Psalm 70

“Let those on the hunt for you sing and celebrate.”

Throughout my life of faith the hardest thing for me has always been the reality that I can not experience God with my senses. You would think that this would create in me a lack of belief, yet it has not. Why? Because I think I see all around me the effects of God.

I guess it's like that truism, “I can't see the wind but I can feel it's effect.”

I think about this a lot. How can I believe when I can not see?

Some would say, “This is where faith comes in.” I suppose that's true. But, it is not very satisfying.

As I read this psalm today this line, “Let those on the hunt for you sing and celebrate,” really grabbed my attention. I've been thinking about it all morning.

There is something called the Baarder-Meinhoff phenomenon. This is what we call that phenomenon that happens when you start noticing things that you never saw before. For instance, you buy a yellow car and all of a sudden you being “seeing” yellow cars all over the place. Were they never there before? Of course they were. But, for some reason you just didn't notice them. Now, you do.

In a very real sense, what you seek to see you will find.

I see God in so many things. I see God in God's creation. I see God through the creative process. I see God in technology and science and medicine.

Where I see God the most is in the self-sacrificial loving-kindness of people. I look around and am amazed by the way people love. So many, I'd say the vast majority of people that I know love so well. Sure, there are people that I experience as unkind, yet I also see them love other people well.

As I look for God and see God in the people around me it causes me to rejoice.

What I'm pondering today is, “Am I looking for God?”

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Matthew 15:1-9

“Why do you use your rules to play fast and loose with God’s commands?”

I am sure that someone with religious authority would never, and I mean never, create rules to “play and fast loose with God's commands.”

Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this is happens all the time.

If I'm really honest with myself I know that I have done this. I have used my authority as a religious leader to make rules so as to get people to do what I want them to do or to manipulate a situation for my benefit.

It's gross. I have elsewhere written about this. I have sought forgiveness from those people to whom I have done this and now I am hyper aware to ensure that I don't do this. It's one of the reasons that I don't post a lot about politics directly or specifically. When it comes to those things they are just my opinions and opinions are like arm pits, hairy, stinky, and you have two.

I think that those of us with religious authority are constantly at danger to do this very thing. We can create “interpretations” of Scripture to use it as we will. I see this in relation to morality and politics most often. What's really fascinating is when religious leaders do this to avoid many statements made by Jesus.

“Love your neighbor as yourself.” “Love your enemy.” “Pray for those who persecute.”

The list could go on.

We do a lot of work to explain those away or to make it so that “love” looks like us being in control or getting our way. Yet, this is not the way of love. The way of love calls for self-sacrifice. It is a determined effort to want the best for the other.

Today I'm wrestling with this, “Am I living in such a way where love rules or that I love rules?”

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Psalm 128

Blessed are all who fear the LORD, who walk in obedience to him.

I don't like the word, “obedience.” It makes me feel like God is some sort of task master. I do like the word, “blessed.” I like the idea that God is doing something special for me.

These double feelings are ones that I'm guessing I'm not alone in having. If we are really honest with ourselves we prefer “blessed” over “obedience.”

What am I supposed to do with my two sets of feelings?

Perhaps, I need to think about them a bit differently. What if blessed is related to obedience but not in the sense that blessed is a reward but as a state of being living an obedient life? Is that splitting hairs? Perhaps, but it resonates a bit with me.

Eugene Peterson in the Message translates this passage like this, “All you who fear GOD, how blessed you are! How happily you walk on his smooth straight road!”

Do you see the slight difference in how Peterson takes this from the NIV in the opening? He translates “obedience” as “happily you walk on his smooth straight road.” One might even say that as we walk on the way we experience blessing.

I want to live God's way. When I live God's way I am blessed. The blessing is not the result of obedience. The blessing is the reality, I experience this state of being through walking on God's smooth, straight road.

What I'm wrestling with today: “In whose way am I walking, mine or God's?”

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Joshua 4:1-24

And then he told the People of Israel, “In the days to come, when your children ask their fathers, ‘What are these stones doing here?’ tell your children this: ‘Israel crossed over this Jordan on dry ground.’

Maybe it is because I just spent significant time with my daughter at her college campus; perhaps it's seeing the little ones running around at missional community; but this story from Joshua 4 hit me particularly hard today.

This idea of passing along the stories of God to the generations to come is something so very beautiful.

Every Sunday I experience an extreme juxtaposition. In the morning I serve a congregation that is predominantly comprised of men and women who are older than I am. In the evening I serve a congregation of people who are younger or the same age as I am. Some of the younger families have little children. This stark contrast each week is something that is beginning to leave a mark on me.

As I think about this passage in Joshua 4 it strikes me that older people of faith need to be around younger people of faith. They need to be able to tell the stories of God's faithful work in their lives.

Younger people of faith need to be around older people of faith. They need to hear the stories of God's faithfulness in generations past.

When we don't have the cross-generational conversations then we are in danger of forgetting God's faithfulness.

Throughout the story of the people of God we are told to remember. Often there are these moments where physical reminders are crafted to force the question. Of course to remember demands that we are intentional to hold on to the good and the beautiful things that God has done. We are to reminisce and share the stories otherwise they will get forgotten.

It is these stories of God's faithful past that help us hold on to hope in the midst of the difficult present that we inevitably find ourselves in.

The question I'm pondering today is this, “Am I intentional in my relationships with those older and younger so that through them I might embrace hope?”

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Romans 2:17-29

“You can get by with almost anything if you front it with eloquent talk about God and his law.”

This passage in Romans is one that I think about often. I have come to the conclusion that for those of us Christians in the United States, particularly, should likely find our parallels with the Jewish people that Paul addresses more so than the Gentiles. Why? Because we are the people who have largely grown up with the Bible and religion and God-talk.

When I read myself as the religious person in Romans 2, I can almost hear the record scratch.

Over the years I have become an expert at God-talk. I read and study the Bible. I read and study theology. It is what I do. As a result, there is a constant temptation to simply God-wash anything I want.

Particularly in today's cultural milieu if I simply use the right words and phrases I could get away with just about anything.

Our Christian culture cares so much more about words than it does about the content of our character. I recently saw a quote from a famous pastor that said, in effect, all that matters is our words. Say the right words and how you live your life doesn't matter.

As I reflect today on my life I am struck by how flippantly I have used phrases that God-wash actions and ideas that I want to be true or OK.

Here's the question I'm meditating on today, “Is God's word changing me from the inside or am I using God's word to keep me from changing?”

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Entering into silence can spiritually form us

There's only a few sermons that I've heard that I remember. As I write that I want to make sure you understand what I'm not saying, I'm not saying that sermons are unimportant. I think they are very important. The sermons I remember are likely not sermons that someone else remembers. They are moments in time that God uses in the lives of people.

There was one sermon in particular that my friend, Doug, gave a number of years ago. He was talking about how noisy the world is and how quiet God's voice can be. All during the message he had an iPod playing very quietly and then at the end he had us all get quiet and all of a sudden you could hear the music.

This shook me.

I am a noisy person.

When I enter a space I do so loudly. In social settings you know where I'm at all times. It's not that I'm trying to be the center of attention, I'm just loud. My voice carries and so does my laugh.

It is not just my outward presence that is loud. My interior life is loud too. As I grew up I always had a TV on or music playing. When I sat down to do homework the TV had to be running. When I was in seminary I wrote and researched and studied in busy coffee shops, intentionally.

For most of my life I have not liked the quiet. When things get quiet my thoughts get loud. I am not necessarily a big fan of those thoughts all the time. It can be disconcerting for me to allow my thoughts to run rampant.

Silence is scary.

This past summer I took two nights to just get away for a silent retreat. I shut down my phone. I didn't listen to music (well, that's a whole story in and of itself). I did allow myself to listen to a baseball game while I ate dinner.

I was alone in a cabin.

I went hiking alone in the silence and solitude of nature.

Leading up to these two nights away I was in a state of high anxiety because I was worried about being silent and alone for those 48 hours. I had never been a lone, truly alone, for that length of time.

Silence is scary.

I wish I could say that I heard the audible voice of the divine during my retreat. I did not. I also wish I could say that there was some sort of profound awakening that I experienced. But, I did not.

What did happen is that I faced my fear of silence.

It took almost a solid 24 hours for my mind quiet down. To really and truly be able to focus my attention on something other than my own thoughts. When that happened it was the most remarkable thing.

My mind could finally focus.

I was reading in the book of Jeremiah and some other commentaries that I brought along with me. I devoured the text.

Even more interesting was during my time hiking I was meditating on the Lord's prayer a stanza at a time. As I did, in that silence, those lines came to life for me. I do not really know how to explain it, but it was like I had never experienced them before.

Ever since then, something has happened within me. I have begun to delight in silence.

In the mornings I awake around 6 am-ish and drink coffee in the quiet dark house. It's become my favorite part of the day. I used to have a compulsion to turn on SportsCenter or something else. But now, my day begins with about 90 minutes to 2 hours of almost total silence.

Silence isn't scary anymore.

Silence has become a gift.

It is in the silence where I am learning to meet God.

I suppose there's a reason that silence has been a significant part of spiritual formation for many in the Christian tradition. I need silence now like I need water to drink or air to breathe. I can tell when I haven't had enough silence. My mind runs and spins and sleep is hard to come by.

It is in the silence where freedom from the weight of the world is offered and received.

When was the last time you were silent? What's stopping you? What do you think might happen if you entered into silence?

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Psalm 34:1-10, The Message

“Look at him; give him your warmest smile. Never hide your feelings from him. When I was desperate, I called out, and GOD got me out of a tight spot.”

When I'm going through something heavy or hard I often think, “Why am I feeling this way? Compared to what so many others are going through this is nothing.”

Often, when I feel like this, I will not pray because I don't want to burden God or in some sense I think that these feelings are not worthy to be brought to God.

One of the first things that I learned in my young Christian life was that feelings don't matter. They are nothing more than the caboose of a train that is driven by the fact of God's word and faith. This left me in a state where I was constantly trying to hide, stuff, or in so many other ways ignore my feelings.

That was so misguided. The idea that our feelings are nothing and they don't matter to God is such an unhelpful and unbiblical idea. This might be one of the most destructive things that I have had to undo as I have matured in my journey of faith.

I love this line, “Never hide your feelings from him.” God cares about our feelings. God can handle all our emotions, big and small.

As I ponder these verses it strikes me that the psalmist probably saw or experienced God's hand getting him out of a tight spot because he had brought all his feelings to God. By not hiding, the psalmist was open to seeing how God was at work in the world.

The question I am going to be wrestling with today is this, “Am I hiding my feelings or my internal life from God?”

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James 2:14-18

“Isn’t it obvious that God-talk without God-acts is outrageous nonsense?”

I have a friend whose favorite saying is, “acta non verba,” this translates to “actions not words.” He's one of those people who will do anything for you. His actions clearly demonstrate that the words he uses have meaning.

Many of us are good talkers.

We know the right things to say. But what about our actions? How often do you promise to do something but then don't follow through?

I want to say that never happens to me, but it does. It probably occurs more often than I'd like to admit. Oh sure, I have a good “reason,” but the reality is that it's just an excuse.

It is really hard for me to admit that.

There's a really helpful book about the rise of the church in the Roman Empire entitled, The Patient Ferment of the Early Church by Alan Kreider. In it he writes about how the verb, “look,” was central to the practice of the early church. Kreider argues, convincingly I think, that we have lost this idea of a new way of living in the world.

Perhaps, we could sum up much of the modern church as a lot of God-talk and not much God-acts.

Perhaps, I could sum up much of my own life this way.

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Psalm 119:41-48

“Let your love, God, shape my life with salvation, exactly as you promised...”

Last night we were talking about Paul's call to go to Jerusalem and how he understood his obedience to that call would result in seeing God work. One of the things that came out of conversation was this desire that we would have as clear a call as Paul did. How nice would it be to really know what our calling is?

The fact of the matter is that we do know what our calling is.

It's clear.

Our calling is to love our neighbor as our self.

At the most fundamental of levels this is our calling.

Then this morning I read this little passage with this opening line, “Let your love, God, shape my life with salvation, exactly as you promised...”

Oh what a prayer!

I'm wrestling this morning with this simple and profound thought, “How does my life look differently if God's love has shaped it?”

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What happens when Paul shows up in Jerusalem?

John 5:39-47

“You have your heads in your Bibles constantly because you think you’ll find eternal life there. But you miss the forest for the trees. These Scriptures are all about me! And here I am, standing right before you, and you aren’t willing to receive from me the life you say you want.”

As I continue to read and study the Bible I am more convinced than ever that much of what Jesus said to the religious leaders of his day are the things that I need to hear.

John 5:39-40 is case in point.

I study the Bible, religiously (teehee). It is, quite literally, part of my job description. But, am I missing the forest for the trees? Am I seeing the reality that everything is about Jesus?

More than that, am I willing to receive from Jesus the life I say I want?

Ouch.

That is a punch in the gut.

That hits a bit too close to home.

The life I say I want is one of love, grace, mercy, and joy. It's one that is marked by the fruit of the Spirit in Galatians 5. It is one where the burdens of life are eased by being deeply connected to Christ.

Do I really want that?

Because when I'm real honest about myself it sure doesn't seem to be true. I am given over to easy anger, rage, and frustration. Stress and snark are hand in hand.

Jesus is in a way standing right here in front of me. Will I receive the life he is offering or will I continue to just hold on as tightly as I can to the life that I say I don't want?

The question I'm wrestling with today is, “Am I willing to receive from Jesus the life I say I want?”

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Psalm 90:1-6

“Lord, you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations.”

This beautiful line is from Psalm 90:1. I grabbed my attention and I keep thinking about it. This concept of God being our dwelling place.

I too often think about God as someone far off or disconnected. Yet, here the Psalmist calls me to consider the reality that it is in God where we will dwell.

The dwelling place in the ancient world was important because it provided protection and security. In effect, the Psalmist is saying, “Lord, you have been our protection and security throughout all generations.

In my world, security and protection is something that I have to earn. It's not something that I consciously trust God to provide. Oh sure, the words will come out. But, at the end of the day I often think that security and protection is the result of my own effort.

I wonder if some of the rampant fear that is present in our world is the result of people no longer believing that God protects and secures? We need weapons and power and money to feel protected and secure these days.

But do we?

What if we set our minds and hearts on the God who is our dwelling place and has been throughout all generations?

The question I will be pondering tonight as I lay in bed is, “Do I trust that God will protect and provide for me?”

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Prayer is something so difficult for me to get my mind around. As I think about praying it raises so many, many questions.

If God is sovereign why pray? Why doesn't God answer my prayers? Why don't I hear God when I pray? What value is there to praying? Why did that person get healed and that one didn't? Why did that prayer have “results” and that one didn't? Does prayer do anything?

And so many, many more.

I often think of prayer in the context of utility. Quite simply, “does it work?”

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As far as I can tell Jesus' closest followers only asked to be taught one thing, how to pray.

How did Jesus respond?

“He said to them, “When you pray, say: “‘Father, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come. Give us each day our daily bread. Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who sins against us. And lead us not into temptation.’” (Luke 11:2-4)

Short. Focused. To the point.

Elsewhere talking about prayer Jesus said,

“And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” (Matthew 6:5-8)

What are we to make of these things?

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Throughout the history of religious people prayer has always played a significant role. I remember in seminary reading about the desert fathers and mothers and how prayer was central. Or learning about the monastic movement and the important role of prayer for these people.

Every week I pray a “pastoral prayer” and a prayer of invocation and a prayer over the offering. I pray before I preach and after I preach. I pray before meals. I pray before I write. I pray before I spend time in the Scriptures. I prayer before I meet with people. I pray during my devotional times.

As I think about it, I pray quite a bit.

Yet, I wouldn't consider myself a pray-er.

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My friend John, he was a pray-er. After he died his wife passed out index cards that he kept on hand that tracked what he was praying for for his friends.

Prayer was central to his spiritual life.

I know of many people for whom prayer is significant to their lives and spirituality.

My mentor, Bob, is a pray-er. He prays like his life depends on it. There is a qualitative difference between his prayer and my prayer.

I think I often pray as someone who has to pray as opposed to wanting to pray. I think this is because I can't quite figure out prayer. It doesn't fit my intellectual boxes.

Perhaps it's similar from the opening lines of Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller when he wrote, “I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn't resolve.”

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He goes on to write, “But I was outside the Bagdad Theater in Portland one night when I saw a man playing the saxophone. I stood there for fifteen minutes, and he never opened his eyes.

After that I liked jazz music.

Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way.”

When I see people like Bob or John pray, I want to love prayer the way they do. These guys have and do show me the way.

Yet, I struggle.

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I have found lately that simply praying the prayer that Jesus taught his disciples has helped me. Often I will find myself meditating on the words. Or the words will just come into my mind as I drive or walk.

When this happens I feel something in me.

I feel a connection to the divine. It's faint. But it's there.

I am coming to grips with an idea that I first heard about in the film Shadowlands. It's a film about C.S. Lewis and his relationship with his wife, Joy. Near the end of the film there is this line, “I pray because I can’t help myself. I pray because I’m helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time – waking and sleeping. It doesn’t change God- it changes me.”

The idea that I'm coming to grips with is this: I'm helpless.

That's not easy for me.

I think of myself as strong. I think of myself as someone who rarely needs anything. Yet, if I am honest, truly honest, I am helpless.

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“Prayer doesn't change God—it changes me.”

As I continue to learn to pray, I am learning that this ethereal, surreal, intangible practice of seeking to be in the presence of the divine changes me.

It's not a utilitarian practice. It's something deeper than that. It's experiential.

I long to be able to speak that line from the film and mean it. I long to pray because the need flows out of me all the time – waking and sleeping.

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Perhaps, as I grow in my desperation to desire to pray I will someday learn to pray.

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