The End of All Things

This is my last “free” journal of the Semester, and I suppose it would be fitting to take a gander at my wonderment with seasons of life in which things “end.” I am a desperate J.R.R. Tolkien fan, and let me tell you, it is a spiritual exercise for me to read that work, and I purposely do so about once every two years.
One of the closing chapters in The Return of the King is entitled, The End of All things… which alone is both ominous and stirring. In this chapter, Frodo finally accomplishes the task he was set upon – the destruction of the evil ring of the Dark Lord, and thereby ending the desperate fight for survival against the forces of evil for all free peoples of Middle Earth. I cannot read (or now watch) that part of the story with simply being amazed at the essence of the story being pulled out: that sacrifice is the ultimate expression of good, and a potent weapon against which evil has no defense.
And we need such a weapon, because just like the Fellowship, our situation looks dire indeed. In RotK, the a few of the righteous Men of the West, grossly outnumbered and battle weary, are chosen by the newly returned King Elessar (Aragorn) to mount a last assault on the Black Gate, the entrance to the realm of the Enemy. As hostile armies march out against them, numbers upon numbers uncounted, the Men, now united under their returned King fall back upon a barren hill of slag to draw the enemy out. The battle is joined, and the situation is grave indeed. Aragorn leads the Fellowship into combat, as their position is surrounded and broken upon by a sea of Black. Meanwhile, the path to victory has been made clear and certain by Aragorn’s ruse for our two Hobbits, who are already in the middle of the Enemy’s domain. The story is, brilliant and inspiring.
As the Ring falls into the lava, a shattering crack sounds through the domain, and once impenetrable fortresses begin to be broken into shards no bigger than your hand. The earth splits, and fire engulfs all the land and life marred by the corruption of the Enemy, and the burden is finally lifted – and the enemy assaulting the King and the Fellowship are beaten and scattered by the destruction of their power; their Dark Lord. Fear is crushed and Hope shines through clearly, unobstructed by the filth spewed into the air by the Dark Lord… The day is won, and a slow quiet of finality descends upon our heroes as one solitary truth descends: That all they have known in pain and struggle and fear is gone, and a new day has come.
And so it is with us, I feel. It’s so easy to look at the news, and to watch friends be struck by black arrows, and to feel as though your arms could not parry one more blow from enemy blades. We seem surrounded, and so many horn calls are not our own, surrounded by a Sea of black, it seems as though each surge claims a few more of us. But our King is lovely, His voice is clear and His banner is bright – and in our case, His victory is assured and we will share in it, if we endure and fight on. So as Hebrews says, let us look to Him and resist! Let us resist to the point where we shed our own blood! And let us strengthen our weak knees, and lift our weary limbs in joy to join the fight! I know what it is to feel as though the fight were desperate, and that we’re losing, that dawn could not come soon enough. But when I consider Him, my bright and lovely King, and that in our End of All things the result will be beyond compare to the greatest of stories, my heart is filled, and by His mercy I raise my sword again. His Kingdom is near, and our “New Day” is not as far now as it seems. So fight on, brothers,(and sisters) because the Enemy’s will yet shatter and be put to shame, and hope is not held in vain.

Come and Play

It is a strange thing how removing oneself from the usual crowd and noise of life can put some things you're going through into heavy relief, like an embosser presses a flat and unordinary page into something recognizable, with shape, depth, structure and form. Solitude can make things that are buried in the lull brought on by the anesthetics of "daily routine" finally begin to seep to the surface and retain their feeling. This latest bout with solitude has certainly done that for me.
So what has come to the surface then? I suppose the chief realization is just how lonely things can - and have been - here. I've done what most folks do, joined and become active in a local church, I'm social as much as I can be, and generally I don't avoid conversations or "events" unless I've some pressing reason to do so. During my time alone, something from my youth came to mind that I haven't thought or felt in a very long time. When I was about five or six years old, my family lived in a rural house outside of Lamesa, Texas - between two cotton fields. I was an only child, out of reach of friends or their homes, and so I spent a good amount of time at home without playmates or entertainment in the form of company. My parents worked hard, and were often busy with the necessities of work. I was forced to be imaginative, to pretend and to play. I can remember one day, however, when I tired of being by myself. I made a couple of signs out of some white and construction paper; and on these signs I took some black and orange crayon (I was not yet an artist) and I scrawled in surely broken English and typical 5 year old form the words "I am lonely, someone come and play." I then proceeded to go outside near the road and march around, waiting for someone to answer. Of course, when my mother discovered what I was doing, she gave me a pretty deserved lashing.
In many ways, and on many days recently, I still feel somewhat like that boy with that sign around his neck, "I [am] lonely, someone come and play," waiting for someone to pull off that road, jump out and meet me. You see, I have this unfortunate quality that seems to silence discussion, or be the "last word" in the debate; even if (at the end) I turn out to be wrong. The reason is, I want people to engage in hard thoughts, to go with me and consider some of those harder points that are the answers to the “why” not just the “what’s” and “how’s” of life. Usually, when I start trying to go there in conversation with people, it gets silent, or they don’t see the value in such “heady” discussions. One of the latest was when I responded to a pastor with a simple question brought on by a sermon I had heard of his. I asked him if he thought the Christian was still totally depraved, to which he responded with a “yes.” I asked him this question because I happen to hold a different view, one that asserts our sinful and utterly corrupt flesh but who’s a new creation created for good works and hidden in Christ. I realize what Galatians 5 says, but it’s not a commentary on the whole of us in Christ, but those who are walking according to the flesh! Now, I really wanted to discuss this for this reason: The most miserable Christians (a lot of seminarians, too) I know seem to all believe that they’ll “get better” by constantly whacking themselves in the face and focusing on how bad they are. The worship leader, after this sermon, actually said “We need to consider and focus on how horrible we are.” I don’t advocate treating sin lightly, but isn’t our focus supposed to be the pearl of great value that is so wonderful that we would sell everything just to have it? Should we focus in Him instead of us… and let His kindness lead us to repentance and not just end it with “I am horrible, without hope?”
Why don’t we ask real questions of one another? And when we do, why do we go immediately into defensive mode rather than discussing and edifying one another. Does anyone wonder why “prayer” requests uttered in groups are often the last thing in the world people really need prayer about? Does anyone seem to think that “Christian responses” often are more rhetoric than believed truth or a real answer, and does anyone really wonder why the world absolutely rejects most common “Christian responses?” Why is most popular Christian media barely media and barely Christian anymore? Am I the only one who sees that, or is no one just going to come out and say “We really need help, this isn’t the way it should be?” Why do “we” often seem so disconnected, disenchanted and generally defeated? Why is compassion the last thing people usually see from us? Is doctrine really so hard and unnecessary for the average church-goer? Does it really not matter if God is absolutely sovereign or He isn’t as long as people say they love “Jesus?”
Or maybe I’m crazy, or too critical, or too theological, or to hard, or too concerned, or any of the other things people have said I’m too much of when I ask things like that? All I know is I don’t feel crazy, what I often feel is alone in my questioning. Just like that kid who’s dying for someone to pull off the road and take a few minutes to “play.” My time alone wasn’t the trip to a spiritual amusement park some have said it was for them, but it really pulled a layer of numb away and let me start asking those questions about myself. Where it goes, if any destination can be asserted, is anyone’s guess.

The Stars are Shouting

I have to confess, that I’ve had "Seeing and Savoring Jesus Christ" for several years now, and have read through it at least 3 complete times, with plucking through it about a year ago. This time around was not as great and revelatory as the first, but in reading it again some things have certainly been made fresh in my mind again and old truths were shown to be why they’ve been long confessed desires of mine. These longstanding truths are old friends with which I certainly am prone to fellowship less in busy times, and it is wonderful to sit down with them again.
To get into specifics, I suppose the first two chapters are far-and-away the ones that are so poignant with me, and why not? They serve as the premise of the book; that the Glory of God is the inescapable, unassailable and highest purpose for which everything, from pulsars to puppy-dogs exists. Being a guy that fancies astronomy and word pictures, the talk of laying down in the grass on a cool summer night and letting “the heavens declare the Glory of God” to me is a warm blanket to my soul in the midst of an environment is so often relegated to cerebral exercise to prevent sheer overload. What is even more provoking is the implied word picture conjured by the book of someone who has decided the Sun isn’t the center of the solar system and is angry that the sky does not move according to his perception. Ah! We are so very much like that man – so often confused, amiss, and at a loss (and angry) because the world doesn’t turn on our declared axis, but on Christ, around Christ, by Christ and for Christ! “Christ does not exist to make much of us, but we exist to enjoy making much of Him,” what a simply articulated but profound truth. That’s the kind of truth that can unseat the foundations of your world if they’re set on something less. The Glory of God is the center of our universe, and must be so if the Christian walk is to be one of Joy, and the Glory of God is Jesus – in Him the full weight of deity dwells.
Where this becomes more than mere recitation for me is in the fact that those truths were first echoed to me in a time where the prevalent attitude was much the opposite; where God was seen as a matchmaker, a simple helper, or a means and not the end. As I read through Seeing and Savoring this time, it made me look back at the “pile of rocks” back in that part of my past, and consequently the road that lead me here. In a strange way that I’m not able to articulate, that comforts me immensely. That Christ is indeed faithful when He claims to be, and that His mercy prevails even over the ugliest of sin or the darkest of seasons. The funny thing about that “comfort” is that it’s the kind of comfort you didn’t know you needed until you taste it. All things are subject to Christ, and there is nothing that exists that he has not conquered or claimed superiority over – including all the pain and loss that people close to me are enduring. I suppose I often feel like I’m having to plug twenty leaks in a dam with only ten fingers… and it is beautiful news to be reminded that not only are my hands not enough, but they were never meant to be “enough.”
If that doesn’t soften your heart when you get an eyeful, I don’t think anything will. When what is required of us is immense, it is life to really know that God is infinitely immense. That measure of solace I gain when I look up into that sky on cool summer nights gives me a similar sense… staring into something so vast and so unbridled, and realizing that it’s all been spoken into being by One immeasurably greater. And that One has walked on dusty roads amongst broken people, and is before us even today. That’s the kind of thing that’ll make men dream, pray, hope and wait. That’s the kind of thing that will make you sell everything you own - in your joy – just to have it. God help us to connect with that truth moment by moment. God help me – because the stars are shouting and often I won’t hear them.

Grounded by the Least of These

In life it's alarmingly easy to default to autopilot mode, where we perform our daily tasks and duties with not much care or troubled thought. Get up, take a shower, go to class, listen to professor, take notes, pay attention, go to next class, come home, read/watch news, do homework - on and on. It's a series of commands we follow in a program we've coded for ourselves to get us through the day without much effort. It's this thoughtless execution that makes us easy-to-lead, dutiful citizens that move society along at it's own pace. It's also this that numbs us to the needs and pains of those around us - when we see hurt, or pain, or death, or loneliness - we just click on our scheduled task and walk right by. I'm as guilty as any in this regard, and despite all of our best efforts it seems to be a ground level fault of living in our culture.

I guess I notice how broken this merciless fault is most when something pierces me and wounds me enough to break the "program" and make it shutdown. It takes something that grounds me - that clips my wings off and makes me land in the things I normally just fly right over without much of a thought. Something I've really noticed in the last year that is absolutely effective at this "grounding" is when I encounter someone who is one of "the least of these." You know those people you pass by, who just aren't as "lucky." You know the ones with an illness, or a disorder that makes them markedly different than "everyone else." The ones on the walkers, the bracers and in the chairs. The ones who have a hard time doing every day tasks, and who usually give more thanks for being able to do anything at all. It's the ones in the beds, on the machines and in stale rooms under florescent lighting - those who know what it is to suffer and go on. They really know the gravity that's part of living in a fallen world.
Recent circumstances have put me in proximity to such a person, and every time I am around him I am cut down to the floor. There's something about it that makes me face myself and how often I am morbidly obsessed with myself. In the droning on of Seminary life, it's easy just to engage the material and never engage yourself honestly. If we never face ourselves, how can we truly know our own depravity and truly repent - and if we cannot do that, how can we really be Christ's? The simple answer for me is terrifying and yet wonderful: We can't. Maybe that's why Jesus points to them when He talks about real, saving faith.
Most moments I can't imagine what such an inescapably difficulty would do to me, but recently I've had things turn out more difficult than I would have imagined, and I've got to say, I'm not looking to the "strong" folks for encouragement and examples of perseverance. I'm looking to the "least of these." Watching them grounds me, humbles me, and puts me in a place that I haven't quite got figured out yet. Maybe it's solace, or strength. Maybe it's that the air down here has a richness and fragrance that gets thin when I'm back on top. One thing's for sure however, when I am here, I don't want to leave.

It's so easy to make Christ into this figure who's got all the answers, and none of the scars. But He has the scars - and that's something I'm starting to really know. He knows loneliness and betrayal, He knows the hurt and the loss, He is acquainted with the weight of both grief and glory - yet in all of it He did not sin.

I have often craved a visual medium in which I could express what I feel when I get cut down to the ground. It makes my faith one that's real, not just "right." What would such a work look like if we really remained so close to the real heart of things? Perhaps it would be a painting full of broken people serving other broken people; who forge ahead despite death or life, or angels or rulers, trials now or to come, or powers, or heights nor depths, or anything in creation toward the beautiful end for which we were called; our Lord and His Glory - a glowing yet gossamer standard that flows above all of our heads. I don't know if I even have the vision to capture the feeling, and oh how I wish I could. The Body is a strikingly beautiful thing. I imagine that if we visibly bought into what we were selling, most of the distracting things we get pulled into might just lose their appeal. I pray that I am constantly afforded eyes that “re-see” the things I would normally just pass by, and a spirit that remains grounded by “the least of these.” Lord knows I need it.

… Now in putting everything in subjection to him, he left nothing outside his control. At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to him. 9 But we see him who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.
10 For it was fitting that he, for whom and by whom all things exist, in bringing many sons to glory, should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering. 11 For he who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one origin. That is why he is not ashamed to call them brothers, 12 saying, "I will tell of your name to my brothers; in the midst of the congregation I will sing your praise."
13 And again, "I will put my trust in him." And again, "Behold, I and the children God has given me."
14 Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, 15 and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery. 16 For surely it is not angels that he helps, but he helps the offspring of Abraham. 17 Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. 18 For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.

~Hebrews 2:8b -18

The Miserable, Mimicking, Magnificent, Non-Meritorious Me

The following is an entry to my Personal Spiritual Disciplines Class...

When someone is asked to give an account of their life I often wonder how that request can be answered in any brief but accurate summation. Perhaps I lack the skill, or the genius of brevity it requires. Needless to say this will be an attempt to do so.

As a child I was not a part of a very “religious” family. My dad was a divorcee, and in our denomination (Church of Christ) this was considered a matter of unrepentant sin – thus he was twice pressured out of attending church. My mother is a faithful and noble woman, and chose to stay home on Sundays with my dad rather than go alone. Suffice to say, some of my father’s reticence and hostility to the “church life” passed on to me. This found it’s apex in my late teens, particularly around the age of 17. I was a professed Agnostic, as much as I understood such to be, and I was a hostile one at that – particularly against Christianity. The years of struggle for significance and meaning had left me a young cynic, generally bored with most things my peers found entertaining. I was popular, athletic, and smarter than average. My junior year in high school began what I like to call “my great decline.” For a period of about nine months, I suffered loss upon loss, from grandparents having strokes and becoming shells of who they once were to tearing up my knee playing football – a tragedy to a male teen in Texas. Girlfriends and relationships went haywire, and the more a tried to fix things or cling to them the more I lost. I was subjected to what felt like absolute futility at the time. I certainly had no idea what was about to happen.
I met some girls from a nearby small town, Christian girls… cute Christian girls. In fact they were so surprisingly cute (one in particular) that I (along with a friend) decided to forego the usual “I hate Christians” mantra and investigate them further. I ended up pretending to be someone I wasn’t for about three months, until one sacredly devastating moment while sitting in an Algebra II class. I suddenly realized that I liked the person I was pretending to be more than the guy I really was. This dissonance between the facade I was pretending to be and the reality of who I was began a chain reaction. I was unsettled more than I had ever been. Conversations lost their intrigue, friends lost their appeal, and typical teen mischievousness lost its flavor. My best friend at the time, asked me to betray the girl I was dating (the cute Christian one) by lying to a friend of hers, and I refused. He, being the more charismatic of the two of us, persuaded most of my other “friends” to isolate me and choose his “side.” I became an outcast from my own circles, and my popularity waned. The Christian girl I had been dating, (and trying not to lie to) felt the Lord insisting her to distance herself from me soon thereafter. Idol after idol, affection after affection and love after love fell to ruin until every thing I would have previously used to identify my “life” was gone or against me. For about a week I sat around sulking, wondering what would end my misery and isolation. A couple of the girls from that neighboring small town invited me to go to an Youth Evangelism Conference, and I refused for about a week until finally relenting to get them to stop pestering me. Strangely enough, the trip had been booked completely, and they’d recently had a girl drop out at the last minute. I went in her pre-paid place.
I remember sitting there, watching a body of 25,000 some-odd people my age singing – with a joy I didn’t have and knew I couldn’t fake. At that moment, it was as if a brick had fallen off the rafters and hit me in the chest. I fell to the ground and sobbed – something not common for me at the time. Some speaker came out and gave some mildly amusing message, but I was still on the floor sobbing, causing somewhat of a scene I suppose.
The speaker gave an invitation, and I made my way forward before he’d finished giving it. A counselor found me, and began praying with me – finally telling me to open my heart and open my mouth and let it go. I closed my eyes, and asked two questions: “Are You there?” and, “Are You who they say You are?” To make a long situation short, I got a “Yes” on both questions, and then I really “let it go.” Years of sin, brokenness and need were confessed and immediately I felt a sense of presence and peace. It seemed as though the whole world had been painted in new colors. It was June 25th, 1998, and on that concrete floor the former me had finally died. I was acutely aware that I was instantly different - and I was not alone.
That road has not been easy, but it has absolutely been good. As it always does, time passed and I grew in the Lord. My senior year of High School came to a close, and new chapters began. He grew me to increasingly love Scripture, and as I entered into my freshman year of college, I started seeking opportunities to help with youth. I volunteered at my local church and received my first taste of how some ministries function. Though at the time I was hard to it, this is when I can first discern the Lord beginning to call me into the ministry.
I soon transferred to Midwestern State University in Wichita Falls, Texas and began pursuing a career in communication. The curriculum there was engaging, and I improved in my writing and speaking abilities. Despite this, I became increasingly dissatisfied with a profession that seemed a good fit for me. The reasons were not clear. It progressed to such a point that I finally acknowledged the possibility that God was calling me into vocational ministry. This was especially awkward because being a pastor-type never held much appeal for me prior to this. I began fasting and praying, trying to draw near God and discern His intentions. For two weeks this went on, and indeed the Lord made things clear. My primary passion, the pursuit of Christ, would become my primary vocation! At the realization of this, I was overjoyed. In addition, I felt the Lord leading me away from MSU in pursuit of this calling, thus I began seeking out other schools. I finally landed at Hardin-Simmons University, in Abilene. Were it not for my holding in the sovereignty of God, this is a choice I would often question in hindsight.

Hardin-Simmons was, to put things mildly, the most desperate and dark time of my life. It did not start out that way. When I first arrived as a junior, I had high hopes. To study Scripture intently and to grow in the knowledge of God for your class credit! What a privilege!

The reality became apparent very soon. For all of its promise, my time at the Logsdon School of Theology at HSU was filled with frustration and personal turmoil. In many classes, the study of theology seemed less of an objective look at Scripture and more of an agenda-filled indoctrination. It was not uncommon to run against Pelagianism, Open-Theism, and Universalism on a daily basis from the professors. The anti-Reformed rhetoric was intense as well. Hardin-Simmons is a BGCT-supported school, and many staff grumbled about the “conservative resurgence” every time the opportunity came. Despite all the vitriol, agenda, and pretense, there were some good things. The Lord developed me in a speaking capacity, providing several opportunities over the next few years to speak in a variety of places. I was active in Baptist Student Ministries and extremely active in the church I became a member of there. What is most dear to me about this period of time is that I learned to cling to, revere, and love the Word of God. Scripture became a life-blood for me in a way I never knew possible, largely because of the daily need to counter what was being taught in my classes. At HSU I saw the danger of "unity at any price" firsthand, along with the death it sows in its wake. I became a defender of the Church, and a polemicist as I saw many of the things being taught in places like Logsdon taking root in area churches. In truth I suppose I developed the heart of a reformer.

I finally graduated and took a year of hiatus from school in my hometown, where I did some substitute teaching. A bit over a year ago, a friend of mine asked me to visit Southern with him, and I was immediately aware that this was the next place for me. As I have spent my short time here, it has served as an immense example of His graciously giving me all things that I could not possibly merit. That is my story in brief thus far; from a miserable teen and mimicking girl-chaser to one who is personally acquainted with –and adopted into - the source of majesty and beauty, all the while being keenly aware that I deserve little of it.