Brainwaves

There were only two choices left in my oldest daughter’s recent volume purchase of new reading material. Thinking the one with Mother Teresa’s name boldly declared across the cover to be a biography of sorts, I reached to investigate the other. When that one failed to gain my interest, however, I returned to the saint and discovered it actually a collection of her thoughts on various Biblical topics. Indeed, the initial chapter pertained to prayer; and what a joy it was to find her declaring how “In reality, there is only one true prayer, only one substantial prayer: Christ, Himself! There is only one voice that rises above the face of the Earth: the voice of Christ! Perfect prayer does not consist in many words, but in the fervor of the desire which raises the heart to Jesus………….”

Does she insinuate that God does not hear our puny attempts to gain heaven’s ear? In no way. She is referring to our “making a connection”. It is what we have to learn, she says, right from the beginning: “To listen to the voice of God in our heart and, in the silence, God speaks; then, from the fullness of our heart, our mouth will have to speak”. Power, you see, is not about how much we inflate ourselves, but how much we surrender unto Him our vessel. As she puts it: “It is not a matter of doing, but being”; and, if by “being”, you think that she (or I) mean achieving a state where one is able to continually exist in a fullness of His presence, consider her reason for prayer: “that in every moment we may know how to be completely available to Him…………..”

I went to a prayer service last night. Nothing wrong with discussing prayer, examining prayer, or taking up prayer requests for corporate petition; but if we believe ourselves to be authoritative simply because we claim to possess He Who IS authority, we err in our judgment. There is a river; and the first priority of any endeavor by us to communicate with Him ought to be a genuine, sincere effort to fall into those waters. Likewise, there is a fountain. Oh, that I might always seek to do that which is good, to be about my Father’s business; but may I also recognize that it is from that well I draw wisdom, strength, and the ability to give grace. I am nothing. He is everything. “This”, Mother Teresa says, “is what you come to know when you face God in prayer…………..”

My three days of journeying with Shane Claiborne through all thirteen chapters of his “Irresistible Revolution” was, for the most part, pleasurable. For those who may not be familiar with this author, he’s one of an original group who founded an inner-city work in Philadelphia. “Church” as they thought church should be. Basically, about six people co-rented a building in the “ghetto” area and then, after moving in, converted it into a rescue center for the local populace. Whether that meant sharing their living space with the homeless or providing groceries for some needy family, they simply began to live the Gospel as they perceived it to be. No sermons. No altar calls. They reached out as they could. God provided as they did……………

The ministry is still there; the name, “Simple Way”, is still the same; and Mr. Claiborne is able to bring in some funds through speaking engagements. I certainly applaud what’s been accomplished and would take no issue with most of his message, believing that it would behoove the American ecclesiastical community to read it and then pray. Still, it must also be noted that I found the meal he provided lacked a major ingredient. In this country, we seem to have stripped the Holy Ghost of all His divinity via one way or the other; and, while the author gives no evidence of believing himself to BE the Third Person of the Trinity, he yet appears to have reduced the Spirit to no more than a cause, a mission given by an emissary once sent from God……………

Shane Claiborne, in his beginnings, actually went to India and spent some time working with Mother Teresa. He presents (to me, at least) an image of trying to reproduce here in the States that which he observed of the saint. Is it coincidence, then, that my newest read is a collection of her thoughts on various Biblical basics? The foreword by Thomas More speaks how “in (her) life and words we find religion’s soul” and continues with “What is absent in these passionate words of (hers) is any attempt to convert us to her beliefs”. In essence, he equates her faith to a manifestation of the One Who indwells her; and, after dining on the feast within her opinion of what constitutes prayer, I can only say “amen”. He, alone, is our Center and our Source……………

Two different items in the news have occupied my thoughts for the last day or so, circling my brain without leading to any particular path of pursuit. With nearly five years, now, of working in Special-Education, I’ve certainly gained a bit of knowledge about autism, but not enough to classify myself an authority on the subject. Still, in reading about the sixteen-year old Asperger student who recently stabbed and killed his classmate, I am left with a lot of questions. Friends of mine are parents to children diagnosed with the syndrome. Surely, though, the tragedy must strike fear into the hearts of people on both sides of the issue; and that leaves me asking: If the disorder can be utilized as a defense in court, then shouldn’t we be more “legalized” about the incorporation of these kids into the public school system? Better trained? Better informed? To hear that this boy not only possessed a knife collection but was also allowed to feast on many television crime series just goes beyond my scope of comprehension……….

Then (as if that isn’t enough to be rolling around in my cranial cavity), there’s the woman who went to Florida to investigate the storage unit her deceased mother and father had rented about ten years ago. Opening a suitcase only to discover another one inside the first may have roused her curiosity a tad, but the contents of the latter one would blow her away. Tightly wrapped in a newspaper dated January 9, 1957, was the mummified remains of a tiny baby boy. Talk about a “cold case”. How would you even begin to solve this one? I suppose, of course, that DNA might be able to establish a genetic connection with this family; but we’re still looking at a prior four decades of successfully storing this piece of luggage somewhere else. In the attic? The basement maybe? On the top shelf of the living room closet perhaps? How is it possible to go through your daily chores, chat with the mailman at the door, and invite the neighbors over for a friendly game of Uno with that kind of knowledge continually eating at your conscience?............

Some might find the idea of a divine Creator to be a great mystery. I’m more of the opinion that there is no bigger enigma than the human psyche. To begin with, we are each individual in our identity, unique in our understanding, and precise in our perspective. In examining the two tales above, everybody has their own judgment they assign, their own solution for preventing a repeat; but, in reality, I’m not so sure there are any definitive solutions, any complete explanations. What does exist is a Savior willing to walk with us through the darkness. All of us. Any of us. It doesn’t matter our history, no our present status. He meets us where we are and leads us by the hem of His garment; and, in that alone, I know peace……….

My youngest daughter was wearing one of those Christian logo sweatshirts the other day. Only one word stretched itself across the front: “T R A N S F O R M E D”. Without even bothering to read whatever else completed that thought on her back, I asked, as I am often prone to do, “Is that so? What does it mean?” The inquiry, however, brought no response but that which I’ve always gotten during any such paternal conversation with my girls. In their eyes, dad just asks too many questions, especially when it comes to Bible. Could be, I suppose; but if I don’t pose them, who will? I find it, in fact, to be part of a God-given duty assigned unto me. It’s not that I require them to think as I think. Just so they know why they believe what they believe. In other words, they need to at LEAST think.....

Indeed, that very verse from which she extracted her singular term of self-definition tells us the change in us is to be gained by a “renewing of (our) mind”. The initial term in that phrase suggests that it is to be an on-going process; and the latter term leaves little to the imagination. It is the state of our mentality that determines metamorphosis; and, by that, the apostle doesn’t mean our IQ. Of a truth, sometimes the smarter we find ourselves to be, the harder it is to break through the gray matter. Transformation is not some wave of a magic wand, but a walk with the One who enlightens us as we go. Any alteration of our identity is marked by our surrender unto His. Beginning to end, so it remains…..

Sitting down with a new book this evening, “The Irresistible Revolution” by Shane Claiborne, I grinned at the following statement in his pre-note: “There are enough people preaching to the choir, talking to people who look and think just like them. The point is not to give you all of the answers, but to stir up some of the questions, or found a church that would let us. I trust that, as we ask questions together, the Spirit will guide us along the Way.” I’m looking forward to the rest of the read…..

We’re over halfway through January and our first snowfall for this neck of the woods fell last night. It doesn’t appear to be all that much, but they do have a weather advisory out and wisdom, I suppose, would suggest no church this morning. My thoughts, in scanning the white blanket just outside my window, went to that verse in Isaiah where the prophet speaks of reasoning together with God. Scarlet sins made to appear as snow. Forgiveness for all who would dare to sit in His presence and discuss the issues of their heart. Was it only coincidence that my first few clicks on the computer found me reading this Baptist’s account of his congregation being invited to co-worship with the people of a local Jewish synagogue during their Friday Shalom Shabbat service? Interesting how, when we are but willing to set doctrine aside to focus on Him, His presence fills the spaces in between and makes us one………..

I’m a little more than halfway through Brennan Manning’s “Ragamuffin Gospel” and keep getting hints that this is not my first journey through it. In so many ways, his views reflect my own. Yet, when he states that an “unwavering trust” of our sins being forgiven equates to Christianity, suddenly there is room for us to sit down and talk. If that is true, then grace is reduced to no more than my faith being established in my own interpretation of the word. Not that a lot of us don’t live in that state. Not that a lot of us don’t connect with “the real deal” while living in that state. Never, however, is God confined to our particular definition of Scripture, nor held accountable to our feelings. Indeed, I greatly disagree with the book’s quote concerning sadness making us phony believers; guilt proving us not one at all. That philosophy leaves us with no conscience, no Shepherd’s staff, and cements us in individual brands of legalism…………..

Is there ever a place in this life where we attain freedom from our humanity? Possibly for a few moments in such times as we allow His waters to overflow the temple, His compassion and love to engulf us. Whether out of an inner fountain or a cloud from above, though, it is through such connection we establish truth and determine the fullness of His mercy unto us. Such confirmation brings with it, not blank authorization to ignore what we perceive to be wrong, but knowledge of His willingness to walk with us in spite of who and what we are; and learning to accept this gift without taking it for granted is a journey we take one step at a time. Each time we surrender all that we are unto Him, He meets us at that point, ever faithful. It is not about perfection, for He, alone, is Perfection; and freedom from sin, as I see it, equates to absolution of my guilt whenever my pride kneels at the Cross before Him. He, not I, makes it so…………..

While Wednesday evening’s service at the rescue mission was worship from beginning to end, it was also distinguished by a few first-time individuals within the congregation. An old man sat in the very front row reading a Bible as we entered the spaces; but, seeing me plug in the CD player, he quickly approached to ask if he would be able to sing for us. Why not? We invited him, after opening prayer, to “face the music” and, with a voice that at least carried the tune, he belted out an old-time holiness standard. An old man. An old tape. An old song…………..

A couple of rows behind him were two young men. Brothers. The one claiming to have been, at some point in the past, a youth pastor; the other, his sibling, a bit effeminate or just plain childish in his speech. The rash enthusiasm that often accompanies such age manifested itself during prayer request as the “man of God”, going beyond his state of affairs, began to preach his own “mini-sermon”. If it served no other purpose than give him a sense of participating, it was worth the few moments of intrusion. It hurt no one. A young lad. An old occurrence. A part of church…………..

I loved the “Joan of Arcadia” television series. It always opened with the poser “What if God were one of us?” and then had the Almighty, Himself, continually popping up here and there in human form. A school janitor. A ten-year old girl in pigtails playing hopscotch on the sidewalk. Angels unaware. I’m not so sure I believe that scenario in all its entirety, but I do hold with all my heart the idea that our relationship with Him bleeds over into our relationship with others. One never knows. An eternal Deity. An internal connection. An on-going story…………..

One of the things I like about my retirement job is that every year it turns into something different. More than that, it evolves as it goes. Not only do work schedules change to let teachers adjust to three and four-day weeks, but one also never knows when the students, themselves, may relocate in or out of our location’s area of responsibility. Here we are nearly halfway through this school year and two more kids were added to our work-load last Thursday. Brother and sister. Both stricken with cerebral palsy. He’s Fifth Grade and pretty well restricted to a wheelchair. She’s in Third and struggles with a walker. There’s no real problem communicating, but how to now divide four instructors in such a way as to cover our entire roster is another matter. I’m continually being pulled from my original assignment to meet other needs as they arise. Flexibility is a must…………

The IN-ability to maintain a more concrete pattern of just what it is I’m trying to achieve in the execution of my job doesn’t bother me. They pay me for six and work me closer to seven. I knew, going in, however, that this was no union position; and five years into it, I am yet convinced this was a good choice for me. The autistic lad is ten and gives no real evidence of caring whether he ever conquers toilet training. To him, everything is just a game. The younger fellow in Third who consistently requires my attention when he opts to throw a temper tantrum rather than work, has, no doubt, just never heard of the word “discipline”. Both, though, can look at me afterwards and melt my heart with their smile. I get a little perplexed sometimes in the middle of trying to teach something and nothing is making a connection; but, over all, this is a gift from God………….

Upstairs. Downstairs. From one end of the building to the other. Who needs a treadmill? I sat in an Art class today and played Bingo. The teacher had ingeniously fashioned her own cards that allowed students to cover answers to definitions she gave. With but twenty or so minutes before dismissal, I helped two of my charges construct a Social Studies mobile out of construction paper, some red twine, and a coat hanger. Math, a bit earlier, had me trying to explain the phenomenon of being able to arrange coins a number of ways and yet always have them total two dollars. No two days are the same and you’d be amazed what you can learn, yourself, when you keep repeating the same grade over and over after more than five decades. If they’ll have me back and the good Lord doesn’t mind, I think I’ll give it a go again next time around………….

Sunday morning was our second weekend in a row to visit the Youth Detention Center and once again there was a flow of God’s presence. Each man’s testimony gave witness that we were not there to demand anybody’s theology of these kids, but to give invitation for them to embrace the reality of who He is. I don’t do “altar calls”, trusting instead that the Holy Ghost knows each person’s heart and meets them in the closing prayer as they, themselves, are willing to open the door unto Him. On this occasion, as we raised our heads to dismiss, tears ran down more than one face and several young men, as guards permitted, came forward to talk with us………..

Sunday evening I sat in a three-hour class on reaching others for Christ. Soul winning; and most of us present for this initial voyage into what was termed a Discovery seminar were already involved in a ministry of some sort. We all agreed that the most common reason people shied away from talking to strangers about their faith was a fear of being incompetent of the task and therefore rejected; but then compiled a large enough list of techniques on how to achieve success in such endeavor that it, alone, would scare off volunteers. And, while we did acknowledge the necessity of the Spirit’s involvement, it yet remains we failed to give unto Him His individual identity…………..

Who is this third member of the Trinity? When Paul refers to us, as believers, having “the mind of Christ”, is he simply referring to our thinking as Christ? Who among us can claim that accomplishment? I know of no one; and am therefore inclined to think the reference is to our “born-again” acquisition. Especially since Jesus, Himself, said the Comforter would teach us all things, bring His words to our remembrance, and in such duties serve as a confirmation of His promise. Knowing Him but momentarily as He comes up out of some inner well to meet me in either my hour of need or my song of praise takes nothing away from His deity…………..

Wednesday’s midweek service was the beginning of a Josh McDowell series to be taught by our pastor. Its focus is on helping our children to maintain a solid foundation in the faith; and I approached it with hesitancy, not trusting anything anymore that resembles in any way that which television evangelism has brought to us during the past few decades. The initial class, though, dealing with our fears about what the future holds for our prodigy (I kept my tongue about the Church, itself, being my own greatest concern) was interesting. The author fed us “facts”, gained (I suppose) from surveys he, himself had taken. I’m not all that impressed by such investigative procedure, but do admit the idea of asking people to define just what it is they believe has always appealed to me. Too many out there, in my opinion, don’t take time to ponder their religiosity, finding it easier to simply “follow the herd”…………

Don’t get me wrong. It’s just as true, no doubt, that there’s a lot of “mental theologians who have gone to the opposite extreme. Give a man a Book and he’s quite capable of building his own kingdom out of chapter and verse. They did it with the Law in the Old Testament. Who are we that we should be any different? We are not; and, such being the case, the point I’m trying to make, here, is not whether we do or do not use our God-given ability to think. It’s a safe bet we all walk by our own reasoning. The question is: By what do we steer? In the video we watched, self-professing “born-again” teenagers were asked their greatest source for truth; and Mr. McDowell thought it sad that the majority simply replied: “Myself!” I would suggest, however, that none of us, if we are honest, would answer otherwise. It’s not about making the Bible our compass, but a matter of who is our magnetic “true north”…………

Christianity isn’t about “circling our wagons” around our individual slants on Scripture. The devil is not afraid of our doctrinal stance. What he fears is a manifestation of that which was restored unto us via Calvary! The Rock upon which Jesus established the Body was not given unto Peter via “flesh and blood”, but by the same vehicle the Father would soon make available unto all of humanity on a permanent basis! I, too, therefore, grieve over the response given the author by these same young men and women when asked: “Who or what is the Holy Ghost?” No one recognized the third member of the Trinity as a reality. No one spoke of Him in terms of possessing divinity at all. “He” was merely an internal ethics code learned along the way by their perusal of the Bible and their attachment to an ecclesiastical assembly. Church: Seems to me I already expressed my greatest fear a bit earlier in this post…………..

A last-minute phone call opened opportunity for my group to gain an extra visit to the Youth Detention Center this last Sunday and, even on short notice, we still managed to muster a crew. This coming weekend is our regular slot, but this isn’t just ministry to us. This is “church”. This is the cry of our heart. We weep for these kids and with these kids. It’s not about slamming home our personal version of the Book, nor condemning them over their present circumstances. Indeed, I thought it nice when two young men, on this occasion, came to us afterwards for prayer and one of them offered his gratitude that someone could speak to them as people rather than convicts. Makes one wonder what the other members of the program are doing………..

I was reading a bit of Brennan Manning’s “Ragamuffin Gospel” yesterday. Not enough to see where he takes his initial chapter, but enough to take me into deep thoughts, once again, about “grace”. After thirty-plus years of weighing all that’s been preached to me along the way against what proved itself out in my life, I confess the subject remains to me one of the basic mysteries of my faith. Some, in assigning it definition, simply find it a condition completed by Christ and given en masse unto mankind without mandate. Others like to catalogue a list of requirements on how to both gain it and maintain it. I have come to believe it, however, yet another name for Yahweh, even as Emmanuel or Jehovah. God “in me”, and it transcends all rhyme or reason…………

In one or two of those sermons just referred to, the idea was put forth that a bucketful of milk, if tipped over, ought to exhibit: milk! That sounds good; but, while we like to talk about being “full” of the Holy Ghost, in truth we actually operate out of a double spigot. One might be labeled “Spirit”, but the other reads “self”; and I’ve got my own opinion as to which one usually accounts for most of the flow. It bears witness in the taste of it. Not just in the acidity of someone else’s remarks, but in my own miscues as well. The only question is: Do we care about whose image we represent, whose kingdom we promote? In truth, too many of us only serve a theology in which the Savior has been relegated to a backroom in the middle of Chapter Thirty-three………..

Life around my house has changed drastically with the recent addition of two more adults and three small children, the youngest of which is nearing his third birthday and possessing enough energy to go just about non-stop. We have three bedrooms to the rear and a kitchen in front with a family room to either side. That creates a circular course for junior to run, stopping only to explore the nooks and crannies along the way. His older brother and sister have squatter’s rights to my computer, but are now enrolled at the Elementary School where I’m employed. Grandkids: God’s gift to an old man. Working with kids: it keeps you young. And I’m very happy with my “retirement” package……………

I’m not in Depends yet, of course; but facing facts is not all that hard to do when everywhere you look there’s a bit of evidence that can’t be denied. A good buddy of mine, with whom I railroaded for three decades, passed away just before Christmas. A friend from church was taken to the hospital yesterday and given a diagnosis that her doctors simply had her on too much mediation. My brother-in-law just learned he has a spot of cancer on his kidney, caught early enough, we believe, for surgery to eradicate it. And my wife went down a flight of concrete steps on her tailbone a few weeks ago. She’s up and walking, but quite sore. My generation is hanging in there, but the writing is on the wall…………….

You get up each day, count your blessings, and take life as it comes at you. In the middle of all the chaos lately, the bathroom commode began leaking a blue liquid from the reservoir and while there’s not much elbow space for a fellow to get his head, his hand, and the appropriate wrench back behind the contraption, it seemed necessary to at least try. Straddling the throne, I leaned forward, poked my nose as far as it could go around the side of the bowl, and strained to tighten a bolt I could only hope was being turned. In the end, however, it all came down to swallowing my pride and passing the job on to a younger male with enough stamina to survive the mission. Thank God for Mark……………….

The divine comedy, held together with prayer……….

At mid-week service this past Wednesday, the pastor elaborated a bit on that “point of grace” again, seeing it in terms of God not meeting our needs until the manifest themselves in our life. I’m not so sure I like the explanation any better than the earlier presentation; but, of a truth, our use of words sometimes utterly fails us in establishing a solid connection between the speaker and his audience. Probably not the case, though, with the missionary who followed him, delivering a sermon over “The Four Basic facts of Christianity”. It fell far short, in my book, anyway, of giving us “steak and potatoes”. Expounding on (a) God is good; (b) the devil is bad; (c) sin is evil; and (d) doing right makes you feel glad all the time, he basically reduced the Gospel to an old-fashioned sampler stitching and left us with the idea that our salvation is merely a matter of keeping our hands out of the cookie jar. Nothing really wrong with the message. Just no depth to it………….

Where, then, is common ground? In this religious exercise that we so practice within our calls to worship, this declaring of Scripture that the Bible, itself, refers to as the “foolishness of preaching”, where is profitable venture? We each, according to individual denominational tenets, count it all joy when a new convert is cloned into the kingdom; but whose kingdom is it we extend? I recall Christ speaking to some scribes and Pharisees about their birthing of proselytes, and the description he pinned on the high and pious wasn’t too pretty. Can it be that we, also, have drifted off course somewhere along the way, more concerned about our personal point of view than we are about His breathing life into us? I realize, of course, that, for the most part, we probably operate out of a sincere heart. The question is: do we operate out of His? In proclaiming a risen Savior, just how much of Him is in the offering? Indeed, how much of Him is in our everyday witness?..................

I’ve been pondering an old imagery meant to illustrate the Spirit’s penetration into all that we are. Someone once envisioned using a quart mason jar to represent a man’s existence. Inside the glass container were placed a few small rocks, some marbles, and a bunch of tiny ball bearings. Then, as final attempt to completely fill whatever space was left: sand. You and I, holding whatever hang-ups, wounds, opinions, and you-name-its that we’ve collected down through the years; and yet (this someone said) it remains very possible to pour water into the nooks and crannies of it all at any time. What if, however, it’s not a matter of whether the water finds entrance via the top, the bottom, or even some unknown inner piece of plumbing? What if it’s not so much about the volume of water in the jar as it is about how much we allow it to penetrate all that we are and then come forth in all that He is? I’m not looking for another bottle of television’s “snake oil”. Just the real Holy Ghost…………..

Looks to me like birthdays should give us enough reason to pause and examine our existence from all perspectives without using society’s calendar change and midnight’s tick of the clock for the same purpose. Nonetheless, I found myself last night, for the first time in a long time, seated at a pre-watch-service fellowship and talking with a friend over a cup of coffee. He and his wife, both, are “preacher’s kids”, their own nest now empty, the oldest child pursuing a call into missions. Our conversation concerned roads traveled. Having grown up within the realm of ministry, his ecclesiastical history stretches farther back than my own, even though I’ve got at least a couple of decades longevity on him. Marty is the guy, though, who has slowly become my “theology discussion partner”. We think alike, for the most part; or at least enough so that we don’t have to worry about communication developing into World War Three……

Nothing deep; so far, anyhow; and, on this occasion, mostly we just pondered the years behind us. In the bulletin that morning, the pastor had written how he preferred to look back, thinking more in terms of particular seasons in life, rather than despairing over mistakes and hard times along the way. I agree. In going forward (and hopefully all of us intend to take our next breath), all we really possess is memories of where we have already been. As quickly as we can forget what we had for breakfast yesterday, what exactly it was that we walked into the other room to do, it yet remains that locked within our brains is every nano-second of every moment we have ever known. Tomorrow gives us little choice in what it brings. The next step, however, merely requires deciding: (a) which baggage we wish to take with us; (b) whose voice we will allow to serve as compass. That’s true of our walk through both the world and the Church……

This was my sixty-sixth encounter with January 1st. Less than half of that time frame held any real relationship with God, my initial introductions to the Body of Christ failing to birth within me any real understanding of what it was all about. Then, being reconciled unto Him in March of ’72, I thought for awhile that the mystery was solved, but learned along the way that enigma would always be part of the package. Pastor’s sermon Sunday included a number of wisdoms given him by a mentor upon reaching the ripe, old age of sixty. Number thirteen on the list was: "God never gives us grace in advance.” I disagree; although it just might hold water for much of that which claims to represent Him. If that sounds like, in pronouncing judgment, I might be guilty of the same sin, I plead only that I yet wrestle with the two options above. Happily at home in this new section of the sanctuary, but aware of the kingdom at large……