Perhaps in our spiritual lives we have missed the point if they are defined by all the things that we see in this world. To be spiritual is to be of another world. It is to be consumed by a reality that is beyond the world our bodies inhabit. It is to connect with the spiritual world that we sense and desire to be a part of. But when our being spiritual nature is forced into the box that we call life, and we find plenty of ways to “be” and “do” spiritual, have we missed the point? When we live out a spiritual life that is characterized by behaviors, human relationships, activities, books, conversations, philosophy, and whatever else we deem spiritual pursuits, are we even close to the spiritual? Or have we simply accepted substitutes and props? Are we living a life that is firmly rooted on earth with spiritual language as our only link to the otherworld?
Sure our life is lived here, and all of those things that we use to help us get to the spiritual are integrally important to our life as human beings. They are expressions of the spiritual in life, but they are not spiritual. Spiritual lives are not of this world. They are lives that are lived on the earth with a deep connection and interactions with a world that is not of this earth.
And this life cannot be in a vacuum. It must have a Center. And we must look to that Center, and reach to that Center, and live in that Center if we are to be truly spiritual. It is to find that place in which there is only goodness and righteousness and all consuming love and to not rest until we have seen the reality that is beyond all others. It is to live beyond who we are. Reaching for the Center and grabbing things of this world instead will never satisfy the dimension in us that is meant to live in this other world. And live there we must. And only then can we live on this earth in a way that makes sense. For sense without the spiritual makes no sense at all. We must be spiritual beings, for that is what we are.
“I consider that the spiritual life is the life of man’s real self, the life of that interior self whose flame is so often allowed to be smothered under the ashes of anxiety and futile concern.” --Thomas Merton
Friday, October 23, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
Lent for Lent
For the last several years I have participated in the Lenten season. I did not grow up with a strict observation of the church calendar, but after reading Lauren Winner’s book Girl Meets God, I was challenged to take part in these forty days that call us to give up a cherished part of our lives in order to reorient us to God. For the last two years I organized Lent blogs and encouraged my friends to participate as well. For the first couple of years, I gave up sugar. I quickly realized that I like to have what I want when I want it, and I was challenged that while people all over the world go without necessities everyday, I had a difficult time giving up a complete luxury. I saw that I was selfish and in desperate need of rethinking my life. Two years ago, while giving up sugar, I knew that the Lord was calling me to give up the radio in my car. I pushed it off a year, and when Lent rolled around last spring, I turned the dial to “off.” It about drove me crazy. I missed that radio more than I could have imagined. I would get so antsy and tried to figure out ways to get around the void. The purpose was to offer that time up to God, but it took most of Lent for me to just get used to not having the radio on. And it was during that time that I began to see just how much God uses music to talk to me. While country is often blaring through my speakers, there is also a fair amount of time that I listen to Christian music, and it was in the vacuum of any music, that I learned just how much I miss relating to God through my radio. It feeds my soul and the words and notes reorient my life.
This year I am giving up Lent for Lent. I have listened to people talk about what they’re giving up, and I kind of miss the spiritual adventure and excitement of dedicating my next forty days (plus Sundays) to a collective construction of worship. But this year I have been more challenged by my need to do what I think I am supposed to do. Rules, in many ways, make things easy. I can know that for the next forty days I will work to deny my human self of something that I value, and I can hope to learn more about myself and God during the experience. And I have no doubt that this is a wonderfully important venture. In the past I have learned so much. But I have also been drawn into the human experience of “doing” Lent. And I’m not sure that this is right.
I think disciplines are great. I think there are times we are called to do that which is uncomfortable or undesirable, and we do it in the name of obedience. There is a wonderfulness in creating rhythms and ways of living. But those rhythms can also become the structures that we rely on instead of having them point us toward actual life.
I think I may have relied too much on the structure.
I may have mistaken the process for the product.
I may have been a little too close to having to do the right thing for the wrong reasons.
And maybe not.
This is the challenge of living. We walk fine lines imperfectly.
I had a friend challenge me years ago about my desire to participate in Lent. He said that we should fast and focus on God all during the year, and that we don’t need a specific time set aside to do this. While on one hand he was right, I think there is great wisdom in us setting aside time to focus more intently on our relationship with God. That is why I participated in Lent.
But I think that maybe my lesson this year is living in the freedom of a relationship. There is so much I am learning, and I do not think that Lent is a part of my journey this year. So I give it up.
Not having to do Lent is my Lent. It is my reckoning with my freedom.
And I’m pretty excited about this part of the spiritual adventure too.
This year I am giving up Lent for Lent. I have listened to people talk about what they’re giving up, and I kind of miss the spiritual adventure and excitement of dedicating my next forty days (plus Sundays) to a collective construction of worship. But this year I have been more challenged by my need to do what I think I am supposed to do. Rules, in many ways, make things easy. I can know that for the next forty days I will work to deny my human self of something that I value, and I can hope to learn more about myself and God during the experience. And I have no doubt that this is a wonderfully important venture. In the past I have learned so much. But I have also been drawn into the human experience of “doing” Lent. And I’m not sure that this is right.
I think disciplines are great. I think there are times we are called to do that which is uncomfortable or undesirable, and we do it in the name of obedience. There is a wonderfulness in creating rhythms and ways of living. But those rhythms can also become the structures that we rely on instead of having them point us toward actual life.
I think I may have relied too much on the structure.
I may have mistaken the process for the product.
I may have been a little too close to having to do the right thing for the wrong reasons.
And maybe not.
This is the challenge of living. We walk fine lines imperfectly.
I had a friend challenge me years ago about my desire to participate in Lent. He said that we should fast and focus on God all during the year, and that we don’t need a specific time set aside to do this. While on one hand he was right, I think there is great wisdom in us setting aside time to focus more intently on our relationship with God. That is why I participated in Lent.
But I think that maybe my lesson this year is living in the freedom of a relationship. There is so much I am learning, and I do not think that Lent is a part of my journey this year. So I give it up.
Not having to do Lent is my Lent. It is my reckoning with my freedom.
And I’m pretty excited about this part of the spiritual adventure too.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Bumper Stickers and Coffee Shops
I wrote this some time ago, but I thought the sentiment was well worth considering as we start a new year...
There is a coffee shop in my small town. The walls are painted in large swatches of brick red, purple, grey, and black. Each cup of coffee is individually brewed, resulting in the smoothest cup of joe I’ve ever had, and cream is available in a nearby refrigerator. Baked goods vary daily at the whim of the friendly owners, who are quick to talk with any visitor, many of whom are regulars. But then, becoming a regular is not difficult. The mismatched tables and chairs, coupled with the abundance of plants in the front window are homey, and people sit around chatting and working and living their lives together in a community, scattered liberally with newspapers and half used dishes, signs for belly dancing, and brochures for natural health providers.
Today I am beginning to feel like I am part of this community, or at least I would like to be.
On the table where the sugar and spoons sit, there are bumper stickers, and the sign next to them says in loopy script, “These were made by a wonderful customer, please take them.” Well, in my very American way, I knew that they surely meant, take only one. And it took me awhile to get up the courage because, I wasn’t sure they were really free. And they were kind of “new agey,” like much of the décor in the shop. Intermingled with signs for tai chi and yoga, lay the pure white stickers with black block letters. But just last week, I quickly picked one up and stuffed it in my bag. I thought the sentiments were nice, but it was not until today, that I really understood.
A lady I had seen in the shop days before was sitting at a table with her children today. She with her wispy blonde hair and etched face, sat with her cocoa skinned, brown eyed little boy doing a puzzle. The young girl with her kinky brown hair held a hot pink ball of yarn, while Lori, the owner, tried to show her how to cast on to her knitting needle.
In tromped four utterly post-modern teenagers. With studded belts, metal in their faces, and hair randomly dyed and teased, the kids drank their hot chocolate and got up to leave. Before they left, however, two of them went over and grabbed bumper stickers. Not five minutes later, one of the girls returned with her tacky jewel covered purse and got her own sticker.
Just then, the lady with wispy blonde hair looked up and said, “I’m glad you took one. Please take more and give them to others. I have made about 3,000 so far and they are going everywhere.” The girl smiled, turned around and grabbed a few more stickers from the table. With a cheery goodbye, she headed out the door.
I sat there deeply touched, and I realized that this lady was actively engaging with her community, and in her eyes was a passion for her message. And so today, I am going to take one of each of the three kinds of stickers.
The one that says “May all beings be filled with kindness and compassion for one another” I think I will put on my Nalgene bottle to remind me that I need to have a life that is filled with kindness and compassion toward my students and fellow scholars in my graduate program. The one that says, “I choose love” I will put across my notebook to remind me that I have to choose to be loving to the people in my life. And the sticker that boldly states “We are all ONE” I will keep to remind me that that is the goal.
And I am rebuked. I am forced to look into my own life and wonder about the last time I passionately implored someone to grab a hold of truth. When was the last time that I shared truth and insisted that it be distributed to others? Here in this town that is known for an abundance of hippies and has a yoga studio on every corner…that focuses on tolerance and the acceptance of all…that is famous for both its parties and its outdoor adventures and seeks all things spiritual, I see a bit of God’s truth lurking behind a glass jar of sugar and a cup full of used spoons. And I am reminded that people just aren’t that different from one another.
These stickers are truth, but their driving ideology is that we can cultivate love in our own humanity. And I realize that I know more than the truth. I know the God behind the truth. I know the origin of all love. I know about the well that is filled to overflowing with kindness and compassion, that I can freely draw from. And I know that there is a God who truly desires that we are ONE in Him.
As Graham Kendrick sings through my ipod, “Say the Name of Love—Jesus,” I know that I must be driven with the pure passion of the bumper sticker lady. I must live the life that these stickers advocate, so that people will ask me about my love… so that I can tell them the truth behind the truth. And so that I can say with passion, please take this truth and share it with others.
How wonderful is our God. He has taken His ways and set them in the hearts of men. And we who have the truth behind the truth are called to be reflections of the truth—To be the beings who are “filled with kindness and compassion for one another.” To live with the passion for the truth that the bumper sticker lady has.
To live the bumper sticker.
And to come back tomorrow morning. The sign above the stickers says, “Join us Sunday morning for Belgian Waffles and Organic Syrup.” And I think I will do just that.
There is a coffee shop in my small town. The walls are painted in large swatches of brick red, purple, grey, and black. Each cup of coffee is individually brewed, resulting in the smoothest cup of joe I’ve ever had, and cream is available in a nearby refrigerator. Baked goods vary daily at the whim of the friendly owners, who are quick to talk with any visitor, many of whom are regulars. But then, becoming a regular is not difficult. The mismatched tables and chairs, coupled with the abundance of plants in the front window are homey, and people sit around chatting and working and living their lives together in a community, scattered liberally with newspapers and half used dishes, signs for belly dancing, and brochures for natural health providers.
Today I am beginning to feel like I am part of this community, or at least I would like to be.
On the table where the sugar and spoons sit, there are bumper stickers, and the sign next to them says in loopy script, “These were made by a wonderful customer, please take them.” Well, in my very American way, I knew that they surely meant, take only one. And it took me awhile to get up the courage because, I wasn’t sure they were really free. And they were kind of “new agey,” like much of the décor in the shop. Intermingled with signs for tai chi and yoga, lay the pure white stickers with black block letters. But just last week, I quickly picked one up and stuffed it in my bag. I thought the sentiments were nice, but it was not until today, that I really understood.
A lady I had seen in the shop days before was sitting at a table with her children today. She with her wispy blonde hair and etched face, sat with her cocoa skinned, brown eyed little boy doing a puzzle. The young girl with her kinky brown hair held a hot pink ball of yarn, while Lori, the owner, tried to show her how to cast on to her knitting needle.
In tromped four utterly post-modern teenagers. With studded belts, metal in their faces, and hair randomly dyed and teased, the kids drank their hot chocolate and got up to leave. Before they left, however, two of them went over and grabbed bumper stickers. Not five minutes later, one of the girls returned with her tacky jewel covered purse and got her own sticker.
Just then, the lady with wispy blonde hair looked up and said, “I’m glad you took one. Please take more and give them to others. I have made about 3,000 so far and they are going everywhere.” The girl smiled, turned around and grabbed a few more stickers from the table. With a cheery goodbye, she headed out the door.
I sat there deeply touched, and I realized that this lady was actively engaging with her community, and in her eyes was a passion for her message. And so today, I am going to take one of each of the three kinds of stickers.
The one that says “May all beings be filled with kindness and compassion for one another” I think I will put on my Nalgene bottle to remind me that I need to have a life that is filled with kindness and compassion toward my students and fellow scholars in my graduate program. The one that says, “I choose love” I will put across my notebook to remind me that I have to choose to be loving to the people in my life. And the sticker that boldly states “We are all ONE” I will keep to remind me that that is the goal.
And I am rebuked. I am forced to look into my own life and wonder about the last time I passionately implored someone to grab a hold of truth. When was the last time that I shared truth and insisted that it be distributed to others? Here in this town that is known for an abundance of hippies and has a yoga studio on every corner…that focuses on tolerance and the acceptance of all…that is famous for both its parties and its outdoor adventures and seeks all things spiritual, I see a bit of God’s truth lurking behind a glass jar of sugar and a cup full of used spoons. And I am reminded that people just aren’t that different from one another.
These stickers are truth, but their driving ideology is that we can cultivate love in our own humanity. And I realize that I know more than the truth. I know the God behind the truth. I know the origin of all love. I know about the well that is filled to overflowing with kindness and compassion, that I can freely draw from. And I know that there is a God who truly desires that we are ONE in Him.
As Graham Kendrick sings through my ipod, “Say the Name of Love—Jesus,” I know that I must be driven with the pure passion of the bumper sticker lady. I must live the life that these stickers advocate, so that people will ask me about my love… so that I can tell them the truth behind the truth. And so that I can say with passion, please take this truth and share it with others.
How wonderful is our God. He has taken His ways and set them in the hearts of men. And we who have the truth behind the truth are called to be reflections of the truth—To be the beings who are “filled with kindness and compassion for one another.” To live with the passion for the truth that the bumper sticker lady has.
To live the bumper sticker.
And to come back tomorrow morning. The sign above the stickers says, “Join us Sunday morning for Belgian Waffles and Organic Syrup.” And I think I will do just that.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
What's Right with Christmas...
Merry Christmas! It’s the most wonderful time of the year. This year I had a hard time getting into the season. It seemed a little shallow, tenuous, and lacking in joy. While, I know the economy has certainly put a damper on the ho, ho, ho, I began to believe that the muted nature of Christmas was a deeper issue.
There is something going around churches today called the Advent Conspiracy. The message is simple. Worship fully, spend less money, give more time, and when you do spend, give to those in need. This sounds fantastic, a real returning to the essence of Christmas, and many churches have latched on to this teaching in the hopes of helping their parishioners remember just what Christmas is all about.
I, for one, do not like the Advent Conspiracy. I think it is misplaced and perhaps a more noxious version of that ubiquitous obnoxious saying from our childhood “Jesus is the Reason for the Season.” (“No more rhyming now, I mean it…anybody want a peanut?”) Now I know that this will raise the ire of some of you, but let me explain.
First of all, the term conspiracy denotes underground collusion. It sounds as though we are banding together to pull one over on someone. We’re going to take them down. We are going to run our presses through the night to overthrow the people we are in opposition to. It is secretive. It is mysterious. It is underhanded. It is everything Christmas isn’t. Christmas isn’t a scandal (as the AC website calls it.) There is no enemy. It is the story of our Savior coming to earth, and while his arrival was diminutive at best, the angles lit up the sky with the announcement. Magi traveled for miles. Shepherds came and worshiped. It was a coming together of the lowest and highest. It was a joining. It was not a conspiracy. It was a gift.
But there is a more practical reason I dislike the Conspiracy. We live in a capitalistic society. Ok…we didn’t set it up and sure it has lots of problems, but it’s what we’ve got. And if Thomas Jefferson thought introducing the metric system in the 1700s was going to cause problems, eradicating our capitalism would destroy not only our economy, but our country (and all those who depend on our support). The main driving force of a capitalistic economy is that we spend. As money flows into the system, it is able to generate more money. We are all concerned about the economy, and part of the problem is that we all don’t have as much to spend, which will negatively hurt the way the system works. Think of it this way. If I don’t buy clothes, the clothes manufacturers don’t sell them, they tank, my friend loses her job, and now she has no money to put into the system. We cannot simultaneously be decrying spending and freaked out about jobs. They work together.
Now, I am certainly not advocating reckless spending. Americans spend too much (not as much as Greeks incidentally, but too much none the less). But I don’t even think the spending is the real issue. To me the whole discussion is a much bigger issue than the holiday season. It is a heart issue. It is a greed issue. It is a selfishness issue. It is not a Christmas issue. If we think we need more, that is certainly not relegated to Christmas time alone, and co-opting the holiday season to construct a full on attack on American Christian spending habits is wrong. It reduces the celebration of Christmas to a cautionary tale. Yes I know it’s Christmas, we tell our kids, but Christmas is a time to not spend. Really, does that message point us any closer to the real meaning of Christmas than Santa Claus? We spend our whole season talking about what Christmas should not be, the horror that Christmas has become, the scandal of the unchurched world and our tendency to buy into the idea that we need more,. While these things may in part be true are they really where we want to focus our eyes for the season? On the AC website, Shane Claiborne has a blog about being fed up with Christmas. That really makes me s/mad. That’s like being fed up with doctors because some of them are in error. Christmas is not to blame. If we misuse the holiday season to stock up on things we can’t afford, then shame on us! But that is not a Christmas problem. What did you buy in January, February, March, etc. that you couldn’t afford? What did you spend that you didn’t have for your kid’s birthday? What did you think you needed last June, July and August that you really didn’t? What did you not give in September, October, and November to help others?
But equally shame on us, if we misuse the holiday season to educate people about poor spending habits.
Christmas is about giving. It is when we received the greatest gift of all. It is a time to celebrate, and in our celebration we give gifts. Some to our family, some to our friends, and some to people we don’t even know. This is a time to provide extra opportunities for people to give. We should give of all that we are. We should give gifts we can afford. We should not pressure people to buy. All of that is true, but that reality should already be a way of life. More importantly we should spend this time of year focusing on peace and joy and holiday cheer. We should head to the malls or the grocery store or the mailbox and say Merry Christmas. We should live lives that sing out the Christmas reality. We should be joyful. We should celebrate. We should sing carols and drink hot chocolate and remember how we are blessed. And we should leave the angst and reformation for the rest of the year. Christmas is a set apart time to remember. It is a time to celebrate.
I spent this season being reminded constantly of all that was wrong with Christmas, and it was not until I got to a little country church that I was reminded of the joy and celebration. There is a lot right with Christmas. Let’s live that instead, and if we truly grasp what’s right, I have a sneaking suspicion that what’s wrong will take care of itself.
There is something going around churches today called the Advent Conspiracy. The message is simple. Worship fully, spend less money, give more time, and when you do spend, give to those in need. This sounds fantastic, a real returning to the essence of Christmas, and many churches have latched on to this teaching in the hopes of helping their parishioners remember just what Christmas is all about.
I, for one, do not like the Advent Conspiracy. I think it is misplaced and perhaps a more noxious version of that ubiquitous obnoxious saying from our childhood “Jesus is the Reason for the Season.” (“No more rhyming now, I mean it…anybody want a peanut?”) Now I know that this will raise the ire of some of you, but let me explain.
First of all, the term conspiracy denotes underground collusion. It sounds as though we are banding together to pull one over on someone. We’re going to take them down. We are going to run our presses through the night to overthrow the people we are in opposition to. It is secretive. It is mysterious. It is underhanded. It is everything Christmas isn’t. Christmas isn’t a scandal (as the AC website calls it.) There is no enemy. It is the story of our Savior coming to earth, and while his arrival was diminutive at best, the angles lit up the sky with the announcement. Magi traveled for miles. Shepherds came and worshiped. It was a coming together of the lowest and highest. It was a joining. It was not a conspiracy. It was a gift.
But there is a more practical reason I dislike the Conspiracy. We live in a capitalistic society. Ok…we didn’t set it up and sure it has lots of problems, but it’s what we’ve got. And if Thomas Jefferson thought introducing the metric system in the 1700s was going to cause problems, eradicating our capitalism would destroy not only our economy, but our country (and all those who depend on our support). The main driving force of a capitalistic economy is that we spend. As money flows into the system, it is able to generate more money. We are all concerned about the economy, and part of the problem is that we all don’t have as much to spend, which will negatively hurt the way the system works. Think of it this way. If I don’t buy clothes, the clothes manufacturers don’t sell them, they tank, my friend loses her job, and now she has no money to put into the system. We cannot simultaneously be decrying spending and freaked out about jobs. They work together.
Now, I am certainly not advocating reckless spending. Americans spend too much (not as much as Greeks incidentally, but too much none the less). But I don’t even think the spending is the real issue. To me the whole discussion is a much bigger issue than the holiday season. It is a heart issue. It is a greed issue. It is a selfishness issue. It is not a Christmas issue. If we think we need more, that is certainly not relegated to Christmas time alone, and co-opting the holiday season to construct a full on attack on American Christian spending habits is wrong. It reduces the celebration of Christmas to a cautionary tale. Yes I know it’s Christmas, we tell our kids, but Christmas is a time to not spend. Really, does that message point us any closer to the real meaning of Christmas than Santa Claus? We spend our whole season talking about what Christmas should not be, the horror that Christmas has become, the scandal of the unchurched world and our tendency to buy into the idea that we need more,. While these things may in part be true are they really where we want to focus our eyes for the season? On the AC website, Shane Claiborne has a blog about being fed up with Christmas. That really makes me s/mad. That’s like being fed up with doctors because some of them are in error. Christmas is not to blame. If we misuse the holiday season to stock up on things we can’t afford, then shame on us! But that is not a Christmas problem. What did you buy in January, February, March, etc. that you couldn’t afford? What did you spend that you didn’t have for your kid’s birthday? What did you think you needed last June, July and August that you really didn’t? What did you not give in September, October, and November to help others?
But equally shame on us, if we misuse the holiday season to educate people about poor spending habits.
Christmas is about giving. It is when we received the greatest gift of all. It is a time to celebrate, and in our celebration we give gifts. Some to our family, some to our friends, and some to people we don’t even know. This is a time to provide extra opportunities for people to give. We should give of all that we are. We should give gifts we can afford. We should not pressure people to buy. All of that is true, but that reality should already be a way of life. More importantly we should spend this time of year focusing on peace and joy and holiday cheer. We should head to the malls or the grocery store or the mailbox and say Merry Christmas. We should live lives that sing out the Christmas reality. We should be joyful. We should celebrate. We should sing carols and drink hot chocolate and remember how we are blessed. And we should leave the angst and reformation for the rest of the year. Christmas is a set apart time to remember. It is a time to celebrate.
I spent this season being reminded constantly of all that was wrong with Christmas, and it was not until I got to a little country church that I was reminded of the joy and celebration. There is a lot right with Christmas. Let’s live that instead, and if we truly grasp what’s right, I have a sneaking suspicion that what’s wrong will take care of itself.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Prayer
I pause…it is quick, rehearsed, and much like it’s been for the last twenty-some years. There is variation as I attempt to customize my silent utterances to the situation. The customizations consist of a determined set of phrases such as “help it to go well,” “him to be safe,” “to have a good day,” “to get a lot done,” “to feel better.”
It is with an acute recognition of the Divine that I pause and engage the God of the universe in my daily life. Knowing that someone is praying for you is powerful, and saying that I will pray for someone should include at least a nod to the Divine.
The pause is my nod.
And somewhere in the back of my mind I reason that God knows far better than I do what he needs. My job is simply to alert God to the fact that I care.
Perhaps the subtext goes something like this.
“God, I told this person/want to tell this person I would pray for her, and it seems to be an important thing, so here I am. Consider me engaged. I care. Please take care of the rest.”
And so it goes.
I pray.
God listens and responds with what He wants.
Lives are changed.
It was last week, however, that I whipped off a quick nod, and then stopped to reflect.
What was I doing?
Was this simply a perfunctory exchange between me and God?
Did I think I was getting bonus points for saying I cared?
Did I really think that my prayer had absolutely any effect on the outcome of the event?
Was this a notification system—Yo God, something down here needs your attention?
Or is this a relationship in which I think God is listening and waiting to act based on what I ask?
George Mueller was the director of several orphanages in England during the mid 1800s. He took care to provide not only safe shelter, but clothing, education, and religious guidance to the children under his care. Mueller is best noted for his decision to never ask for money to fund his ministries. Instead he told God about his specific needs and waited for God to supply. Often necessities, such as food, would appear only when needed and in direct response to Mueller’s specific request. God was faithful to supply Mueller’s needs, and by extension the needs of thousands of orphans in England.
Mueller did not ask men for assistance because he believed that God was listening and would respond to his requests. He believed that asking God for exactly what he needed would yield exactly what he needed.
In short, Mueller prayed prayers that he intended to have a direct bearing on an outcome.
He did not nod and wait for God to fill in the blanks.
In the midst of my reflecting, I asked myself the very same question.
Do I really believe that life is different because I pray?
If I don’t, then why in the world do I bother?
If I do, then why don’t I ask for what I really want?
Either answer revealed that I was pretty far off the mark.
George Mueller’s testimony, my faith, and my own experiences convince me that prayer matters.
If then, the God of the universe is waiting for me to ask him for exactly what I want, why don’t I take the time to reflect on what it is that I would like? Why am I not specific?
Do I really just want him to “have a good day”? Do I truly just hope that she “gets better soon”?
Probably not.
It is my responsibility, nay privilege, to reflect on the people in my life and their specific needs.
And it is equally my privilege to take those needs to the God who not only created us, but continues to meet our every need, and to ask Him for things to be different than they are.
Now, I am not so naïve as to think that this relationship is a one to one exchange. I may ask, and God may choose to do differently. Praise the Lord that my asking does not consign me to my limited understanding of needs and possible outcomes. Perhaps that is why the Bible tells us that God is able to do abundantly more than we could ever ask or think.
That does not, however, absolve us of the responsibility to either ask or think.
We get to ask with the best of who we are, and know that God will indeed listen to those desires and respond with the best of who He is.
It is then that lives are truly changed, and that is powerful.
Could we ask for more?
It is with an acute recognition of the Divine that I pause and engage the God of the universe in my daily life. Knowing that someone is praying for you is powerful, and saying that I will pray for someone should include at least a nod to the Divine.
The pause is my nod.
And somewhere in the back of my mind I reason that God knows far better than I do what he needs. My job is simply to alert God to the fact that I care.
Perhaps the subtext goes something like this.
“God, I told this person/want to tell this person I would pray for her, and it seems to be an important thing, so here I am. Consider me engaged. I care. Please take care of the rest.”
And so it goes.
I pray.
God listens and responds with what He wants.
Lives are changed.
It was last week, however, that I whipped off a quick nod, and then stopped to reflect.
What was I doing?
Was this simply a perfunctory exchange between me and God?
Did I think I was getting bonus points for saying I cared?
Did I really think that my prayer had absolutely any effect on the outcome of the event?
Was this a notification system—Yo God, something down here needs your attention?
Or is this a relationship in which I think God is listening and waiting to act based on what I ask?
George Mueller was the director of several orphanages in England during the mid 1800s. He took care to provide not only safe shelter, but clothing, education, and religious guidance to the children under his care. Mueller is best noted for his decision to never ask for money to fund his ministries. Instead he told God about his specific needs and waited for God to supply. Often necessities, such as food, would appear only when needed and in direct response to Mueller’s specific request. God was faithful to supply Mueller’s needs, and by extension the needs of thousands of orphans in England.
Mueller did not ask men for assistance because he believed that God was listening and would respond to his requests. He believed that asking God for exactly what he needed would yield exactly what he needed.
In short, Mueller prayed prayers that he intended to have a direct bearing on an outcome.
He did not nod and wait for God to fill in the blanks.
In the midst of my reflecting, I asked myself the very same question.
Do I really believe that life is different because I pray?
If I don’t, then why in the world do I bother?
If I do, then why don’t I ask for what I really want?
Either answer revealed that I was pretty far off the mark.
George Mueller’s testimony, my faith, and my own experiences convince me that prayer matters.
If then, the God of the universe is waiting for me to ask him for exactly what I want, why don’t I take the time to reflect on what it is that I would like? Why am I not specific?
Do I really just want him to “have a good day”? Do I truly just hope that she “gets better soon”?
Probably not.
It is my responsibility, nay privilege, to reflect on the people in my life and their specific needs.
And it is equally my privilege to take those needs to the God who not only created us, but continues to meet our every need, and to ask Him for things to be different than they are.
Now, I am not so naïve as to think that this relationship is a one to one exchange. I may ask, and God may choose to do differently. Praise the Lord that my asking does not consign me to my limited understanding of needs and possible outcomes. Perhaps that is why the Bible tells us that God is able to do abundantly more than we could ever ask or think.
That does not, however, absolve us of the responsibility to either ask or think.
We get to ask with the best of who we are, and know that God will indeed listen to those desires and respond with the best of who He is.
It is then that lives are truly changed, and that is powerful.
Could we ask for more?
Mountain Girl
I have always considered myself an ocean girl. I grew up going to the beach every summer, and when looking out over the water or have sand squish up between my toes, it seemed that all was right with the world. While mountains were awe inspiring, I always saw them as distant—relegated to foreign lands like
Monday, December 15, 2008
Window seat
I sit in the aisle row on planes. I know, the chances of having your elbow attacked by a runaway drink cart are much higher in an aisle seat, but there’s just something about that extra couple of inches and the greatness of being able to scoot over a little in case you get sat next to the creepy guy. Also, since I don’t really love flying, I like to be able to have an unobstructed view of the flight attendants to check out their faces when the turbulence really get going. I know…coping.
This week, however, as I was heading to the airport, a friend asked if I sat in the window seat. My thought…why? Like I haven’t seen it all before—clouds, ground, yada, yada. Naturally, when I got to the airport, put all my liquids in the appropriate Ziploc bag, and climbed on to the plane, there was my seat…22A. Chuckling to myself, I uprooted a nice little couple so that I could crawl over them with my way-too-large carry on bag and scrunch down into the seat. And my view…a little ground and the back of the wing.
We took off and after chatting with the lady next to me, I popped in my earphones and just watched. I watched the land as the things below me got tinier and tinier. What I noticed, however, were all the straight lines all over the land below. No matter how high we got, it was still apparent that the land was neatly subdivided into sections that were a patchwork quilt of ground…different colored pieces all fitting neatly together demarcated by manmade etchings in the earth.
As we made our way across the country, we passed over a winding river that meandered through the purposefully laid out land. Tucked in one crook of the water was a city full of concrete and steel arranged in neat rows and reaching up in straight lines. Further east were rows and rows of houses, indistinguishable from my vantage point, but all perfectly spaced, like the keys on my keyboard.
And then it occurred to me. We are a very detailed society. We like order. We take a land full of contours and color and try our best to organize it. We impose who we are on what we’ve been given. Perhaps this is unavoidable, but it makes me sad. I know, you can’t have roads and houses just randomly scattered all over, but the straight lines are just so…straight.
It’s funny because right above all of this organization are the clouds. They fill up the sky in random puffs of white and grey, and as we sail through them, I see a plane across the sky vivisecting an enormous white mountain. The plane flies on, the cloud stays. I wonder if anyone on the other side of the sky saw me.
Maybe this is why clouds hold such fascination. We can’t order them around and put them in neat rows, subdue them and tell them what they should look like. It’s not like we look up into the sky and say, “Wow, that cloud just seems wrong.” No, every cloud is a perfect cloud, and humans have no need to intervene. We aren’t in control of the clouds.
How nice.
I think it’s great that God gave us some things that we could put in rows and make to fit our purposes. We need that. But I’m also glad that he gave us randomness just out of our reach, so that we see something bigger than we are when we look up, and we can marvel at its perfect imperfection when we lie on our blanket in well-mowed green, green grass and remember that some things are better left untouched.
And sometimes it’s worth looking out the window at stuff you think you’ve already seen.
This week, however, as I was heading to the airport, a friend asked if I sat in the window seat. My thought…why? Like I haven’t seen it all before—clouds, ground, yada, yada. Naturally, when I got to the airport, put all my liquids in the appropriate Ziploc bag, and climbed on to the plane, there was my seat…22A. Chuckling to myself, I uprooted a nice little couple so that I could crawl over them with my way-too-large carry on bag and scrunch down into the seat. And my view…a little ground and the back of the wing.
We took off and after chatting with the lady next to me, I popped in my earphones and just watched. I watched the land as the things below me got tinier and tinier. What I noticed, however, were all the straight lines all over the land below. No matter how high we got, it was still apparent that the land was neatly subdivided into sections that were a patchwork quilt of ground…different colored pieces all fitting neatly together demarcated by manmade etchings in the earth.
As we made our way across the country, we passed over a winding river that meandered through the purposefully laid out land. Tucked in one crook of the water was a city full of concrete and steel arranged in neat rows and reaching up in straight lines. Further east were rows and rows of houses, indistinguishable from my vantage point, but all perfectly spaced, like the keys on my keyboard.
And then it occurred to me. We are a very detailed society. We like order. We take a land full of contours and color and try our best to organize it. We impose who we are on what we’ve been given. Perhaps this is unavoidable, but it makes me sad. I know, you can’t have roads and houses just randomly scattered all over, but the straight lines are just so…straight.
It’s funny because right above all of this organization are the clouds. They fill up the sky in random puffs of white and grey, and as we sail through them, I see a plane across the sky vivisecting an enormous white mountain. The plane flies on, the cloud stays. I wonder if anyone on the other side of the sky saw me.
Maybe this is why clouds hold such fascination. We can’t order them around and put them in neat rows, subdue them and tell them what they should look like. It’s not like we look up into the sky and say, “Wow, that cloud just seems wrong.” No, every cloud is a perfect cloud, and humans have no need to intervene. We aren’t in control of the clouds.
How nice.
I think it’s great that God gave us some things that we could put in rows and make to fit our purposes. We need that. But I’m also glad that he gave us randomness just out of our reach, so that we see something bigger than we are when we look up, and we can marvel at its perfect imperfection when we lie on our blanket in well-mowed green, green grass and remember that some things are better left untouched.
And sometimes it’s worth looking out the window at stuff you think you’ve already seen.
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