Brainwaves

My granddaughter, McKenna, will soon be entering Third Grade and just returned with her family from vacationing in South Carolina. Homesick for Mamaw, she came to stay a few days with us; and yesterday Beth, wanting to step back in time, I suppose, invited two of her church friends for an overnight visit. It’s been awhile since my life was filled with the sounds that three little girls can bring to one’s existence. Giggles galore. In the pool with the two oldest boys, they sat atop a large, white, inflated lounge as if riding a horse through a fairytale and nonsensically screamed as the males attacked each other in a game of “shark ray”. At the house it was non-stop conversation whether their play involved dolls, computer, or television; and, while the subject matter might merely take in Sponge Bob’s stupidity, their discussion of it seemed somehow adult in the manner they brought it forth…..

The Bible notes that Adam was made to fall into “a deep sleep” and then, while he was snoring, the Creator opened him up, took out a rib, sewed him up, and: Voila! Eve! It’s occurred to me, though, that there’s a whole lot left out of that story. If nothing else, we now know that some sort of hormone switch drastically altered the original blueprint; but, even beyond the obvious physical re-alignments, there’s more evidence indicating this was not an attempt to duplicate the previous product. Why, for example, did He opt for the voice box within the female of the species not to tilt, thus giving seduction a sound to enhance the visual image? Why did He, at the same time, instill within her love for linguistics? Then there’s that whole brain theory of right lobe versus left lobe, both lobes rather than no lobes. Why, in ordaining that such union of genders be a norm for familial relationship, did He also make it so hard for the two to communicate on the same frequency?.....

I’m thinking that either God has a sense of humor, or “la dee-fa-rawnce” (as the French put it) brings just enough excitement, mystique, and exasperation to the affair to make it interesting. It’s like a chess match that ends in mate, like a game of Clue where, once you figure out who did what where, you just shuffle the cards and simply start all over again. If you ask my wife, she’ll tell you that the solution is for me to just shut up, pay attention, and listen…..

Tim Russert’s “Meet the Press” was known to me merely from occasional news clips, bits and pieces here and there. Its time slot is probably to blame, conflicting with my own love of Sunday morning worship. What little I knew of the man nonetheless spoke to me of his character and his integrity; and so, passing through Sam’s and spotting the two books that he authored, I bought “Wisdom of Our Fathers”. Its content is a collection of testimonies, each chapter distinguished by somewhat similar approaches individual people have taken in describing their paternal parent. Some have brought tears to my eyes. Some have made me smile. Some have given me reason to shake my head and wonder if, rather than “Wisdom”, a better first word in the title wouldn’t have been “Legacy”. Interesting to me, though, how within these pages it is quite clear that what makes a good father isn’t some standard “one-size-fits-all” format……

The accounts, therein, vary in length, many no more than a small paragraph, but the volume put forth has little to do with the common thread that flows through each. Some stories, as one might expect, connect with your heart, telling of a bond somehow created by sacrifice shown, unspoken truth manifested in the giving of self. Others offer no such history, setting down on paper only the man, himself, his personality, his essence, warts and all, yet ending no differently, leaving one with the feeling that, above all else, “This is/was my dad!” No less pride. It’s like there exists a spiritual umbilical cord, beyond the one severed at birth, which ties the child to both the masculine and feminine parts of its creation; and this cord, unlike the other, can only be decisively clamped at either end, a matter of individual determination in the nurturing of that relationship…..

For several weeks my pastor has been speaking on how “a wise man leaves an inheritance unto his children’s children”. In other words, we’re not talking financial security here, but a theology, a philosophy, an idea that says “this is what it’s all about, this is how it should be lived”. Love, it seems to me, just naturally develops, for the most part, no matter how big a mess we tend to make of things. It spans some huge gulfs. As far as wisdom, I suspect there is little within any of us that greatly resembles such treasure. Therefore, the best we can do is to put what we have of both into that One who envelops all aspects of parenting. If it yet remains a stumble, at least He’s around to iron out the wrinkles as we go. Anything I leave to my daughter and grandkids won’t amount to much; but if I’ve taught them somehow that He lives, then they’ll be in good hands…..

My return to Wednesday evening’s mid-week Bible study after a three week absence proved to be more of a ninety-minute restless occupying of my thoughts in the back pew. The fellow teaching the class did nothing wrong, sharing a couple of admirable opinions on the Christian experience and leading us through several verses of Scripture in Ephesians. For this old man, however, it was like hearing the same Kindergarten lesson for the six thousandth time. There was no meat, only milk, and discussed with no mention at all of the biggest truth that holds it all together. I know: that makes me appear to be some stuffed shirt who thinks he, alone, has solved the great mystery. Believe me: that scenario has crossed my mind. My mouth remains shut for the most part, though, it seeming to me that He is well able to speak for Himself and does not need me to demand an audience. Neither the world at large nor the Church, seated in all her padded pews, is going to change by my stirring up things…..

It was interesting for me to read Tozer’s view of this nation’s religious outlooks during those two great global conflicts in the early 1900s. He noted America as coming out of the first and being “bitter, cynical, disillusioned, and thoroughly angry with God”. Humanism arose from the ashes of theology rejected. Faith in peace and brotherhood came upon us, in the author’s words, “like a yo-yo epidemic”. When the second war plunged us into the reality of our own inability “to find our way alone”, only then did we, as a country, begin to look around for the Creator. Christianity was back in fashion. Trouble was: it was also “big business”. His grace had become a popular commodity, one that we, ourselves, could produce, package, and sell for a profit. Tozer died in 1964. I wonder what he’d have to say about where we presently exist as an ecclesiastical society. He was quite the Fundamentalist; but, even so, I’m inclined to think, as he, that we are merely yet marching mostly to the tune of our own egos…..

C.S. Lewis, in accounting for those who seek proof for the Supernatural, offered the story of a Native American who, having learned several other languages, was requested to explain his own tribe’s grammar. He could not. Seems He knew it (in one sense) so well that (in another sense) he did not realize there was any structure to it. I like the analogy, but find that it points more at believers than at skeptics. We step into a denomination by whatever means, find God already doctrinally pre-assembled, and there we remain. Over and over, what we hear is what we’ve heard from the beginning; and we testify, not by His voice leading us as we go, but by an image cemented in our mind from years of having someone else define it for us. We rest in our common-unity and trust in His grace. Beyond that, it’s a personal matter. What I have learned along the way is that the Gospel is not the Printed Page, but His resurrected reality in who and what I am. If He doesn’t come forth, what you have is just my stinkin’ thinkin’…..

"The people who help us grow toward true self offer unconditional love, neither judging us to be deficient nor trying to force us to change but accepting us exactly as we are. And yet this unconditional love does not lead us to rest on our laurels. Instead, it surrounds us with a charged force field that makes us want to grow from the inside out - a force field that is safe enough to take the risks and endure the failures that growth requires.”-Parker J. Palmer, “A Hidden Wholeness”

Hope simply extended this quote on her blog the other day and it has been rolling around in my brain ever since. My comment to her was that, while I could enjoy the message it brought forth, I wondered if it is possible for anyone other than God to possess the condition it applauded. Surely, if we know it at all, if we can express it at all, it is in a stumble; for to so connect with anyone, His hand has to be in the arrangement and, even then, our humanity too often makes a mess of things. Someone once asked me in a Sunday school class what love was and, in pondering the question, I wrote that it was “a knot inside that God, Himself, has tied”. I find that to be true if one examines it from parental perspective, sexual union, or rare relationships that come to us, but also believe that, even if the bond be divinely cemented, the process of life can really bring “unconditional” to the point of a personal cross; and that is not always so easy to accept from where we, as mortals, stand…..

God, on the other hand, has always possessed such ability. It’s called “grace”; and, while there’s one verse in the Bible announcing it to have come through Christ, in the Old Testament we can read how it was divinely given to both Noah and Moses. I’m inclined, therefore, to believe that what Jesus does bring to us is an eternal character trait of the Almighty simply wrapped in a different package. While we tend to define it as a pardon of all our sins, a gift of mercy and kindness rather than condemnation, and see it only through New Testament eyes, what Calvary actually added to the Covenant is a return to what Adam knew in the beginning: oneness with his Creator. We experience it from another realm of incarnation, knowing it neither as the Savior from birth, nor the first man from first breath, but as one who learns it from a point of conversion. The relationship required much of God, especially when you consider He knew how greatly we would neglect it once received…..

It’s who we are; and, in truth, the scenario plays out with just about the same results in our attempts to so love one another. It’s a roll of the dice on one side, a heart-felt sacrifice on the other…

History bears record that all but one of the disciples died as a direct result of evangelizing the Gospel; and even John, who lived to a ripe old age, makes it clear in that final book he adds to the Bible, that he suffered Patmos “for the word of God and for the testimony of Jesus Christ”. Getting the twelve to leave Jerusalem took a Holy Ghost kick in the butt, yet once Paul’s boldness made clear just how far abroad the good news was meant to go, each ventured forth to meet whatever destiny the call demanded of them. The question, it seems to me, is whether the same commitment is required of everyone who so kneels at the Cross. Are we all to be evangelistic outthrusts; and, if so, in what manner? Is there some sanity in “winning the lost” or just our vanity trying to justify our own personal understanding of the matter? Knock! Knock! Who’s there? Sorry I asked…..

Door-to-door witnessing is, no doubt, the most unpleasant ministry I ever attempted, but not because people didn’t receive me well. Rather it was a matter of remembering my own pre-conversion dislike of others approaching my home under such motive and, now, here I was, intruding where I wasn’t invited. So, what drove me to do it? The belief that there was more to this than just occupying a pew and that rare occasion when something connected, revealing His Spirit in the middle of my foolishness and bringing flow to the conversation. From suburban bell-ringing to late night walking inner city streets (you might be surprised how many will open up to you if you don’t assault them like some Crusader out to convert the heathen) to visiting the nursing homes to present monthly visits to the Detention Center, He has proved Himself faithful when my ego stays out of it…..

Indeed, I think my last statement says it all regardless what form our outreach efforts take. If it’s all about creating an image, you may be doing the right thing, but you’re doing it for the wrong reason. The “kingdom” equates to “the Holy Ghost in me”, not some charitable accomplishment on my part. It is the Spirit operating “on” me as well as “through” me; and the mission remains His to achieve whether the method of manifestation is in our giving or in our speaking. His “will” doesn’t translate to feeding the poor or making peace or forcing your version of chapter and verse down the world’s throat. His “will” has an identity and a name and possesses more wisdom about seeing God’s intentions fulfilled than any man can imagine. My advice to others has always been to “relax” and fall into His flow. All energy otherwise tends to extend out of our own thoughts, our own desires……

That’s why it remains a stumble.

Television drama series don’t hold my attention all that long. After awhile they all seem to grow stale. I sat and watched an episode of my latest discovery the other night, though, a re-run, no doubt, but one prior to my point of entry. “Bones” has a criminal investigative team that is somehow attached to the Smithsonian Institute: one detective; the rest all individual in their scientific specialties, unique in their personalities, and geniuses in their ability to solve any mystery concerning skeletal remains. In this particular scenario, a time capsule buried by a high school class in 1983 is opened twenty-five years later and inside, much to the horror of everyone involved, is a corpse, or at least what’s left of one after more than two decades have passed. The story, as it played out, involved the usual discoveries that technology brings to man’s knowledge bank, allowing them to “crack the case”; but, in digesting it, my mind went out into left field…..

Each of us, in a sense, is a time capsule. Remove all the exterior, as Buechner suggested, and when we get down to the nitty-gritty of whatever, whoever this being within us is, what‘s left is a recording, of sorts, complete with visual image, of the distance travelled, the journey as it occurred, or maybe no more than as we remember it to have been. Only God knows the facts, seeing things from all perspectives and bringing them into focus my His omniscience. Does it sound blasphemous, though, to admit I pondered the idea that, in essence, each of us could be merely a DVD in a collection amassed by the Almighty? The possibilities are endless, since He could view them separately, in the same manner you or I might “zero in” on character in a movie, seeing the plot through his eyes, or watch the entire epic via several members of the cast, simultaneously. The ultimate cinematic experience: one Producer, one director, infinite stars, with discretion to edit as He sees fit…..

If that sounds reminiscent of Twilight Zone, I confess to walking there every now and then. Scripture tells us that the Creator is able to read our thoughts “from afar off”. Surely He has to shake His head and wonder about me. Some close their eyes and muse about heaven, but I’m more prone to question the mechanics of our faith, explore the world as we know it and reconcile it to life in Christ as it has come to me. It’s not enough for me to possess a pocketful of Biblical terms explained to me through someone else’s doctrinal definition, nor am I satisfied with a chapter-and-verse, cut-and-pasted image of who He is. Our relationship is a mixture of encounters where all I need to understand is the grace that has so engulfed me, and learning sessions that are more like field trips, treasure hunts, bumps in the dark, where the lesson being taught is as much about me as it is about Him. No bones about it: Christ “in” me remains the mystery of the Gospel…..

With the pastor of my old church vacationing in Florida, his second-in-command was given the pulpit Sunday evening, possibly because he and his family will soon be assuming another position elsewhere. An invitation to hear him speak found me seated four rows back with my youngest daughter in a recently remodeled sanctuary that makes you think you’re sitting in a television studio. I would be less than truthful, though, if I didn’t admit to leaving afterwards with a bit of a nostalgic wish to once more be a part of a denominational heritage I yet see as embracing the fullness of what Christ brings unto us……

His sermon sprang out of a few verses near the beginning of Acts that did nothing more than give him a bounce into his subject of “I Still Believe”; and, again, I confess to his having had me as well as the entire congregation on our feet agreeing with much of his message. There’s no denying that, in concluding, his words touched hearts and several came for prayer. What I tend to question is his failure to note, in his proclamation of a world about to bring conflict to the Pentecostal community, that we, ourselves, have so misrepresented the Indwelling that it is little wonder how people view what we preach…..

I, too, stand on the reality of an overflowing of the vessel, a manifestation of the Holy Ghost via a number of avenues, including a place in our petitioning where language transitions to a connected flow of His presence. I, too, agree to there existing, if not a permanent state of our having been sanctified, at least a time when we can be one with Him in His righteousness. If there is error in the image we have held up for public scrutiny, it doesn’t come from His side of the Covenant, but from humanity’s handling of the gift as given. The kingdom is internal, not external, a divine Reality within me before whom I bow…..

You don’t much find it put into such terms any more. We’ve become our own source of faith, self-appointed super-stars operating more out of vanity than out of any directional instruction from God. The Book is a sword swung by our hand, not His, utilized to carve our individual totem and then demand that others bow down before it. The Gospel, from the beginning, though, was never the printed page, but the Inspiration from which it sprang, the Voice which spoke in the darkness and gave light, the Spirit that conquered the grave, resurrecting Christ and reconnecting men thereafter with their Creator…..

So I have found it to be…..

Beth and I drove down to Barbourville, Kentucky Wednesday afternoon, getting a hotel room near the Interstate, actually, and then motoring the thirty extra minutes back and forth to Youth Camp as the need for sleep or meals developed. Three decades ago this was a yearly event for us with our daughters. The two oldest grandsons, however, have not been all that eager to abandon home for five days until now and so, after a long absence, this trip was a renewing of old memories. Old-time holiness used to run a pretty tight ship on those grounds, to the point of requiring girls to wear long skirts while playing softball. I was a bit surprised, therefore, to learn that knee-length shorts were now permitted for both genders, shocked to discover that day services had been reduced to a two-hour morning get-together, and confused as to why, in tearing down the old dilapidated barn that served as quarters for the male populace, they had positioned its replacement in the same spot, allowing any hard rainfall to flood its inhabitants…..

Evening worship was yet conducted within the gymnasium area of the main building, wall-to-wall congregation seated on folding chairs and, when a call to prayer was given, the first ten rows or so would disperse to make that entire area a sea of kids seeking a move of the Holy Ghost. Music was still that upbeat, Appalachian style of rhythm that draws the crowd into its rendering. The preaching, both nights we were there, was nothing deep, a good deal of enthusiasm with not much holding it in place, take a verse and run with it for an hour. In truth, it was no more than the theme, itself, that sparked Wednesday’s finality and when the same method failed to get the same results Thursday, the evangelist spent a second hour trying to force a connection between heaven and earth. In spite of the foolishness that some can make of the Gospel, though, it yet remains an individual matter between our heart and His Spirit. God has worked many a miracle in the midst of our humanity. He asks only that we humble ourselves and admit our need of Him…..

I am thankful to have been there for the boys’ first encounter with camp and count myself blessed to have shared with them in approaching His throne. We’ve talked since and I trust His hand at work in life…..

Beth and I celebrated our 44th wedding anniversary this past April and, although I know of some who mysteriously pulled the plug and let their boat sink after longer voyages than ours, I feel confident enough in what we possess to say I think we have weathered the storm. Does that mean we now simply let someone else steer the ship while we both sunbathe on an upper deck? That’s silly. The winds still blow; the weather is not always pleasant; and often, in our efforts to keep our course, the hardest part about working together is in grasping what we’re trying to say to each other. Even beyond the gender gap, humanity’s ability to communicate is hindered by the truth that terminology doesn’t always produce the same exact image. We remain individuals and “horse” might translate to palomino to you, but pinto to me. It takes discussion, patience, and humility if we want to go somewhere…..

I find that true whether the vessel represents our marriage, our local church, or our country. Where we get off-track, it seems to me, (other than a reluctance to develop those elements already mentioned) is in our understanding of “leadership”. There are those who believe a successful union between man and wife is accomplished via a woman’s submission unto whatever her spouse decides. One guy in front. Just shut up and follow his rules. Is that a home, though, or a dictatorship? We make the same mistake, I think, in church; and such critique applies to both pastor-driven and deacon-board-driven assemblies. We choose our partners and we usually elect our ecclesiastical figureheads, but when position becomes an assumed designation of superiority, life leaves the entity and you’re left with an institution. An institution in an “airless bubble”, in fact, full of stink and dead men’s bones…..

Eisenhower took a piece of string and, in trying to push it forward from either end, gave us a good illustration of what a man achieves in trying to so manipulate another’s directional path. He believed in stepping out in front, doing your best with that which the Almighty gives unto you, and if God be in it, then He’ll also bring along others to follow. I agree; but, being Navy rather than Army, tend to visualize it in a more nautical setting. To me, it’s like being aboard a boat with no means of navigation other than catching His breath in the sails. It’s not all that important how many of us establish a crew or who has their hand on the boom, as long as we are agreed: we go nowhere without Him. Fill your lungs with as much hot air as you can get in them. Huff and puff all you want. My faith is not in your declaration of heaven being just over the horizon, but in the reality of His presence, His promise manifested…..

People speak of jetlag, referring to a long flight setting them down in a different time zone and their body having to adjust to another schedule. I find a sixteen hour drive from St. Pete to northern Kentucky much the same. Losing sleep in the very beginning and then occupying your mind for an extended period with not much more than the continuous flow of traffic in front of you tends to numb the brain cells as you go. At sixty-six, at least, it’s not as easy as it once was. Suffice it to say that, Sunday morning, yet in bit of a fog but scheduled to visit the Youth Detention Center, I wasn’t so sure how my thoughts would connect and hold together in speaking to whatever group God had waiting for us. Experience, though, has taught me it is never about us, but about Him. In spite of the guard’s warning that these kids were giving them trouble the last few days, as Bob began to share with them, His Spirit stepped into our midst and from there on the room was one…..

It was, then, Sunday afternoon that proved to be the harder transition for me. Beth’s family was celebrating a nephew’s retirement and I found myself, not in just a gathering of the clan, but in a rather large mix of community he knew from areas beyond my scope of recognition. Not that number, alone, was the problem. I just don’t do well in crowds. While hopefully my ability to mingle has improved down through the years, it yet remains that “small talk” is no easy matter for me. Relaxing in Him is one thing. Relaxing in “me” is another. It strikes me, though, that, for the most part, none of us know each other to any real depth of insight, only via such encounters here and there. We do not talk to do so. I have no doubt given men at the rescue mission more testimony of my life, more witness of my outlook on life, than I‘ve ever discussed with my in-laws; and the same is true in reverse. Yet, in both scenarios, there must be a divine door opened in the sharing of one’s heart…..

Is not Christ more than a message? Is not the Gospel a resurrected Reality more so than any one man’s version of the printed page? The location of the pulpit holds little value, the same also true concerning the vessel who delivers the Word. Like Olympic sprinters carrying the torch, so we, as believers, run with fire, not just passing the flame, but hopefully kindling a candle within the soul of those we meet. Make no mistake about it, however; none of us are ever anything more than a container through which He works. He is the igniting of the wick, the water in our well, the bread we break and then partake. If there be any foolishness in our ecclesiastical attempts to win the lost, let it be known that it is we, alone, in chasing our own egos, who resemble the clown. When His presence comes forth, it speaks for itself, whether men wish to face it and fall before it, or run for the exit. Truth remains truth and men remain men; but, in Him, if only for a brief moment, we can be more…..

Compared to former years, the condo unit and the beach, here, both seem void of the usual crowd, current gas prices, no doubt, having pressured folk into prioritizing their pocketbook expenditures. My family is just fortunate enough to have a relative who donates this package to us at a price that yet seems affordable. If the economy yet continues to strangle the average American, though, next summer may find us camping at the creek instead. We learn our lessons, I suppose, as life comes to us. It’s the nature of the beast….

Early the other morning, I watched as four young boys, pre-teen, with the surf to themselves, attempted to attack the waves like their older brothers. With a small boogie-board in hand, one fellow charged across the wet sand and into the white foam, only to misjudge the water’s retreat, planting his intended means of transportation like a javelin in the wet muck of the shoreline. His own inertia now caused the “tombstone” in front of him to resist the onward mass of his body and flipped him head over heels into the briny….

I chuckled from my viewpoint on the fifth floor; but, in truth, have had my own share of such spills along the way and, in all honesty, after getting up and brushing myself off, have more than once been no wiser than to simply repeat the whole scenario. Others may not share my own degree of stupidity. We are, though, to say the least, strange creatures who think ourselves as having most things figured out, capable to meet whatever tomorrow brings, individually better off not to trust the other guy in most matters….

If we agree on little and are seldom congruent on any one issue, it’s because our opinions have been forged from different perspectives, assembled out of hard knocks and mishaps encountered during the journey. Religion. Politics. Global Warming. Child discipline. How to get from here to there. Start a conversation. Stir up the pot and stand back. When the dust settles, usually nobody has convinced anybody else of much. Each has just further solidified his mental image of the other. Our faith is in what we think we know….

Give me, then, God’s grace, the nex step, and better aim with my boogie board….