“It’s not IS God going to provide for and protect me. It’s How He’ll accomplish that.
Ah, the glories of JCrew sermons. Always visual. Always with jokes throughout. Always with stories that you may wish were not actually true (It’s time…for the bodywash). And somehow, always so applicable. I love the mix I receive as a believer from attending the larger worship services and my life group, with lessons purely aimed at a community of adults, and attending Saturday night junior high, where the lessons are not aimed at me, but rather, at a more basic, clear understanding of the Bible to lay the groundwork for their future lives of serving Christ and others. All that purely means: Josh is awesome, but not anywhere near as awesome as the lessons God is continually trying to hammer into my head. Not with a hammer, mind you, but in a continual method that needs to be hammer-like in order to make it through to me.
Thus the quote above. Now, I’ve professed believing that God will serve and protect me for my whole life, because I am His beloved daughter. Period. Looking back on my life, even, say, just my married life, it’s chrystal clear the ways and times where we needed x,y or z, and God met that need in an exact way that I couldn’t even have dreamed of.
But in the midst of this, I realized something. Though I do trust God, I trust Him in a different role than I should. I trust Him in a sort of distant-grandparent sort of way. As if He didn’t orchestrate my life, but rather, was always in the wings if I need it or to offer congratulations at rising above life’s challenges. Or to offer stories of “when I was a boy…”
Thus, when I hit a crisis, which as anyone who knows me has learned that it is almost exactly every six months. Sometimes to the day!!! Even though I know God can and has and will provide, what I tend to think is something like this:
Aright God, I dunno what you’re doing. In fact, I’m quite upset at the fact that you saw the need to shake up a path that I thought was finally coming to some fruition. But it’s okay. Because I will save this. I will work hard, be aggressive, become exhausted, and save the world. Or at least, save my home and jobs and marriage and dreams. I’ll do it. I’m ready. Okay, I’m taking off now. I’m still not very happy with you. But I know you can provide.”
Not very trusting, is it. Or at least, not in the right person. I trust myself. I am confident, talented, and a hard worker. I trust my husband to comfort me when those other three things break down. I trust most people to let me down, but it’s okay, I can solve my own problems. And, oh yes, I trust God to be there.
But, it’s a question that has to be asked: Why do I trust that God will be there, but that He’s too busy or distracted or determined not to provide for my needs?
Case in point (to prove me wrong, as it were). Three weeks after losing a temp job I’d been told for weeks I’d be gaining full-time status at, I landed a better job, with better benefits, closer to home, with more flexibility and challenges. Tim lands a job, after commuting a half an hour to a job he didn’t really appreciate (or v. versa), literally 2 miles from our home, with a Christian vision and mission and kindred spirits. Even when he looses said job, his pay in the past year at one time was enough so that even on unemployment, we make exactly how much it takes to pay our bills, combined with my two jobs. Exactly enough. How’s that for God’s math skills?
And yet it’s a fight for me. Because I am self-sufficient. Ask my parents, I always have been. I packed my bags to run away and start my own life at about 4 years old. My dad even helped me pack! I’ve travelled internationally by myself, led large groups of people by myself, planned entire campus-wide events by myself, gotten jobs and degrees and leadership positions by myself. Why would I assume that God needs to do these things for me? I’m fine with Him waiting in the wings. I’m fine to “pray continually” for others who are actually in need. I’m fine to receive a high-five from Him when I finally get that interview I’ve been waiting for for two years.
You see where the trouble is. I know there’s about 1,000 Bible verses to prove me wrong. To say that He is the author and Perfector, the Great I Am, mightier than anything I can imagine. I know it. I’ve read it, preached it, taught it, and tried to lead by example of it.
But I failed. I do everyday, it shouldn’t be such a surprise.
I’m going to take a second and pull some quotes from my favorite blog, “Stuff Christians Like.” I actually printed this out (which, if you know me, I never print anything out without express direct from the government for tax purposes).
“Although I fall repeatedly and feel shame at my weaknesses, God will never see that and reject me by saying, “Again? Again? Again?” I think that when Christ rose, the statement “again?!” died…He’s God. He’s bigger and wilder and more loving than we can even fathom.”
And you know what else? He can provide for me. He doesn’t need me to save the day. He loves me, and He loves my help, and He loves my passion to tackle the world, but He doesn’t love it when my pride and determination get in the way of Him doing the amazing things He orchestrates.
He is sufficient.
8.10.2009
8.04.2009
Dickens of a thing
So I had to use a literary quote at some point, my whole brain is riddled with them. At least I haven't stooped to the irrepressible Lord Byron yet.
"The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us, and the moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in pursuit of us; but, so far we are pursued by nothing else."
When I first read this I thought it was the most inspiring quote ever. I've never seen language so skillfully handled. It's the closing lines of a chapter from A Tale of Two Cities, one of my all-time favorite books.
I've begun to feel like that a lot recently. In this wierd....hologram. Okay, so the star trek references come out of the woodworks. I can't help that its one of three tv shows I watched as a child! But maybe that doens't make sense to some of you. Here's a better example: a vacuum. not to pick up dirt off floors, but this wierd...clear...nondescript place. And right outside, I am in that scene. The wind is whipping everything, wailing like a hurt child. The moon shine makes everything eerie and blinding in the darkness; clouds roil and boom in anticipation. Looking at it all, I'm crying, I'm terrified. I'm lost and scared and not sure where to go.
But then I blink. Then my eyes focus. and I realize, that I am shuttered away in this place of no harm. In a wierd, glass elevator of sorts. The glass us not breakable. The Savior's wing shields me. In this place that, though the effects of the storm around me are seen, heard, and effective, are not piercing. I was thinking about this before my last post, about how trust and safety are so intertwined. If you trust, you will feel safe, and not feel the need to worry. If you trust, no matter how scary things are, you will remain peaceful. Not in a surreal, serene way, but in a way that we know our foundations will not be moved. That we may be broken, battered, and dismayed, but never pierced. Never shattered. Never left for dead.
It's hard to see past the storm. It's hard to tear your eyes away from the raging sea, the crashing mountains, the inky black clouds and the whirlwind inches away. You can't ignore it. Nor can you fight it. But you can hold tight. You can trust. You can not only feel safe, but be safe.
The only thing I can think of right now is Hannah's song. Its long and gangly in the English translation, but I can just imagine her sitting in the temple, on her knees, singing, as she gave up the only thing she had been waiting her whole life for. May I be that peaceful in my times of worry and woe. May I have my foundations so secure that I sing when in pain and look through the storm to the arms holding me.
"The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us, and the moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in pursuit of us; but, so far we are pursued by nothing else."
When I first read this I thought it was the most inspiring quote ever. I've never seen language so skillfully handled. It's the closing lines of a chapter from A Tale of Two Cities, one of my all-time favorite books.
I've begun to feel like that a lot recently. In this wierd....hologram. Okay, so the star trek references come out of the woodworks. I can't help that its one of three tv shows I watched as a child! But maybe that doens't make sense to some of you. Here's a better example: a vacuum. not to pick up dirt off floors, but this wierd...clear...nondescript place. And right outside, I am in that scene. The wind is whipping everything, wailing like a hurt child. The moon shine makes everything eerie and blinding in the darkness; clouds roil and boom in anticipation. Looking at it all, I'm crying, I'm terrified. I'm lost and scared and not sure where to go.
But then I blink. Then my eyes focus. and I realize, that I am shuttered away in this place of no harm. In a wierd, glass elevator of sorts. The glass us not breakable. The Savior's wing shields me. In this place that, though the effects of the storm around me are seen, heard, and effective, are not piercing. I was thinking about this before my last post, about how trust and safety are so intertwined. If you trust, you will feel safe, and not feel the need to worry. If you trust, no matter how scary things are, you will remain peaceful. Not in a surreal, serene way, but in a way that we know our foundations will not be moved. That we may be broken, battered, and dismayed, but never pierced. Never shattered. Never left for dead.
It's hard to see past the storm. It's hard to tear your eyes away from the raging sea, the crashing mountains, the inky black clouds and the whirlwind inches away. You can't ignore it. Nor can you fight it. But you can hold tight. You can trust. You can not only feel safe, but be safe.
The only thing I can think of right now is Hannah's song. Its long and gangly in the English translation, but I can just imagine her sitting in the temple, on her knees, singing, as she gave up the only thing she had been waiting her whole life for. May I be that peaceful in my times of worry and woe. May I have my foundations so secure that I sing when in pain and look through the storm to the arms holding me.
7.21.2009
Hope.
Psalm 46:
God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea.
...Selah. Forever.
God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea.
...Selah. Forever.
7.13.2009
Practicality
So I've been trying to work my way through the new testament in a year. As can be expected, I'm sorely behind at this point (about 9 weeks I think), but its because I keep stopping and mulling over sections or specific verses before I go on.
I was recently reading an overly-familiar story of Lazarus being raised from the dead. Good stuff, all around, and this time, the whole story seemed to center more around Martha than Lazarus. As you can probably guess, I identify with Martha. She's practical. She's got things to do. She worships in action, in compassion and in providing for the needs of those around her. Mary's great and all, and I admire those who sit at the feet of Jesus and calmly stare into his eyes, hanging on every word. But I'll bring some knitting or sketching if you please, while I sit at His feet :) I'm kidding, but you get the picture. (JenAnn knows I can relax, it just usually involves taking up most of someone's floor :)
So right about the middle of the story, we see Martha, who ran out on the road to meet Jesus. That's right, Martha, not Mary, sitting at home, weeping. Martha, obviously in tears, face blotchy, stomach growling, wearing ripped mourning clothes and tired as all get out from running to meet him after crying for three days, says, truthfully, to Jesus, that if He had just been there, her brother would not have died. She hopefully adds, betraying her deep trust in this walking God, "But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask." She hopes. Maybe blindy -- she's never seen someone raised from the dead. but she hopes.
As they weep together, Jesus explains that its okay, Lazarus will be out walking around in a minute. She, completely in context, mistakenly assumes He means the final resurrection. Still with tears running down his face and matching liquid on hers, He makes it plainer, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?"
Of course she believes this. Her brother was one of Jesus' good friends. Her sister worships at his feet and stares, wide-eyed, at his every word. He has come to save her world, to save her soul, but not to save her brother's earthly life. But maybe...
That well of hope suddenly shoots up, but she quells it down. Her brother is dead. She saw him. He's behind a massive stone of the family tomb. His body is decaying. It's been not just hours, but days.
Still, she does believe in Jesus. So she answers Him truthfully, ""Yes, Lord," she told him, "I believe that you are the Christ,[b] the Son of God, who was to come into the world."
So they walk to the tomb. To mourn, the sisters (Mary eventually came along) assuming that they were just going to mourn in person, as it were. Jesus is still crying. They are still crying. Everyone, really, is still crying, the pain of losing a loved one is still so fresh.
Then Jesus asks some of the heftier men standing around (crying) to push away the stone. Mary, wordless, watching what her Beloved Lord would do, is still as a statue. Martha, struggling with teh hope that tries to overwhelm her, makes one last try at practicality, what she is so very good at: "by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days." True story. Rotting flesh, I assume, is both pretty strong and pretty sickening.
Both women are crying harder now, out of fear. Out of trust. Out of the impossible.
Jesus, however, is done sniffling. His voice rings out, loud enough, it develops, to wake the dead. There is no doubt that He knows what He is doing.
And the miracle happens. Their brother winks at them from behind his bandages. He does a little jig and hugs Jesus like the brothers they are. Mary cries, somehow, harder, but also laughs. Martha stops crying. She is shouting. She is whooping for joy. She is dancing, and spinning, and laughing and okay, maybe still crying a little. Jesus is still. He sees the celibration. He is a part of the celebration. And the tears come again - as He sees His precious children not only see, but believe. As He unites a family for the work God has called them for. As He gets to see His friend again, gets to grant life, the very thing He was made for from the beginning. The tears slip down his dusty and tanned face, but He smiles through them. And then, He joins the dance, praising His Father Above for the healing power that is before all time, in all time, and beyond all time.
Anyway. Sorry, got caught up in the story there. Martha. Practical. I was struck by the juxtaposition of her declaration of absolute faith, the so obvious desperate hope in her eyes, and the very practical observation that Lazarus is very, very dead. It doesn't make sense that she would say one thing, and after walking a half a mile, would say another. We realize she is ever-practical, but she is also committed. Why say one thing when she will lose her belief moments later.
Because she did not believe the impossible. She did believe in the Christ. She knew Him as only a few intimate friends did. She knew His step, His scent, His hands and His smile. And she believed, without question, in the time of her life that was the most grief and pain-filled she had ever known. God is Sovereign. Praise be to God.
But she did not believe the impossible. She believed in the known. She hoped. Oh, how she hoped. But she did not believe, not with everything she had, not beyond the limits of her sight or her mind or her human-born strength. She believed in what she knew. But she didn't even step into the realm of believing what she didn't know.
I pray that I can believe in what I don't know. For the Glory of God, so often, is displayed in ways that go far beyond what I know, and are weaved into a magnificent plan that I could never have dreamed of. Lazarus is alive. Jesus is alive. God is on His throne.
I was recently reading an overly-familiar story of Lazarus being raised from the dead. Good stuff, all around, and this time, the whole story seemed to center more around Martha than Lazarus. As you can probably guess, I identify with Martha. She's practical. She's got things to do. She worships in action, in compassion and in providing for the needs of those around her. Mary's great and all, and I admire those who sit at the feet of Jesus and calmly stare into his eyes, hanging on every word. But I'll bring some knitting or sketching if you please, while I sit at His feet :) I'm kidding, but you get the picture. (JenAnn knows I can relax, it just usually involves taking up most of someone's floor :)
So right about the middle of the story, we see Martha, who ran out on the road to meet Jesus. That's right, Martha, not Mary, sitting at home, weeping. Martha, obviously in tears, face blotchy, stomach growling, wearing ripped mourning clothes and tired as all get out from running to meet him after crying for three days, says, truthfully, to Jesus, that if He had just been there, her brother would not have died. She hopefully adds, betraying her deep trust in this walking God, "But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask." She hopes. Maybe blindy -- she's never seen someone raised from the dead. but she hopes.
As they weep together, Jesus explains that its okay, Lazarus will be out walking around in a minute. She, completely in context, mistakenly assumes He means the final resurrection. Still with tears running down his face and matching liquid on hers, He makes it plainer, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?"
Of course she believes this. Her brother was one of Jesus' good friends. Her sister worships at his feet and stares, wide-eyed, at his every word. He has come to save her world, to save her soul, but not to save her brother's earthly life. But maybe...
That well of hope suddenly shoots up, but she quells it down. Her brother is dead. She saw him. He's behind a massive stone of the family tomb. His body is decaying. It's been not just hours, but days.
Still, she does believe in Jesus. So she answers Him truthfully, ""Yes, Lord," she told him, "I believe that you are the Christ,[b] the Son of God, who was to come into the world."
So they walk to the tomb. To mourn, the sisters (Mary eventually came along) assuming that they were just going to mourn in person, as it were. Jesus is still crying. They are still crying. Everyone, really, is still crying, the pain of losing a loved one is still so fresh.
Then Jesus asks some of the heftier men standing around (crying) to push away the stone. Mary, wordless, watching what her Beloved Lord would do, is still as a statue. Martha, struggling with teh hope that tries to overwhelm her, makes one last try at practicality, what she is so very good at: "by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days." True story. Rotting flesh, I assume, is both pretty strong and pretty sickening.
Both women are crying harder now, out of fear. Out of trust. Out of the impossible.
Jesus, however, is done sniffling. His voice rings out, loud enough, it develops, to wake the dead. There is no doubt that He knows what He is doing.
And the miracle happens. Their brother winks at them from behind his bandages. He does a little jig and hugs Jesus like the brothers they are. Mary cries, somehow, harder, but also laughs. Martha stops crying. She is shouting. She is whooping for joy. She is dancing, and spinning, and laughing and okay, maybe still crying a little. Jesus is still. He sees the celibration. He is a part of the celebration. And the tears come again - as He sees His precious children not only see, but believe. As He unites a family for the work God has called them for. As He gets to see His friend again, gets to grant life, the very thing He was made for from the beginning. The tears slip down his dusty and tanned face, but He smiles through them. And then, He joins the dance, praising His Father Above for the healing power that is before all time, in all time, and beyond all time.
Anyway. Sorry, got caught up in the story there. Martha. Practical. I was struck by the juxtaposition of her declaration of absolute faith, the so obvious desperate hope in her eyes, and the very practical observation that Lazarus is very, very dead. It doesn't make sense that she would say one thing, and after walking a half a mile, would say another. We realize she is ever-practical, but she is also committed. Why say one thing when she will lose her belief moments later.
Because she did not believe the impossible. She did believe in the Christ. She knew Him as only a few intimate friends did. She knew His step, His scent, His hands and His smile. And she believed, without question, in the time of her life that was the most grief and pain-filled she had ever known. God is Sovereign. Praise be to God.
But she did not believe the impossible. She believed in the known. She hoped. Oh, how she hoped. But she did not believe, not with everything she had, not beyond the limits of her sight or her mind or her human-born strength. She believed in what she knew. But she didn't even step into the realm of believing what she didn't know.
I pray that I can believe in what I don't know. For the Glory of God, so often, is displayed in ways that go far beyond what I know, and are weaved into a magnificent plan that I could never have dreamed of. Lazarus is alive. Jesus is alive. God is on His throne.
6.29.2009
air guitar rockin'
So this weekend during the church service, I sat behind a mentally challenged adult. He was about a foot shorter than me, sitting smack in the middle of a section close to the stage...and rockin' out to air guitar like I've never seen before. It probably made his day that the worship band played both an audioslave (I'm serious) and a Paramour song - perfect for air guitar. And it was...exhilarating. Almost laughable. I don't mean because it was embarrassing for him, or embarrassing to those around his flailing arms and jumping up and down, hands reaching to the heavens. I mean that maybe everyone else in the building should have been embarrassed.
Picture it: 2,000 people. lights dimmed. Drummer banging away on his set like there's no tomorrow, soloist wailing out the lyrics with an edge to her voice, lovingn the God we serve. a mound of people standing still, singing, yes, but sort of frozen in time. and this guy, jumping around like you couldn't hold him down if you tried. Nothing held him back. He sang louder than I've ever heard someone sing in church. He rocked better than any classic rock band from the 80s. He had more stage presence than anyone actually up on stage. In fact, though he would be labelled as mentally challenged....maybe, in this instance. he was more mentally present than anyone around him. Myself included.
Because as I stood there, in my skirt, heels, hair done, and, well, rather tame reflection of God in my life during a worship service, he was anything but tame.
He was exuberant.
He was celebrating with abandon.
He was undignified.
More than anyone else I've ever seen during a service, he was full of reckless love for his Savior.
Now I'm not saying that everyone around us wasn't worshipping. They were. you could hear the harmony, see people tapping their feet to the beat. But this guy was way over the edge. Multiple times during the service, I seriously considered climbing over the two rows of seats to rock out with him.
I hope that his exuberance is present in my life. I hope that I worship my God with abandon - maybe not as intensely during a worship service, but as intensely in my daily life. I hope that I remember that though my faith is more serious than anything else I'll ever encounter, it is the very joy that faith embraces that cannot help but well up and skyrocket out like a fountain. I hope that the importance of my message and my lifestyle is coupled with a reckless abandon of my love for my Father in Heaven and His spirit in me. I hope I rock at air guitar.
Picture it: 2,000 people. lights dimmed. Drummer banging away on his set like there's no tomorrow, soloist wailing out the lyrics with an edge to her voice, lovingn the God we serve. a mound of people standing still, singing, yes, but sort of frozen in time. and this guy, jumping around like you couldn't hold him down if you tried. Nothing held him back. He sang louder than I've ever heard someone sing in church. He rocked better than any classic rock band from the 80s. He had more stage presence than anyone actually up on stage. In fact, though he would be labelled as mentally challenged....maybe, in this instance. he was more mentally present than anyone around him. Myself included.
Because as I stood there, in my skirt, heels, hair done, and, well, rather tame reflection of God in my life during a worship service, he was anything but tame.
He was exuberant.
He was celebrating with abandon.
He was undignified.
More than anyone else I've ever seen during a service, he was full of reckless love for his Savior.
Now I'm not saying that everyone around us wasn't worshipping. They were. you could hear the harmony, see people tapping their feet to the beat. But this guy was way over the edge. Multiple times during the service, I seriously considered climbing over the two rows of seats to rock out with him.
I hope that his exuberance is present in my life. I hope that I worship my God with abandon - maybe not as intensely during a worship service, but as intensely in my daily life. I hope that I remember that though my faith is more serious than anything else I'll ever encounter, it is the very joy that faith embraces that cannot help but well up and skyrocket out like a fountain. I hope that the importance of my message and my lifestyle is coupled with a reckless abandon of my love for my Father in Heaven and His spirit in me. I hope I rock at air guitar.
6.23.2009
tattoos are....
not evil. Bet you couldn't see that coming. I was inspired to write this post by a co-worker who was designing her tattoo the other day (after deadline when there was no work left to do).
We were talking about our parent's reactions to our respective tattoos(yes I have a tattoo). Hers don't mind the actual act of getting a tattoo, but want her to be careful at this time of her life to a) not spend unecessary money and b)make sure she puts them in places that she won't regret later. Mine had more of a "why did you ruin your body" sort of reaction, though probably more graceful than mine would be if my just-barely-out-of-teenage-years-daughter got a tattoo. Different perspectives from both sides. I noted that my parents are both conservative because of their generation and because of their faith, two things I admire but on occassion disagree with.
She asked why their faith has anything to do with tattoos. I explained that in the Old Testament, its very clearly marked as something that followers of God did not do. This often mentioned along with braiding their hair, wearing gold jewlery, etc. Things that we don't really frown upon in today's culture (in most contexts, anyway).
Her immidiate question was "why?" which is a very good question that I figured she alerady knew.
So i then went on to quickly summarize that in that time, particularly with the incredibly numerous religions and gods/godesses to worship, followers of different icons would mark themselves with tattoos. Similar to how native americans often marked that tribe they belonged to. It was a basic symbol of their identity. Also going into some detail of ancient preistesses and acolites (sp?) often beign very, very decked out with too much makeup, jewlery, braided hair, etc. forerunners of our modern-day prostitutes.
And then it struck me. God didn't call us just to be different, you know, a heart tattoo instead of a lion, but He called us to be entirely other. He didn't say, hey, this is what these guys over there are doing, we'll do it kinda the same with just a few tricky little twists. Nope. He removed them entirely from the practices of the day. they didn't have idols in their homes and sacrifice humans, they went to one central place and sacrificed the best of their labors. They didn't have ceremonies for each god, they had a life dedicated to one God. they didn't have control, they had miracles.
So I have a tattoo. In today's society, its arguable what that means. But I'd like to strive to live for what God called his children to thousands of years ago: to be entirely other.
We were talking about our parent's reactions to our respective tattoos(yes I have a tattoo). Hers don't mind the actual act of getting a tattoo, but want her to be careful at this time of her life to a) not spend unecessary money and b)make sure she puts them in places that she won't regret later. Mine had more of a "why did you ruin your body" sort of reaction, though probably more graceful than mine would be if my just-barely-out-of-teenage-years-daughter got a tattoo. Different perspectives from both sides. I noted that my parents are both conservative because of their generation and because of their faith, two things I admire but on occassion disagree with.
She asked why their faith has anything to do with tattoos. I explained that in the Old Testament, its very clearly marked as something that followers of God did not do. This often mentioned along with braiding their hair, wearing gold jewlery, etc. Things that we don't really frown upon in today's culture (in most contexts, anyway).
Her immidiate question was "why?" which is a very good question that I figured she alerady knew.
So i then went on to quickly summarize that in that time, particularly with the incredibly numerous religions and gods/godesses to worship, followers of different icons would mark themselves with tattoos. Similar to how native americans often marked that tribe they belonged to. It was a basic symbol of their identity. Also going into some detail of ancient preistesses and acolites (sp?) often beign very, very decked out with too much makeup, jewlery, braided hair, etc. forerunners of our modern-day prostitutes.
And then it struck me. God didn't call us just to be different, you know, a heart tattoo instead of a lion, but He called us to be entirely other. He didn't say, hey, this is what these guys over there are doing, we'll do it kinda the same with just a few tricky little twists. Nope. He removed them entirely from the practices of the day. they didn't have idols in their homes and sacrifice humans, they went to one central place and sacrificed the best of their labors. They didn't have ceremonies for each god, they had a life dedicated to one God. they didn't have control, they had miracles.
So I have a tattoo. In today's society, its arguable what that means. But I'd like to strive to live for what God called his children to thousands of years ago: to be entirely other.
6.09.2009
“They don’t want disciples, they want either converts or dead bodies.”
All right, so that’s an extreme quote, applied to a very radical faith of the Muslim Shi’ite. It is often a true statement of those that hit the news and act in radical ways. My husband has been exploring the faith of radical Islam (not inflicting the more run-of-the-mill, less terrorist-centered Muslim faith in any way), and one of the things he has discovered in his rather thorough research is that one of the pillars of this radical viewpoint is that the subjects of Allah need to hasten His return. There are two main pillars, and that’s one of them. Now, sadly and often shockingly, the method to hasten God's coming is to rid the world of infidels (if they won't convert). Now, this in itself goes against the whole grain of God's grace and choice He offers us, along with Jesus' ministry of peace and healing.
But there's a grain of truth I think we need to glean from that. Radical Shi'ites live like they know God is coming back. Like the know. Like they KNOW. Like every action should speak for the future they are sure of.
Now. I'm not saying that our God is limited by time and by our actions, because He is not. What we do does not drive or even influence they day He picks to return and both save and condemn. BUT. Though we believe Jesus is coming back, though we say we KNOW He is....do we act like it?
You can tell by the actions of many Muslims that they Know their Allah is returning. Can you tell by my actions that my God is returning in Glory and Power and Grace? Can you tell by yours?
It's unnerving, to live like the Kingdom of God is in you. Is here and now, and He is coming again. It's a bit complex to think about. It requires a focus, a main thread that influences everything you and I do.
But it is the light, the shining, blinding, unextinguishable light that we are called to live by. We are called to make disciples. We are called to do so by living with Christ in us and Christ returns
All right, so that’s an extreme quote, applied to a very radical faith of the Muslim Shi’ite. It is often a true statement of those that hit the news and act in radical ways. My husband has been exploring the faith of radical Islam (not inflicting the more run-of-the-mill, less terrorist-centered Muslim faith in any way), and one of the things he has discovered in his rather thorough research is that one of the pillars of this radical viewpoint is that the subjects of Allah need to hasten His return. There are two main pillars, and that’s one of them. Now, sadly and often shockingly, the method to hasten God's coming is to rid the world of infidels (if they won't convert). Now, this in itself goes against the whole grain of God's grace and choice He offers us, along with Jesus' ministry of peace and healing.
But there's a grain of truth I think we need to glean from that. Radical Shi'ites live like they know God is coming back. Like the know. Like they KNOW. Like every action should speak for the future they are sure of.
Now. I'm not saying that our God is limited by time and by our actions, because He is not. What we do does not drive or even influence they day He picks to return and both save and condemn. BUT. Though we believe Jesus is coming back, though we say we KNOW He is....do we act like it?
You can tell by the actions of many Muslims that they Know their Allah is returning. Can you tell by my actions that my God is returning in Glory and Power and Grace? Can you tell by yours?
It's unnerving, to live like the Kingdom of God is in you. Is here and now, and He is coming again. It's a bit complex to think about. It requires a focus, a main thread that influences everything you and I do.
But it is the light, the shining, blinding, unextinguishable light that we are called to live by. We are called to make disciples. We are called to do so by living with Christ in us and Christ returns
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