Some things weren't meant to last. Like, everything. Jesus was homeless, the Israelites were probably at their best while roaming the desert, Paul couldn't stay anywhere but prison more than a few months. It just seems like as humans we can't ever get content anywhere. No matter what happens, if someday we have an epiphany that our lives are exactly as we wanted, BOOM! They change.
If we decide we like the kind of shape our bodies are in, then we slack off a bit, eat a few too many burritos, drink a few too many DPs, take a few too many days off, BAM! I can't fit into my favorite jeans anymore.
If we decide we like the direction our relationships are going, we determine to continue in exactly the same vein. We continue to do the things that brought such success to begin with, tell similar jokes, bring similar gifts, ZAP! We are suddenly boring to our mates or friends.
So, what does it all mean? Why can't we just settle in and enjoy things the way they are, and keep them the way they are? Because I don't think we were made for all this. Jesus was homeless because he had a much better place elsewhere. Paul couldn't settle in because he wanted to bring everyone with him. The Israelites sucked when they settled down because they started to think the temple and the king and the money and crops were the point. But they were all just a means to an end. They were called to be what Paul was. Light. And the only way to be light it to have a different set of values.
"Why are all those weirdos giving up all their stuff?" "Oh, don't mind them, they're just Christians." "Ha, yeah, I heard they don't care if they are rich or broke. What a bunch of idiots."
We are called to be nomads because we shouldn't settle down here in this world. If we get too settled, we start to think this might be home. But the reality is, the only thing we will be able to take with us are our relationships (at least in my opinion, many theologians would disagree). I won't be able to take my sweet flatscreen, my nice laptop, my XBox gamerscores, my massive collection of DVDs and books. All I can take is Robin and Refuge (the people that are part of our church, Refuge Community Church). It won't matter if I ever paid off my Mazda, or if I had enough sweaters that I finally thought I was cool. It will matter if I was good to my wife. It will matter if I listen to my friends. Those things will matter. And those things can go where ever I want to go.
Pack light for the journey. (only thing I heard in Worship class)
2.22.2010
Soul train
"When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause..." I honestly really hate Shakespeare. I had to memorize that monologue during my freshman lit class in high school. I honestly tried to like Shakespeare. I think the reason I don't is a combination of resentment because everyone else seems to love him so much, frustration because his writing is so difficult to understand, and tired-head from reading him a lot freshman year. But his ideas are definitely good. That line above puts forth the idea that we are somehow more than our physical bodies, that there is a part of us that will continue and persevere regardless of what happens to our bodies.
Orson Scott Card wrote a book called "Ender's Game" and quite a few after that. He has the idea that somehow there is this place, or maybe a "non-place" where a bunch of souls or "auias" exist and are waiting for a chance to come into being and be part of bodies.
One of the greatest theologians of the early church, and probably of the entire Christian history, Origen, had a similar idea. He believed that souls have existed forever and continue to exist forever. When a baby is conceived (or born, can't remember which) the soul is brought into the body.
The problem with those ideas, is that Origen was rejected as a heretic for his idea. The Christians of his day believed that is was edging onto dualism to believe something like that. They wanted to preserve the idea that God is the only being who has always existed, from eternity past to eternity future, the "uncaused cause."
So, what are we? Are we a soul with a body? I think biblically the idea is closer to that we are a soul/body. We are both in one, at the same time. When we die, we may "shuffle off this mortal coil" but more likely we will be transformed from a soul/body to a soul/perfect body.It seems more like a later western or Greek idea to think that we are somehow a divided self. The soul is over there, the body is there, the mind is there. And it is a very popular idea. But I think maybe the Hebrews were closer to the right idea. Maybe our finger is as much "us" as our head. Maybe our soul is all of us. Maybe we will just sleep after death, until all of reality is changed and we become a new self, a new body, with soul and mind intact. I don't know.
Orson Scott Card wrote a book called "Ender's Game" and quite a few after that. He has the idea that somehow there is this place, or maybe a "non-place" where a bunch of souls or "auias" exist and are waiting for a chance to come into being and be part of bodies.
One of the greatest theologians of the early church, and probably of the entire Christian history, Origen, had a similar idea. He believed that souls have existed forever and continue to exist forever. When a baby is conceived (or born, can't remember which) the soul is brought into the body.
The problem with those ideas, is that Origen was rejected as a heretic for his idea. The Christians of his day believed that is was edging onto dualism to believe something like that. They wanted to preserve the idea that God is the only being who has always existed, from eternity past to eternity future, the "uncaused cause."
So, what are we? Are we a soul with a body? I think biblically the idea is closer to that we are a soul/body. We are both in one, at the same time. When we die, we may "shuffle off this mortal coil" but more likely we will be transformed from a soul/body to a soul/perfect body.It seems more like a later western or Greek idea to think that we are somehow a divided self. The soul is over there, the body is there, the mind is there. And it is a very popular idea. But I think maybe the Hebrews were closer to the right idea. Maybe our finger is as much "us" as our head. Maybe our soul is all of us. Maybe we will just sleep after death, until all of reality is changed and we become a new self, a new body, with soul and mind intact. I don't know.
2.20.2010
Stench
As I work at a homeless shelter, I am often overwhelmed with stench. There are various types, and since I have a very capable nose, I tend to smell them all. I smell the typical "I've been wearing these shoes for years and they have literally been through it all" stench of shoes. I smell the discarded garbage from rotting veggies donated at the last minute. I smell armpits and body odor, I smell dirty clothes and an over abundance of hand sanitizer. I smell booze breath and cigarette breath and just plain stank breath. To me, all these things smell disgusting, but to God, I know they smell like love.
It's funny how much the sense of smell is linked to particular memories. All it takes is a whiff of a certain smell to take me back to my house during middle school. Or a certain smell to take me back to Buchanan Elementary. Sometimes I will smell something and almost be transported to my summers at Sky Ranch, or my summer playing basketball in Australia.
So when I walk through the dorms of the shelter at night, and smell feet and farts, bad breath and cigarette smoke, I wonder how that all smells to God. And I think it is a bittersweet smell to him. Bitter because our weakness has led us to embrace the disgusting smells of the world. The smell of alcoholism and drug addiction, pornography and materialism, bitterness and greed, gluttony and hatred, fear and violence, ultimately death. But it is sweet because it is the smell of a long lost love. The smell of lost sons and daughters. The smell of a people so close to greatness that if they would but close their hand on it they might hold it. God smells the potential and the problem.
And I think it takes him back, back before anyone could possibly remember, to the day he began creating. It reminds him of the smell of an untainted garden. The smell of people in harmony with their world, rather than destroying it. The smell of victory. And in that sense, I think it also takes him forward. The smell anticipates the day it will all be over, but the day that it will start anew.
Those are the things that the smell of homelessness reminds me of. Because those of us who belong to the kingdom of God are homeless. We are exiles here in a world that does not understand us, or our smell. Our world smells only our defeat, but our Lord smells our surrender. Our world smells our deaths, but we can smell our new life from our deaths. That's what I smell when I smell stinky shoes and unwashed underwear.
It's funny how much the sense of smell is linked to particular memories. All it takes is a whiff of a certain smell to take me back to my house during middle school. Or a certain smell to take me back to Buchanan Elementary. Sometimes I will smell something and almost be transported to my summers at Sky Ranch, or my summer playing basketball in Australia.
So when I walk through the dorms of the shelter at night, and smell feet and farts, bad breath and cigarette smoke, I wonder how that all smells to God. And I think it is a bittersweet smell to him. Bitter because our weakness has led us to embrace the disgusting smells of the world. The smell of alcoholism and drug addiction, pornography and materialism, bitterness and greed, gluttony and hatred, fear and violence, ultimately death. But it is sweet because it is the smell of a long lost love. The smell of lost sons and daughters. The smell of a people so close to greatness that if they would but close their hand on it they might hold it. God smells the potential and the problem.
And I think it takes him back, back before anyone could possibly remember, to the day he began creating. It reminds him of the smell of an untainted garden. The smell of people in harmony with their world, rather than destroying it. The smell of victory. And in that sense, I think it also takes him forward. The smell anticipates the day it will all be over, but the day that it will start anew.
Those are the things that the smell of homelessness reminds me of. Because those of us who belong to the kingdom of God are homeless. We are exiles here in a world that does not understand us, or our smell. Our world smells only our defeat, but our Lord smells our surrender. Our world smells our deaths, but we can smell our new life from our deaths. That's what I smell when I smell stinky shoes and unwashed underwear.
2.19.2010
The way
On one of these paths, we can walk 10-15 deep. On the other, probably 4 at the most. On one of these paths, we can ride our bikes, maybe even drive our cars. It is mostly downhill, and it is well worn because of the massive amounts of people who took it before. After all, the path of least resistance is the path most traveled. On that other path, we definitely can't drive a car, there are too many rocks and roots across the path. A bike is probably out of the question because of those same obstacles. It would be easier to take that path if more people took it. They would have worn it down, made it much more domestic. It seems like it is mostly uphill too. At best, you can carry a stick along to make the journey a little easier.
On the first path, you definitely can walk alone at times. If you decide you have had it with all the people driving crazy next to you, just stop for awhile, get some rest and regroup. Go it alone for awhile. Take your time, eat a fatty snack, drink a soda or a beer. No rush. That other path, though, you almost have to have someone to help you on. You also know that you don't have any time to waste on that path. You don't have much to eat, maybe some granola and a water bottle, because you were commanded to pack light for the journey. And now you know why. All those packs and bags would make navigating this already difficult terrain nearly impossible.
Which brings up another reason the larger path is probably better. On that large path, there aren't a bunch of bossy signs telling you to do this or not to do that. You can just drop your trash wherever you want. Why do you need to take care of the massive path when no one else does? But on the other path, there are a lot of warning signs. And it looks like no one has left their trash on that path either (probably because no one walks it, you think).
So there you are, sitting and thinking. Wondering which path will get you where you want to go. You can't see where either path ends, because they are much too long. When you ask the people traveling the paths, they all say they go where you want to be. So you are torn.
The one seems very fun. Everyone is smiling, celebrating almost. They even say you can do some really great things on this path. "Look how many people we can help here." "Plus we don't have to leave any of our gear behind." "Come on, you gotta live a little." "Why should the trail master make it hard on us? Clearly this road is better because more people take it."
But there are a couple people taking the other path. And, on first impression they don't seem like much. A very kind old man and his wife. A homely looking family. Some weird looking dude. But the strange thing about those people is that as disparate as they look, they appear to be enjoying one another's company very much. They aren't laughing or even smiling all the time, but they are helping one another. They are taking turns carrying the small amount of gear. Though none of them look particularly strong, they are gradually and definitely moving toward the goal. They are moving up the path with an almost dogged determination.
So what to do? Take the road less traveled, or the road less quit on? Continue to enjoy the status quo, give up on people when it is convenient, or go the way where to give up on others means to give up on yourself?
On the first path, you definitely can walk alone at times. If you decide you have had it with all the people driving crazy next to you, just stop for awhile, get some rest and regroup. Go it alone for awhile. Take your time, eat a fatty snack, drink a soda or a beer. No rush. That other path, though, you almost have to have someone to help you on. You also know that you don't have any time to waste on that path. You don't have much to eat, maybe some granola and a water bottle, because you were commanded to pack light for the journey. And now you know why. All those packs and bags would make navigating this already difficult terrain nearly impossible.
Which brings up another reason the larger path is probably better. On that large path, there aren't a bunch of bossy signs telling you to do this or not to do that. You can just drop your trash wherever you want. Why do you need to take care of the massive path when no one else does? But on the other path, there are a lot of warning signs. And it looks like no one has left their trash on that path either (probably because no one walks it, you think).
So there you are, sitting and thinking. Wondering which path will get you where you want to go. You can't see where either path ends, because they are much too long. When you ask the people traveling the paths, they all say they go where you want to be. So you are torn.
The one seems very fun. Everyone is smiling, celebrating almost. They even say you can do some really great things on this path. "Look how many people we can help here." "Plus we don't have to leave any of our gear behind." "Come on, you gotta live a little." "Why should the trail master make it hard on us? Clearly this road is better because more people take it."
But there are a couple people taking the other path. And, on first impression they don't seem like much. A very kind old man and his wife. A homely looking family. Some weird looking dude. But the strange thing about those people is that as disparate as they look, they appear to be enjoying one another's company very much. They aren't laughing or even smiling all the time, but they are helping one another. They are taking turns carrying the small amount of gear. Though none of them look particularly strong, they are gradually and definitely moving toward the goal. They are moving up the path with an almost dogged determination.
So what to do? Take the road less traveled, or the road less quit on? Continue to enjoy the status quo, give up on people when it is convenient, or go the way where to give up on others means to give up on yourself?
2.13.2010
We will overcome. Right?
I have really been struggling lately. I think it is easy to quip and say that I am "under attack" or some other kind of trite saying, but honestly I have been incredibly discouraged. There is a t-shirt that says "Canada: They started a country and no one came." Well I keep wondering if our church is going to be the Canada church. I don't want to say these things out loud because I think the pastor should be strong, confident, he should know people will want to come because, why wouldn't they?!
But if I'm really honest, that is not how I am feeling right now. It is no one's fault, in particular. Robin is never anything but encouraging. Many of the people who have been with us from the beginning consistently reassure me. But the fact remains that sometimes I question if I am right for this. Did I make a big mistake? What if I let everyone down?
The fact of the matter is, I can't think of a more lonely position in the world than pastor. Maybe light house operator. Nicklecreek has that really sad song about that guy. But outside of those two, I can't think of a more lonely spot.
So when I wrestle with those types of thoughts, I have three people that I pull to mind to help me. They are not in my daily life any longer, but each made a profound impact on my desire to be a pastor and to plant churches.
The first is my childhood hero, Glenn. Glenn showed me how a man should behave, how a man should love, and how a pastor should live. He gave me guidance when I didn't give a damn about anything but having fun. Glenn would say something like "Bro, sometimes it just gets hard. But God gave you a job to do, and he wants you to do it. You will do great."
The second is my mentor from college, Andy. Andy showed me how to ask difficult questions, to wrestle with hard facts in life, to be thoughtful, but also to act. Andy helped me to see that there is another path in life other than the uberconservative, don't ask any questions of the man behind the curtain type of spiritual advisor. Andy would say something like "Hey man, I know its hard, but sometimes that is how you know you are doing what is right. Remember what Dumbledore always says."
The third is old man Rainey. My first Greek professor, and probably the kindest man I have ever known. He showed me the value of longevity, the desire to persevere, to keep fighting the good fight even though ministry sometimes rips your sould apart. Dr. Rainey would probably tell me something like, "Brother Chris! Read the first chapter of Jeremiah, and tell me if you are really all that alone in your trials."
So I did. Jeremiah 1.7,8 says "You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them (failure) for I am with you and will rescue you." And while God wasn't speaking directly to me when he had this written down, I know he intends it for me now. I know that if the biggest struggle I face is failure, then I have nothing on Jeremiah or Paul. I know that no matter how hard it gets, I am following a long line of people who had a hard time. It is easy to forget that, to think that no one will understand, but the fact is that that is why most of us end up lonely.
Near the end, John says in his apocalypse "He who overcomes will inherit all this (the realization of God's kingdom), and I will be his God and he will be my son." Gives hope, but it sure doesn't make it easier.
But if I'm really honest, that is not how I am feeling right now. It is no one's fault, in particular. Robin is never anything but encouraging. Many of the people who have been with us from the beginning consistently reassure me. But the fact remains that sometimes I question if I am right for this. Did I make a big mistake? What if I let everyone down?
The fact of the matter is, I can't think of a more lonely position in the world than pastor. Maybe light house operator. Nicklecreek has that really sad song about that guy. But outside of those two, I can't think of a more lonely spot.
So when I wrestle with those types of thoughts, I have three people that I pull to mind to help me. They are not in my daily life any longer, but each made a profound impact on my desire to be a pastor and to plant churches.
The first is my childhood hero, Glenn. Glenn showed me how a man should behave, how a man should love, and how a pastor should live. He gave me guidance when I didn't give a damn about anything but having fun. Glenn would say something like "Bro, sometimes it just gets hard. But God gave you a job to do, and he wants you to do it. You will do great."
The second is my mentor from college, Andy. Andy showed me how to ask difficult questions, to wrestle with hard facts in life, to be thoughtful, but also to act. Andy helped me to see that there is another path in life other than the uberconservative, don't ask any questions of the man behind the curtain type of spiritual advisor. Andy would say something like "Hey man, I know its hard, but sometimes that is how you know you are doing what is right. Remember what Dumbledore always says."
The third is old man Rainey. My first Greek professor, and probably the kindest man I have ever known. He showed me the value of longevity, the desire to persevere, to keep fighting the good fight even though ministry sometimes rips your sould apart. Dr. Rainey would probably tell me something like, "Brother Chris! Read the first chapter of Jeremiah, and tell me if you are really all that alone in your trials."
So I did. Jeremiah 1.7,8 says "You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them (failure) for I am with you and will rescue you." And while God wasn't speaking directly to me when he had this written down, I know he intends it for me now. I know that if the biggest struggle I face is failure, then I have nothing on Jeremiah or Paul. I know that no matter how hard it gets, I am following a long line of people who had a hard time. It is easy to forget that, to think that no one will understand, but the fact is that that is why most of us end up lonely.
Near the end, John says in his apocalypse "He who overcomes will inherit all this (the realization of God's kingdom), and I will be his God and he will be my son." Gives hope, but it sure doesn't make it easier.
2.11.2010
Cruel to be kind
Such a strange saying. But it seems like that is exactly the choice Robin and I have recently had to make. Last summer we made the (costly) impulsive choice to buy a husky to go with Rufus. He has been a decent addition to our family, but the more we thought and considered it, we didn't think we were the right family for him. We don't have the right yard, we don't walk him enough, we are away from home too much, our neighbor below us is going to have a nervous breakdown because of him, and generally just were not ready to own a husky. So we did what you do when you decide to part ways with something, we put him on craigslist. Within 12 hours I had about 15 emails inquiring about Ivan.
It has been difficult for both of us. We struggle with the idea that we gave up on him. We struggle hoping that the home he goes to is a good one for him. We are sad because we did become pretty attached to him. But in the end, we feel like it will be best for him, and for us to part ways. I would still like to have two dogs at some point in the future, but definitely not a husky. So, goodbye Ivan, you will be missed, but I trust that God will watch over you and over us.
Someone said it must be like giving up a child. No. Not even close. It is like giving up a pet. Sure, you care about it and want the best for it, but I cannot imagine it is anything like giving up a child. I think the other problem is that Rufus just set the bar so unbelievably high. He is an ideal dog in so many ways.
It has been difficult for both of us. We struggle with the idea that we gave up on him. We struggle hoping that the home he goes to is a good one for him. We are sad because we did become pretty attached to him. But in the end, we feel like it will be best for him, and for us to part ways. I would still like to have two dogs at some point in the future, but definitely not a husky. So, goodbye Ivan, you will be missed, but I trust that God will watch over you and over us.
Someone said it must be like giving up a child. No. Not even close. It is like giving up a pet. Sure, you care about it and want the best for it, but I cannot imagine it is anything like giving up a child. I think the other problem is that Rufus just set the bar so unbelievably high. He is an ideal dog in so many ways.
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