dr. Doolittle, "Of course, I'm a duck. I swim, fly, quack and waddle. I just prefer to be on my own. I'm uncomfortable with the idea of organized flight or "flocking" in streams and lakes together. To be honest, I'm uncomfortable around ducks. None of them seem to quack exactly like I do. And besides, flying together seems to make it easier for the hunters. I know you haven't seen me around other ducks at all, but I really am a duck - honest."

This point was driven home to me just this morning in church. The image above is of my daughter and youngest son. I sat behind them because the five in our family can hardly fit into the pew, and with all our stuff really makes it cramped. At one point, as the priest was preparing the communion table elements, Jessica spontaneously reached over and hugged Elijah. This sibling support was so wonder to behold. Un-coached by my wife or me, the older sibling decided to offer support to the younger one, and he accepted it. These sort of "living pictures" occur frequently in a church adept at trafficking in symbolism.

This type of "sibling care" is one of the essential characteristics of the Church. How could one imagine missing out on the arena wherein such beautiful lessons occur? No wonder Cyprian would consider that the organic nature of the Body of Christ renders the one who is disinterested in Christ's Body to be likewise disinterested in Christ. Indeed since the fellowship of faith is such a favored instrument of the Spirit, one can justifiably ask if the one disinterested in fellowship truly has the Spirit. This notion need not be taken to the extreme of assuming that merely because one has planted their butt in a pew before they can be assured of eternal life. However, neither must one use the straw man of "faith by osmosis" to reject the importance of Church commitment. While is it true that he is not a soldier who has merely bought a uniform at a Army surplus store, he also is not a soldier that has not joined the Army.

All this to offer theological context to the beauty of sibling support observed in front of me this morning. I hesitated to take the picture, thinking it potentially irreverent (and possibly rude) to take a picture with the camera/phone while worship is in progress. I had not asked permission of the priest in advance, who justifiably might have instructed me not to out of respect for the sacred occasion. However, the spontaneity of seeing my two children support one another in the midst of worship was just too pleasing. I had to capture it.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, the siblings of faith in the covenant community, support, uphold, embrace, console, challenge, direct, comfort and carry one another under one Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Such pictures of love and sibling affection warm the heart, for they offer a window into one of the chief missions of the Church for which Christ died and rose again.

The Beauty of Communal Worship

Participating this morning in worship for Church of the Holy Trinity was a real privilege. Serving as an acolyte in the liturgical service creates a praxi fide of being intensely Christian. One of the great benefits of serving as an acolyte is the opportunity to, in essence, have a "front row seat" to all that takes place at the altar. When prayers are read, sacraments consecrated or distributed, your right there - in the thick of the experience. I enjoy it very much.

Today was especially meaningful because I witnessed something so wonderful as to deserve mention here. One man in the church has a son with a severe disability, the name of which I do not know. Nevertheless, at the time for distribution of the elements of the Table, the disabled son needed assistance to be brought forward in his wheelchair to receive the Eucharist. His name is "Rutherford." As I stood before the altar, holding oil and a napkin nearby for the priest to bless many who came to the rail, I observed Rutherford's father wheeling him down the center isle. When he came to the steps, he and an usher grabbed both sides of the wheelchair and lifted him up to the raised platform. Rutherford's chair was pushed forward to the rail to receive Communion and the priest blessed him using the oil I held. When the priest dismissed everyone at the rail, the same procedure was executed to take him back.

In this moment I witnessed a microcosm of the Church at work. Rutherford is disabled - quite severely. He cannot approach the altar on his own. The result was that there was need for the Church to assist him. Those knowing his need, and his inabilities, offered their help for him to participate in the worship of Jesus Christ. It was not left to him to simply conjure up his own ability to "come boldly to the throne of grace." Instead he was aided in his approach by those provided by God for his assistance.

This living picture was very poignant, and will stick with me for quite some time.

The Random God

The Collect for the Tenth Sunday after Trinity reads, "Let thy merciful ears, O Lord, be open to the prayers of thy humble servants; and, that they may obtain their petitions, make them to ask such things as shall please thee; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

Having completed the Master of Theology degree at Dallas Theological Seminary, I can confidently say that the dynamic interplay between God and believers in everyday life is more a mystery now than when I started formal training. No definitive pattern can be discerned from either Holy Scripture, or from observing life in general. One appears to receive God's favor, another does not. The wicked prosper while the righteous suffer, but then the trend is sometimes reversed. One man seeks to honor the Lord with his labor, yet is not rewarded with abundance. Another could not care less for the Lord's agenda, yet seems to prosper at every turn. There is no discernible pattern to it.

To add complexity to the enigma, just when the lack of any pattern causes one to throw up their hands in stymied resignation, and declare that there is no pattern because God does not bother himself with the menial concerns of the individual, something occurs that seems to lend evidence that God does indeed "answer" prayer.

The apparent "silence of Heaven" may be a problem for the superstitious Christian that asserts a view of God as the "divine puppeteer," pulling the strings of every daily event (Oral Roberts). However, the seeming "answer from Heaven" remains a problem for the deist that asserts God as a "divine watchmaker" that created the world with various principles to operate it, got it started and then has pretty much left it alone since (Thomas Jefferson). There is such a thing as a Christian-deist hybrid, a sort of "Christian naturalist" that asserts belief in the great Christian creeds, but will assert that one should not expect God's intervention between the first and second advents of Christ. I have tried to avoid this tendency, but life experience has made it tempting.

Nevertheless, just about that time that the "silence of Heaven" has made Christian naturalism intellectually attractive, out of desperation concerning a family need I punt to prayer (for which I'm expecting no answer). When the need is met in an unexpected manner, it seems to jostle the categories all over again. Is the need met randomly by the blind ebbs and flows of human society and interactions? Was the entropic benevolence of someone toward us, who became aware of our need, wholly unrelated to the petition I had offered to God in secret? Is it right to interpret the meeting of the need as related to the prayer for the need? Did God send the money, or did some kind person give it, who arbitrarily decided to show kindness to us?

Clearly the best answer to last question is "Yes."

However, the temptation always remains to attempt learning something about God through such events, to discern his "pattern," discover his "m.o.," figure him out. The temptation to pursue such insight is great, but the folly of such a pursuit is great as well. The best that can be determined from such encounters is that God enjoys his randomness. For reasons that seem good to him, he appears averse to fitting neatly into popular categories concerning his interaction with us in this present world. To figure him out would be to master him in some capacity, and he will apparently have none of it.

The one who has a need met following prayer cannot say, "God always meets my needs when I pray." Likewise, the one who has a need go unmet despite much prayer cannot say, "God never meets my needs regardless of how much I pray." He is mastered by none, and is predictable by none. He holds his own council, and is advised only by himself on matters into which he will intervene. The "puppeteer" and the "watchmaker" are labels that cannot fit his character.

For reasons that seemed good to him, we had a pressing need that was met today. I mentioned this need to him in morning prayer, half expecting that this would be to no effect. Other disappointing life events this year had me persuaded that "Christian naturalism" was a more accurate view of God. Nevertheless, being a Christian, I have not abandoned the practice of prayer, though I did not expect anything to result. When I was approached hours later by an unexpected source with the resources needed, I gladly thanked them. Inside though, I rolled my eyes and prayed secretly, "You're having fun with this, aren't You."

I reckon the lesson was to cease attempting to discern the pattern. The sovereign Lord appears to enjoy his randomness, and he retains the right to involve himself in my life, and my needs, to whatever extent he pleases. I cannot presume upon his intervention (or absence) in any of my life events.

Know the Big Stuff

My wife and I just spent the weekend in Houston, Texas hunting for houses to rent. We found a few that were to our liking, and one in particular that he hope to live in while getting established in the new area. Searching through several houses was helpful because they were so spread apart that the journey around town helped to develop my internal map, making it a little easier to get around. Houston has no topographical features to help know direction, so getting one's bearings takes time. Nevertheless, as we drove from location to location, the newness of the experience began to sink in, which can be somewhat unsettling. Any major life transition can be unnerving, especially when it's later in life. Hitting the "reset button" is fine earlier on, in the twenties and thirties, but to do so at age forty can produce generous doses of anxiety.

The end result is that at this time of life you start to camp more on the big stuff, and sweat the small stuff a little less. This is not to say that finding housing is necessarily "small" stuff, but there are things much bigger. Imagine having a place to live for the time being, but being unemployed. I can imagine it because that has been our experience for a couple of months now. For others, it can be much longer. The feeling is horrible, gnawing away at the gut while accusations of slothful dereliction invade the soul. So employment is a big "brick" to put in the retaining wall of one's life. Therefore, I am extremely thankful to be moving to a new job in Houston that is both rewarding and compensating. For a life dominated up to now with fulfilling volunteerism, it is nice to have work that is both personally satisfying and can support the family as well.

However, it can be argued that even this is not the biggest brick. Consider how meaningless such employment would be without a strong and cohesive family to enjoy it with. Having a spouse and children that are resilient enough to weather such change is valuable beyond measure. Kids that were emotionally prepared to move away if I had become a Navy chaplain are a blessing too.

Arguably, a bigger "brick" still is the question of one's church family. While this statement raises eyebrows, supposing that one might prioritize church over family, it unearths an important point. One's spiritual health is the first priority of life, being that the connection to God is the chief governor upon all other of life's aspects. In addition, contrary to the general sentiment produced by the "Dobson revolution," as important as the family is, it cannot compete with one's loyalty and connection to Christ. This may seem strange for someone so committed to his family to say, but this is the essence of Jesus words in Luke 14:26-27

If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother, and wife and children, and brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.
Whoever does not carry his own cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.

This does not mean to actively hate anybody, let alone the members of one's family. However, it has everything to do with choice. The biblical language of "love" and "hate" often relates to what one chooses or does not choose. When, in Romans 9:13 Paul quotes from Malachi 1:2-3 with, "just as it is written: 'Jacob I loved, but Esau I hated'," he is pointing toward God's arbitrary "choice" of Israel. Indeed, the NET Bible's translation of Malachi 1:2-3 reads:

“I have shown love to you,” says the LORD, but you say,
“How have you shown love to us?”
“Esau was Jacob’s brother,” the LORD explains,
“yet I chose Jacob and rejected Esau. I turned Esau’s
mountains into a deserted wasteland
and gave his territory to the wild jackals.”
(emphasis added)

Therefore, when Jesus speaks of "hating" father, mother, wife, children, brother or sister for his sake, he is not advocating hatred of loved ones. On the contrary, in every way those close to us are often, or at least should be, the direct recipients of Christ's effect on us. The love of Christ must so fill up the soul as to spill out upon everyone else (and not just to those who also kneel). Having said that though, the ultimate choice must become clear. Familial idolatry is possible. The questions surrounding one's connection to Christ, through the Church, hold precedent. It is the biggest "brick" in the wall.

Where a family will live is important to know. Where I will work is an even more important question to answer. How close will we be in the process is an even bigger consideration. But the question as to where we will worship is the most weighty question of all. Having a spiritual "family" is of first importance, and therefore is the leading concern when moving to a new area.

As a result, finding one's church in a new community is (or at least should be) the most important concern in a major move. Therefore, among the most unsettling items to be decided when moving is the church search process. Where will we go? Will we fit? Will we like the preacher? Will they have a children's program that my kids like? Will I like the music? Is it within a convenient distance? Etc...

The concerns of the "church consumer" are numerous and varied, and ultimately rather fickle. So it is with great satisfaction that we enjoy the Anglican paradigm of a connected Church through which I knew the Rector of the Church of the Holy Trinity already. Also, because of CHT's place in the broader Reformed Episcopal Church, a great deal of trust could be extended about that which we did not know. The net effect was that we knew what church we would move to before we knew anything else about Houston. Perhaps this may seem strange to some, not to "shop around" to find a church that "suits our needs," but such is the beauty of "mother Church." Besides, we strongly advocate the paradigm that teaches: you make your decision... and then your decision makes you.

We went to Houston last weekend knowing all the most important things in advance. Sure we were house hunting, but we already knew where I'll work, how close we are in all the change, and (most importantly) where we'll worship in the Church. How refreshing to know the "big stuff" in advance. I admit that the housing issue is somewhat anxiety endusing, but knowing the big stuff this early in the process is a tremendous blessing for which we are very thankful.

A Far Green Country

At the end of J.R.R. Tolkien's book The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Frodo boards the ship at the Grey Havens and sails off to the "undying lands" along with the Elves. Peering into the western horizon, Frodo gazes upon the following sight:


And then it seemed to him that as in his dream in the house of Bombadil, the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.

To a certain extent, Christians can, at times, deserve criticism for fixating on the afterlife in an almost "escapist" fever pitch. However, it is also integral to the Christian experience to long for the world that is to come as well. As a theological aside, the evangelical theological construction of dispensationalism often comes under a great deal of scrutiny and scorn, but it should be remembered that all Christians are "dispensational" to some extent. How ever many "dispensations" one constructs in their theology of history, or however clearly they can be demarcated is a matter of debate. What is arguably universal though, is that all Christians hold to at least three "dispensations" (epochs of God's administration of his reign over all that differ with one another). These three are:

1. Past tense - the way things were when they were as they are not right now, nor were they then as they are right now. This is seen in Creation, pictured as a garden, anthropologically seen as a period of innocence, and seen theologically as a time before redemption was necessary because sin had not yet infected all. This period was inaugurated by God in creation and concluded by God in the expulsion of humankind from "the garden."
2. Present tense - the way things are that are not as they once were, nor as they will be one day. The state of the present world is clearly not enjoying universal innocence, nor is it yet experiencing universal redemption. The present world is broken, and therefore differs considerably from the world that was not yet broken (past tense) and the world that will be totally repaired (future tense).
3. Future tense - the way things will be that are not as things are right now. The promise of a world in which the present "wrongs" are made right is a recurring theme throughout the Christian scriptures (both Old and New Testaments). This is a period wherein redemption is completed at every level of creation. What is currently broken is fixed. What is currently crooked is made straight. What is currently ugly is made beautiful. What is currently hoped for is realized.

Again, specifics within theses categories may remain points of debate within Christian circles. My personal preference is not to argue for more specific categories than I have outlined above. Certainly the above list places me in continuity with the ancient Church and in communion with the global Church as well - thus it is a "catholic" view of history. Divisions in the Church have often resulted from demanding greater specificity than this. Biblically, I do not see how greater specificity is necessary to grow in Christ.

Nevertheless, it is the third category to which I now turn.

When we reflect on symbols of beauty around us in times of worship, we must be thinking more of the world that is to come than of the world that was, because the one that is to come gets FAR more space in the Scriptures than the world that was. The new creation must occupy our mind more than the original one if only for this reason: the Scriptures invite us to.

When we enter the place of worship (and I'm thinking of our experience at the Church of the Holy Communion), there are so many elements designed to invoke the beauty of creation. The flowers on the altar, the carvings of grapevines and flowers on the tables and pews all point toward the bounty and beauty of God's creation (and also can point toward Christ being the "vine," and the "rose" of our redemption). Nevertheless, these are eschatological symbols of the world that is to come. Stepping into sacred space is to show up to "rehearse" one's reaction to the presence of God that will one day be unfiltered.

Holy Communion, itself, has an eschatological component in that we have the opportunity to participate in "the marriage feast of the Lamb" now that will have its fullest expression in the world that is to come. In fact, singing points toward the angelic choruses in which we will participate. I have little doubt (and evidence of this is found in John's Revelation) that the redemptive acts of Christ will be recounted then as well. For this reason the various readings are also rehearsal for what will be an eternal practice. The practice of worship is not a collection of misguided believers pining away for the "sweet bye and bye." It is the process of entering into "postcards of Heaven" in the present. In essence, the mentality necessary for Christian engagement in worship is to accept God's invitation into his transcendent reality that blurs the past, present and future together. Thus the Gloria Patri recited in morning and evening prayer seems less like poetic language, and more like a forensic disclosure of reality:

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.
(emphasis added - from the Book of Common Prayer)

Stepping into the place of worship is like rehearsing one's entrance into Heaven. The former creation is gone and cannot be reclaimed. However, the re-creation (restoration through redemption) is the more appropriate focus anyway. Not only is it given more space in the Scriptures, but the redemptive work of Christ will make it far better than what was before. One may be created in the "image of God," but is it not far greater to be conformed to the "image of Christ?"

Therefore, when we enter the place of worship, adorned with flowers, gathering the rays of sunlight, we journey to "a far green country." We taste in part the presence of Christ that we will one day enjoy to the full. We behold his beauty in preview. We touch the petals of his garden carved into the sides of pews. We smell the sweet incense of prayers offered to the Father when such practices are woven into liturgical worship (I'm among those hoping to experience it sometime soon - CHC does not presently include it). The "far green country" is not all that far away after all, for the liturgy and sacred space invite us to enter the "far green country" brought near. This must inform sacramental worship as well. Consider such overtones found in the Lord's prayer:



Our Father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory,
for ever and ever. Amen.
(emphasis added)

Indeed so much of the eschaton is pictured in the liturgy, and through the beauty of symbol throughout the worship space, that I, for one, am not above imagining the music from the Lord of the Rings playing in the background as I approach my pew, genuflecting as I turn to enter it.
I approach to encounter the Christ who will one day welcome me in full. I approach to touch the heaven I expect to see immediately after my mortal eyes close for the last time. I approach to accept God's invitation to season my "present tense" with the future. Gandalf is right to comfort with words of the "far green country," for indeed it is not as far away as even he supposes.

Old Words...Deep Words

Who writes this stuff anymore? I mean seriously. It seems we can't attend a church service anymore without leaving with a truckload of ideas to ponder and meditate on. It's almost if church should have been like this all along. Not to suggest that we've "discovered" a perfect church, for no such entity exists. However, our present experience is more closely approximating worship expectations we have had for some time now. Such expectations may have seemed unreasonable before, but now they seem appropriately intuitive.

For example, one of the hymns this week (I know. I know. I commented on the hymn last week too. Bear with me) fit so incredibly well with the current state of the United States of America. I was stuck by the timeliness of the poetry, though the hymn itself had obviously been written long ago. It went as follows:

O God of earth and altar. Bow down and hear our cry,
Our earthly rulers falter, Our people drift and die;
The walls of gold entomb us, The swords of scorn divide,
Take not thy thunder from us, But take away our pride.

From all that terror teaches, From lies of tongue and pen,
From all the easy speeches That comfort cruel men,
From sale and profanation Of honor, and the sword,
From sleep and from damnation, Deliver us, good Lord!

Tie in a living tether The prince and priest and thrall,
Bind all our lives together, Smite us and save us all:
In ire and exultation Aflame with faith, and free,
Lift up a living nation, A single sword to thee. Amen.

Wow! No that was a "prayer for the nation" that one can sink their teeth into. Such lyrics maintain the ancient and obligatory critique of one's country that prophetic voices of faith have a continual duty to sound. Because of my political bent, I found verse 2 particularly appropriate, yet the entire hymn was timely and applicable to the cultural ills of American society.

I am not the type of staunch traditionalist that would hold to only older music forms to the exclusion of all others. There seems, in my opinion, a place for both ancient AND timely expressions of aesthetic worship in the Church. Having said that though, I find it very, very rare for the contemporary lyricist to possess the poetic capacity found in older hymnody. If it's worth using in the service to give people the impression of worship, it's worth giving them a lasting impression after they've left the service. Thus I'm still reflecting on the song days later.

I've often said that although I do not begrudge Christians the use of contemporary music in worship, I prefer lyrics that I can read in prose with a straight face. While one might speak the poetry of "O for a thousand tongues to sing my great Redeemer's praise," uttering lyrics such as "Yes Lord. Yes Lord, Yes, yes Lord!" appear better reserved for the enrapturing throws of sex. Therefore, let us continue to sing with our hearts that which can equally keep our minds occupied for a while too. Use what music style you want. I cannot be credibly dogmatic on that subject, but let the older words - the deeper words - be the poetry that the music ushers into the soul to churn and gestate into new spiritual life with each Sunday encounter.

How Catholic is "catholic?"

What a transformation we have undergone. The change has been both at a break-neck pace, but also understandable - particularly in light of our developing ecclesiology and love of the Church. The resulting effect has been one of viewing the Church with more of a "catholic" mentality than a "Protestant" one. These two terms have gone through a number of different definitions throughout history, picking up new baggage with each change, but never discarding any. As a result, the terms, by themselves, say little unless clarified by either common understanding among conversation participants or copious qualifiers to accompany their usage.

For example, the Baptists may find ties to the Anabaptists of Switzerland in the 16th Century, who "protested" the Roman Catholic church at the time through what would be called "the Radical Reformation," but what exactly do they "protest" now? In addition, Protestantism is so diverse in its various denominations (Lutherans, Presbyterians, Methodists, Baptists, etc.), that the term is useful only in identifying something as non-Catholic, but offers little more clarity than that.

On the other hand, "catholic" also suffers the need for clarity as well. For much of life I have mistakenly assumed it had one meaning, that of referring to the Roman Catholic church. However, "catholic" can have a slightly more broad use than merely referencing the Christian tradition headquartered in the Vatican. At its root "catholic" is derived from the two Greek terms kata ("according to") and holos ("whole"). Therefore, "catholic" does not merely refer to the Roman church, nor can it ethereally be merely translated as "universal." It, quite literally, has to do with things agreed upon "according to the whole." Therefore, in some sense, Rome has been rather presumptuous to wear this label for itself, seeing that it does not constitute the "whole"of the Christian Church. Nevertheless, to seek the Church to be "whole," or to desire it to be "whole" again after so many years of schism and division is to view the Church through a somewhat "catholic" lens. In addition, to remain faithful to the ancient creeds is also "catholic" because these summaries of Christian doctrine were agreed upon "according to the whole." All Christian's believe the Nicene Creed (whether they realize it or not), and none are Christian who deny the truth expressed in the Nicene Creed. Therefore, the Nicene Creed is a "catholic" expression of Christian faith.

One of the ramifications of such a "lens" is to gaze longingly upon that period of the Church's history before division and schisms ripped it asunder. In this way, one can speak of the "catholic" era of the Church, before the great east/west schism of A.D. 1054. Such an ecclesiology can see in this a healthier period than is presently on display because at least there existed a unified mechanism for addressing innovations to Christian doctrine that ran contrary to the faith inherited from the apostolic era. Not to be naively nostalgic, but the assumption of sickness is to suggest a normalcy prior to becoming symptomatic. If the last millennium has been marked by schisms of Rome with the East, theological inventions of Rome through medieval scholasticism, Swiss anarchic reactions to Rome during the Radical Reformation, Protestant splintering of the Church through denominationalism and American reinventing of "church" through marketplace consumerism, then the first millennium can be viewed as healthier than the second.

Therefore, longing for the Church to return to a healthier state is, at least to some extent, a "catholic" desire. This appetite for a more "whole" Church can lead one to be more open to instruction from the ancient Church before it was as splintered apart as we find today. In addition, this mentality lends itself to finding greater value in the "whole" than in individual appetites regarding church practice. Someone may ask, "Do you like how they do 'church' at your new place?" This question is far less relevant now than it used to be, for in this way the "catholic" mentality is contrasted with the "protestant" ethos. It is more of a "protestant" mentality to evaluate churches based upon personal taste and "felt needs." Such Christian consumerism understands that if the present church experience does not meet those "needs," I can always try another...and another...and another.

The net effect is that I must admit to developing a more "catholic" view of the Church than I ever have had before. It's actually somewhat disorienting. To change one's mind is unsettling, realizing one's own immaturity in a new frontier. Much of what I thought I knew must be re-learned. It's not intellectual suicide to abandon intellectual autonomy, but it's an odd sensation nonetheless. To progress in this vein is to increasingly think more "catholic" than "protestant." This has the uncomfortable effect of placing Rome, Italy in closer proximity to my position than Alpharetta, Georgia (headquarters to the Southern Baptist Convention). After all, Benedict is at least talking to Bartholomew, which is to be celebrated. In addition, the Orthodox Church in America is extending the embrace of good will to the Anglican Church in North America. These things appear to be pleasing fulfillments of Jesus' prayer for our unity in John 17.

This change of mind was driven home to me Sunday during the singing of one of the hymns. I grew up singing the old hymn "The Church's One Foundation." Imagine my surprise when the hymnal at Church of the Holy Communion seemed to add a verse in the middle:

Though with a scornful wonder men see her sore oppressed,
By schisms rent asunder, By heresies distressed;
Yet saints their watch are keeping, their cry goes up, "How long?"
And soon the night of weeping shall be the morn of song.

I have two hymnals at home. This verse is in the 1976 hymnal I boosted from a Baptist church (not really, they gave me one), but is omitted from the 1986 hymnal I got from another Baptist church. Why the later omission? Is it not appropriate to long for the Church to be healed from her many schisms and divisions? Regardless of whether it be a “catholic” sentiment, I too cry “How long?” when lamenting the fracturing of Christ’s church. For this reason, the Reformation was positive for correcting some of Rome’s errors, but also takes on a tragic flavor for splintering the Church further. Some may accuse me of sounding increasingly “catholic” (meaning, I want the Church to be whole), but I’ll not let that deter me from thinking the Church as greater than myself, and with a "catholic" desire for unity, crying out:

“How long?”

Faith vs Certainty

One of the things refreshing about not being pastor now is that the temptation is presently far less to fake strong faith just because people are looking to you (paying you) to possess it. Faith can ebb and flow for spiritual leaders (just like anyone else), but there really can be a perceived lack of freedom to show it. Therefore, the temptation can be to project stronger faith than you actually have. This may seem hypocritical, but it's part of the human experience, especially when among your duties are to be the exemplar of faith to those around you.

However, upon further reflection, I am coming to realize that this would be less of a problem if it was faith that people actually wanted to glean from their leaders. Instead, what is implicitly sought is certainty, rather than faith. Faith is the middle ground between certainty on the far right side and doubt on the far left. Both make concrete assertions about what cannot be known. Faith, it would seem, makes fewer assertions with the same level of zeal. Instead, faith trusts in He who is, rather than making dogmatic claims about what He does. Faith may develop parameters of what can reliably be trusted (such as the revealed Word of God or the summary formulations of the ancient Christian creeds), but it still holds a place for the unknown, for mystery.

Certainty is an incipient discontent with what cannot be known. That's all that certainty often seeks to know. In a sense, certainty can, at times, take on the character of distrust, because it becomes fixated on what has not been revealed. An example may help, though examples have their limits:

I trust my wife to remain faithful in marital fidelity. I cannot be certain of this because I do not remain with her every waking moment of every day. She is often away from home without me. Likewise, I am often away from home when she is at home alone. I trust that no other relationship with another man is being, or has been developed, in those times of my absence. To be certain of this, I would need to be with her all of the time. Then I could verify it myself. However, this would demonstrate an alarming lack of trust. Stories abound about controlling spouses who fret over the fidelity of their mates during times apart, and thus seek to minimize times when the partner is out of their sight. This quest for certainty betrays a lack of trust, or faith, in the one who has pledged faithfulness.

As I consider how this template applies to my relationship to God, I realize that a dynamic and healthy relationship must be willing to entertain faith that does not require certainty.

And yet so many assertions are made in popular Christianity (insidiously rampant in Evangelicalism) that seem certain about things never promised in Holy Scripture, considered concrete by ancient fathers or common to all believers worldwide. It is a strange thing to begin developing faith that can shed levels of certainty comfortably, yet that is precisely the journey I am on. For this reason some might consider that I am developing weaker faith. I would instead contend that faith is not faith unless it's faith. That which is certain need not be trusted. As a result, I may trust in the One who sees my affliction, but can make no assertions of certainty regarding any response of his to that affliction. My faith is in He who saves me from the punishment of sin, but no certainty can be entertained about salvation from want, from disappointment or from jobless poverty.

Where this brings me is: I want to say that I trust God for a job, that he will take care of us, but I really don't know what that means. My "faith" is turning into faith (as opposed to certainty). Some will attempt to be comforting by making assertions of certainty such as, "God has something in store for you," or "God is in control," or my personal favorite, "God will provide...because he has a wonderful plan for you." These assertions are meant to be comforting by sounding so certain. However, they are not comforting because I realize that they are most often predicated on assumptions that Scripture and the Fathers never teach.

Someone might say, "I will pray for you." This used to sound like just more popular religious drivel, but now I consider it a better response of faith. To the one who says, "God has something planned for you," I want to say (but often am too polite to), "You have no way of knowing that. I know you're trying to be comforting, but you totally made that up." However, to the one who says, "I will pray for you to find something soon," I want to say (but will likely just say "thank you"), "You mean to say that you will take time away from your routine to appeal to the Lord of Lords on my behalf? You would bend his ear for my benefit? Although we cannot define with certainty how he chooses to interact with our lives, or provide for us when he does, you would appeal to him anyway to intercede in my situation? I'm touched and grateful."

I'm still not sure what new levels of certainty I'll have to shed as part of my faith development, but I doubt it will be comfortable. In the end though, better to have faith in the One that I know, than be certain about things that I don't.

When You Need Something from Outside Yourself

Having grown up in a Baptist context, I knew that worship and theology were not sacramental in nature. However, it was not until I did my undergraduate work at a fundamentalist Bible college that I realized just how anti-sacramental my tradition was. The rejection of God working through any material means was passionate and pointed, as though giving any ground to sacramental theology would somehow reverse the Reformation. Fear of Roman Catholic stereotypes permeated many layers of the fundamentalist teaching, leaving one with the sense that Protestants had better keep "protesting" or else a sinister Cardinal is coming to get you. As a result, all expressions of faith allowable for worship must be manufactured out of one's own sentiments.

This is not to denigrate the devotional life, nor to downplay the necessity of emotive engagement in worship. However, by making worship solely reliant on the sentiments that one can conjure within themselves, the anti-sacramentalist unwittingly denies the penitent a tangible means of receiving God's grace when life's "low spots" retard the ability to manufacture the right sentiment on their own. This is unfortunate, since there are most certainly times when conjuring feelings of worship and devotion are more difficult than other times. At such times the worshiper needs something from God that they know they didn't conjure on their own. Such exterior sources of assurance can penetrate dark times of disappointment, despair - even depression.

Consider the great pleasure taken by the parent when the child first expresses love back to them in a way that the parent didn't train them in. Or think of the security wrought in a relationship when one hears "I love you" that was not "I love you too" (a response to the affection you initiated). Assurance cannot be manufactured on our own. Intuitively we know this. It is a deeply felt desire to receive tokens of relational security that our conscience cannot undermine with an accusatory: Oh you totally made that up.

For this reason there are most certainly times in life when you need something from outside yourself.

Sure there may be times when I can "sense" God's grace around me, but right now I need you to had it to me as I kneel at the rail. Sure there are times when I can pray spontaneously to God, but right now I need you to lead me through prayers past down from ancient divines that knew the same God I'm crying out to. Sure I can reflect privately on my own about what I believe, but right now I need you to walk me through what we all believe from the Creeds. Sure I can remember the great acts of God on my behalf, but what if I need reminding - will you supply symbols, traditions and rites to keep them fresh in my mind? What's your answer when I need a faith that I know I'm not making up? Will you "feed" me the goodness of Christ? Or will you instruct me to be "warmed and filled" on my own, and be on my way?

Sometimes you need something from outside yourself. I come from a tradition that often maligned sacraments by calling it "salvation by works." If anything, sacraments refute "salvation by works" by offering grace from outside yourself. You're not conjuring, manufacturing or inventing feelings of grace within yourself. On the contrary, it can't be by your work since it came from a source outside yourself - and that can be very assuring at just the right time of life.

Confirmed Christian

Not that I wasn't a Christian before, but it's especially meaningful now to have representation from the ancient Church confirm it. How refreshing it is to be "confirmed" as a believer, and received fully into the Christian community in a way that is recognizable by expressions of the Church even outside my home culture. It has often grated on me that my Christianity would not be recognizable outside of America since the American brand of Christianity has shed so much of what has been, throughout history, considered Christian. It is rather gracious that an expression of the ancient Church within the U.S. would so understand the Christian landscape within the U.S. so as to accept my assertion of being Christian even though I know so little of what it is to be Christian. In a way, we have entered into a more elaborate and full expression of what it means to be Christian than we have ever enjoyed before. Many who enter the Anglican church often speak of the sensation of "coming home." I understand their sentiments. Robert Webber, in his book Evangelicals on the Canterbury Trail, shares stories of people with experiences similar to our own.

How we prepared our children for this was no small task. Let's face it. They were in for quite a shock. The evening prior to their first liturgical service we had a family worship time in which we sought to use cogent illustrations to not only explain what they were going to experience Sunday morning, but get excited about it as well. We used the analogy of adventure movies: Indiana Jones, National Treasure, The Mummy, etc. In these stories, the hero usually needs to (1) know the history, (2) understand the traditions that grew out of the history of an ancient culture, and (3) interpret the symbols of that culture to find the priceless goal. In other words, history, tradition and symbol were to be inextricably linked with high adventure. During family worship in our house, a game is usually invented to illustrate the major point. Some games are more fun (like the time we rigged the living room like a ship deck in a storm to teach a lesson from the book of Jonah), while some require more thinking on the kids' part. On this occasion, we had the kids imagine that Indiana Jones is setting out to discover an ancient Christian city, whose treasure is more valuable today than ever. What history would Indy need to know? What ancient Christian traditions does he need to understand? What Christian symbols must he be able to decipher to be successful in his quest?

The lists they gave us were alarmingly insightful. They listed the history surrounding the time of the great ecumenical Creeds. They noted the traditions of the Eucharist (Communion), Baptism, singing, preaching, praying and giving. According to the kids, Indy would need to be able to fully interpret symbols such as the Cross or the Dove, or symbols for the Trinity. My wife and I were amazed. The kids saw themselves as entering a Christian "adventure movie" wherein they, like Indy, would need to know history, tradition and symbols to "discover" treasures of Christian worship that were new to all of us. These treasures would be common to the Anglican community we were entering, but they were quite new to us. Interestingly, our children anticipated church services the following morning with excitement, challenging one another on how many Christian symbols they will detect, and decipher their meaning.

When we went to the Church of the Holy Communion, we knew very little of the protocols and customs. We must have been quite a sight to some sitting around us as we fumbled through the Book of Common Prayer to find our place in the service. Nevertheless, the time for confirmands to come forward and have the presiding Bishop lays his hands on our head and pray a blessing for us was at the beginning of the service, and we had been previously coached on what to do for that segment.

How wonderful it is to worship in a Christian context that traffics so fluently in history, tradition and symbol. How refreshing it is to be enveloped in the rich living heritage that surrounds and accepts you. How deep it is to worship in ways that can claim nearly two thousand years of continuity. To be "confirmed" into such a setting and community of believers is indeed a privilege that one does not demand, but instead humbly requests out of reverence for a holy God. As a result, the confirming hands of the presiding Bishop seem, mystically, to confer the acceptance of the Apostolic community of the first century. Indeed our family has entered an "adventure movie." Where else would an aspiring "Indiana Jones" worship?

Christian, but Unchurched

What a strange sensation it is to be back seemingly to "square one." Not the least of these strange feelings is the fear of contradiction. Previously I had asserted my Baptist credentials while confessing an attraction to sacramental worship. I admitted the attraction, but resolved to remain faithful to Baptist theology and tradition (the two distinctives being believer's baptism and "spontaneous assembly"). However, significant life events can, at times, serve as a catalyst to evaluation. Our family has undergone such a life event, and the subsequent evaluation has left us confident that a better fit awaits us in the Reformed Episcopal Church than we had previously enjoyed in Baptist subset of the evangelical portion of the Protestant division of Christianity (whew! catching my breath). It has to do with how God, through his Spirit, fashions believers over time to reflect a specific side of the "diamond" that is Christianity.

As a result, we are becoming acquainted with a Christian tradition that, though quite old in its heritage and expression, has many aspects quite new to us. There are no doubt many areas where our submission to the Church will be tested, and our resolve to assimilate challenged. The immediate effects have constituted a sense of wonder at the various Christian traditions that we (my wife and I) are learning for the first time, somewhat frustrated for having not known them already. It's as though we're the "un-churched" seekers that need to learn the basics of Christianity.

Today we drove to the Church of the Holy Communion for some designated time spent in personal devotion and reflection in the sanctuary. This was among our first "wake up calls" that "we're not in Kansas anymore." We previously had not found ourselves in church cultures that emphasized a sense of "sacred space" to the extent that you would drive 40 minutes to the church building in order to spend 30 minutes in quite prayer there. Not to disparage our previous experiences in any way. They just had different emphases. However, the emphasis here is not to deny human desires for:

-designated space for worship,
-designated and tangible elements of worship conveying God's grace,
-designated clergy that humanly convey God's "nearness," and
-designated rites that convey continuity with historic Christianity.

On the contrary, these instincts are seen as God-given, and are therefore redeemed as avenues of enjoying God's grace. This is a previously lacking aspect of my Christian development. Therefore, I'm experiencing surprise at the "newness" of various attributes of ancient worship. The surprise is somewhat fun, but also frustrating. I have been a Christian all my life. There's an underlying assumption that these things should NOT be new to me.

For example today, our drive to north Dallas to spend time in personal, pre-confirmation, devotion felt like the ancient discipline of pilgrimage. Certainly such a drive is less than walking for days or weeks from Wittenburg to Rome, but it nevertheless contrasted with our American instinct for convenience. One may be willing to drive quite a distance on Sunday for a mega-church service, especially if nothing in one's community can compete. However, would we also be willing to drive 40-45 minutes to a church so as to spend less than that amount of time there quietly? Before today I would not have thought so.

When entering the sanctuary, there is a practice of reverencing the Cross with a bow. This practice is often misunderstood by non-liturgical Christian traditions. Reverence for the Cross should not be confused with worshipping an icon, or idol. The Cross symbolizes so much more than be spoken by eloquent orators or written in all the volumes of the world. Some physical reverence is appropriate. Ironically, many an evangelical who could not imagine bowing to the Cross would not think twice about placing their hand over their heart during the Pledge of Allegiance or the playing of "the Star Spangled Banner."

Regarding bowing, I have two frustrating observations:

(1) I should be used to bowing out of respect due to my years in martial arts. This should NOT be foreign to me, or feel strangely new. Yet it does, and somewhere along the line I must have lost some instinct for respect that was previously dear to me.

(2) Christians, of all people, should be used to humbly bowing in the presence of God. The very nature of worship is predicated on the assumption of God's immanent presence among his people. If my acts of worship have not produced a corresponding instinct to "bow in his presence," how mature a worshiper have I really become?

Sacred spaces. Sacred rites. Sacred times.
The place of prayer.
The posture of prayer.
The prose of prayer.

These aspects of Christian identity are being seemingly "discovered" for the first time. It's one thing to have one's spiritual life get a refreshing "shot in the arm." It's quite another to feel like a newcomer to the historic Christian experience. Sure, my wife and I have been Christians all our lives, but we're feeling brought into the Church in a new way. It leaves the uneasy sensation of feeling "un-churched," though Christian. One could take this too far and think they are becoming "truly" Christian through such new experiences. We know better. Nevertheless, it's weird to go back to being the newcomer, learning to assimilate into the Church, coming in from the outside.

Futile, All is Futile

-"Futile! Futile!" laments the graduate,
"Absolutely futile! Everything is futile!"

-What benefit is there in all of a man's effort,
in all the outcomes he strives for?
-For whatever he accomplishes is temporary.
-If he is successful in reaching a goal,
it is quickly replaced by another.
-It vanishes away like vapor off coffee.
-This, therefore, is futile,
like chasing after the wind.

-I found that all of what I strive after is empty,
lasting only for fleeting moments of joy.

-I strove after education,
to be fully prepared for working in the Church.
-I endured Bible college and seminary,
pondering the mysteries of God's grace.
-I sought to know God's Word,
and to perceive its nuances in Greek and Hebrew.
-I clung to learned professors,
to be mentored by their character and insights.
-I groped for all manner of wisdom and understanding,
so that I might fully glean from seminary what it offers.

-However, this was futile and chasing the wind.
-For the Greek and Hebrew are quickly forgotten,
and the insights are not in demand.
-Grades do not influence success,
nor does the diploma bring employment.
-It is like vapor that one exhales on a cold day.

-I also dedicated myself to responsible parenting,
so as to be a good father to my children.
-I read many books published by Promise Keepers,
and written by reputable Christian authors.
-I applied these insights to rearing my children,
balancing discipline and affection with them.
-I worked to be an example,
a godly role model for them to follow.
-I labored in all manner of ways to be a good father,
so that my children would be fully equipped to live
wise and productive lives glorifying Christ.

-Yet this too was futile and chasing the wind.
-For success is not passed on through generations,
and an achieving father does not guarantee
productive offspring.
-From one father comes both those successful and those not.
-From one father comes both those who will live wisely,
as well as those that will suffer from folly.
-From one father comes both those about which he brags,
and those for whom he prays.
-Therefore, the manner of the father does not produce
the successful or the unsuccessful.
-This too is like stream rising off a lake in the morning,
futile and temporary.

-I also strove after vocations in the Church,
to apply my training and skills.
-I wrote curriculum and planned sermon series,
to faithfully instruct people on following Christ.
-I led a congregation into developing strategies,
so that they could have a lasting impact in the world.
-I preached with passion insights taken from the Bible,
so that the hearers might apply God's Word.
-I administered the Lord's Supper regularly,
that they might be one with Christ and each other.

-Yet this too was futile and chasing the wind.
-For one congregation grows and another dies,
yet both had pastors performing the same tasks.
-Both may be in the same community,
sharing the gospel and loving people,
yet one thrives while the other closes.
-There is no pattern to it.
-The mystery is beyond the human ability to predict.
-It is meaningless to attempt explaining it.

-I also pursued a career path that best suited me,
that used my greatest skills and passions.
-I accomplished requirements for chaplaincy,
and fulfilled all manner of things for applying.
-I labored tirelessly to complete seminary quickly,
and meet benchmarks for entrance to the Navy.
-I scheduled all manner of life events
to enter Naval chaplaincy this summer.
-I also was surrounded by an encouraging throng
that believed this "God's Will" for me.

-Yet this too was futile, and chasing the wind.
-One takes six months to prepare, yet does not enter,
while another takes three months and does.
-Also, life events may seem to make one career perfect now,
yet one life event 20 years ago may prevent it.
-In addition, careful examination of Scripture reveals
that careers are never among the promises of God.
-There is no predictability to the selection process,
and no obligation from God to grant it.
-Such ambitions are utterly futile,
and chasing after the wind.

-Futile and meaningless! All is futile!

-I gave myself over to wisdom,
that I might know how God manages the world.
-I desired insight with which to counsel,
and illumination with which to teach.
-I inventoried my strengths and weakness,
so that I might apply myself to a ministry career.
-I listened intently to advice from others,
especially those who were succeeding.
-I tried to be of some benefit,
to make a positive contribution in any arena.

-This was totally futile, and chasing the wind!

-For God is not obligated to provide careers,
nor is he bound to make me successful.
-His mercy is shown in the cross,
not in the compensation package.
-Since the Spirit is given freely,
his presence is no sign of special gifting,
nor is it a harbinger of success.
-In God's sovereignty he exalts who he will,
and he makes humble who he will,
and none can discern his pattern.
-For reasons known only to him:
this one is successful, though that one is not.
this one has a rewarding career, though that one does not.
this one is fulfilled in his job, though that one is not.
this marriage suffers divorce, though that one lasts.
this child makes the parent proud,
that one makes the parent pray.
-To make sense of it, when God has not revealed the sense,
is utterly futile, like chasing the wind.

-All that one can do is to:
Love the Lord their God with all their heart,
soul, mind and strength;
and love their neighbor as themselves.
-Beyond this is meaningless speculation.
-One has no more power than simply to
cultivate good relationships,
show respect,
demonstrate generosity,
and perform their work.
-Therefore, be content and enjoy:
the love of your spouse,
the laughter of your children,
the satisfactions that accompany good food,
good wine and good tobacco,
the pleasure of quiet solitude
and the beauty of creation.

-But anxious planning for uncertain futures
are meaningless, futile and chasing the wind.