So much of our lives are spent chasing after ourselves. One of the biggest errors of which is allowing the world to identify what finding ourselves should look like. And it would seem the criteria for found-ness is constantly changing, so that the search can really never end. It is so all of our lives will be spent on searching for ourselves, in self-discovery and personal revelations meant to bring hope and enlightenment. Of course, really it brings neither. Instead it fuels a never-ending hungry fire which actually consumes us the more we feed it. It is by the world's standards that "arrival" appears to be the ability to know one's self and to personally fill and express or purchase the life-style that would fulfill the essence of who we have come to know ourselves to be.
As we search, it actually would be best to search not within ourselves, but within each other. We find ourselves in the stories and lives of other people. We find their stories to be our stories and therefore we actually come home to ourselves in the lives of others. For it is within the relational process that God enters. In the investing of ourselves, we discover life, and in discovering life, we encounter God, and where we encounter God, we begin to find ourselves. So that a person who truly wanted to find themselves must not look in, but out. They should not search their own story, but enter into the stories of others.
It is a paradox in thinking.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Choosing Rest
Life has a way of being very full at times, and very empty at times. It is in the emptiness that we wonder how to operate - so used to the fullness we are. We nearly seek out something to fill the spaces. yet in our times of fullness, we seek the rest of emptiness. The thought processes of each state propel us forward into the next. Thought when we get there, we enjoy the new location no more than the first.
Today the house is quiet, my mind is mostly empty and I have no given desire or drive to do or accomplish anything. So that at first, it looks like an opportunity to rest. Yet, in the void of thought or desire, there builds a voice that I think has a lot to do with value, that urges me out of rest into a need to be moving - in some direction. It is a voice that says rest is unproductive and lazy. It says that in order to be of value, I must be working toward something. And so my rest becomes a place of discontent instead of peace. In turn, my rest becomes not restful, but anxiety.
At times, I think we must choose to rest - not just our bodes, but our minds. We must fight the lie that accomplishment equals value and that value determines identity. As if being a person of peace and rest wouldn't offer an identity of it's own.
Today the house is quiet, my mind is mostly empty and I have no given desire or drive to do or accomplish anything. So that at first, it looks like an opportunity to rest. Yet, in the void of thought or desire, there builds a voice that I think has a lot to do with value, that urges me out of rest into a need to be moving - in some direction. It is a voice that says rest is unproductive and lazy. It says that in order to be of value, I must be working toward something. And so my rest becomes a place of discontent instead of peace. In turn, my rest becomes not restful, but anxiety.
At times, I think we must choose to rest - not just our bodes, but our minds. We must fight the lie that accomplishment equals value and that value determines identity. As if being a person of peace and rest wouldn't offer an identity of it's own.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Hope
I'm finding that hope is the air the soul breathes. When hope reaches an end, so does the life that it supports. It is simply that vital for going forward.
The human spirit by it's very nature has hope - woven into it's fibers and running through it's veins. It is inborn into every being, as natural as the instinct to love and to dance. But even after we grow afraid to dance and too wounded to love, still we hope - or there would be no reason to go on.
I wonder what it is we hope for, or maybe better said what we hope in. Because naturally hope looks forward - to future events or future fulfillment that may yet come to pass in our lives. But the future is unknown. We can plan and schedule - and we do - trying to guarantee ourselves of fulfillment. But for the most part, it can be said that human kind hopes in the unknown. It is our only choice.
As long as we have a hope - that things will change, that we will become filled somehow, that the future holds joy and a fullness we have not yet known - we continue forward, placing one foot faithfully in front of the other.
Yet sometimes we do loose hope in things. Sometimes we seal the fates of portions of our lives by giving up hope in that area. We give up hope in our marriages, our children or spouses. We give up hope in our jobs, friendships, abilities, dreams - anything in life that has the potential to change or improve.
I think hope is a choice. And sometimes it's a scary, fragile choice. It takes courage, strength and faith to continue hoping in something that either appears a lost cause, or something that has hurt us before. It can be devastating to hope in something - only to have it fail time and time again. Hope can become a place of vulnerable foolishness we decide to abandon. But once hope is put aside, we must mourn our loss. Hope sustains the life of dreams, relationships, etc. Once we decide to hope no longer, we must accept the death of that thing.
Maybe that is one of the reasons death is so hard to deal with - at least in part. Because after death - there is no hoping left to us.
Therein lies some of the power and beauty of Easter. We are shown that even in death, we are allowed hope. Death does not silence hope - no longer can it. It lost that ability. When we choose to believe in the resurrection of Jesus Christ, we choose hope. In every circumstance we considered hopeless, we find a hole in the walls of death that allows something to become alive again - against all odds. God shows us he is a God that does not loose hope. He is the builder, the sustainer and the holder of all and any hope we may have in our lives. He is the Unknown we hope in - whether we realize it or not. Choosing to continue to hope builds life - feeds it - fills it and can within itself produce the very fullness we hoped for.
It is strength to identify the hopes within us - and to consciously decide to keep those hopes alive. And we know also that our hope extends beyond this life into the next.
To hope is to choose life. To hope for grand things, things of goodness and truth, is to choose a full life. Hope connects us to the eternal. It goes beyond daily life, beyond the here and now and reaches for the eternal reality of heaven.
The human spirit by it's very nature has hope - woven into it's fibers and running through it's veins. It is inborn into every being, as natural as the instinct to love and to dance. But even after we grow afraid to dance and too wounded to love, still we hope - or there would be no reason to go on.
I wonder what it is we hope for, or maybe better said what we hope in. Because naturally hope looks forward - to future events or future fulfillment that may yet come to pass in our lives. But the future is unknown. We can plan and schedule - and we do - trying to guarantee ourselves of fulfillment. But for the most part, it can be said that human kind hopes in the unknown. It is our only choice.
As long as we have a hope - that things will change, that we will become filled somehow, that the future holds joy and a fullness we have not yet known - we continue forward, placing one foot faithfully in front of the other.
Yet sometimes we do loose hope in things. Sometimes we seal the fates of portions of our lives by giving up hope in that area. We give up hope in our marriages, our children or spouses. We give up hope in our jobs, friendships, abilities, dreams - anything in life that has the potential to change or improve.
I think hope is a choice. And sometimes it's a scary, fragile choice. It takes courage, strength and faith to continue hoping in something that either appears a lost cause, or something that has hurt us before. It can be devastating to hope in something - only to have it fail time and time again. Hope can become a place of vulnerable foolishness we decide to abandon. But once hope is put aside, we must mourn our loss. Hope sustains the life of dreams, relationships, etc. Once we decide to hope no longer, we must accept the death of that thing.
Maybe that is one of the reasons death is so hard to deal with - at least in part. Because after death - there is no hoping left to us.
Therein lies some of the power and beauty of Easter. We are shown that even in death, we are allowed hope. Death does not silence hope - no longer can it. It lost that ability. When we choose to believe in the resurrection of Jesus Christ, we choose hope. In every circumstance we considered hopeless, we find a hole in the walls of death that allows something to become alive again - against all odds. God shows us he is a God that does not loose hope. He is the builder, the sustainer and the holder of all and any hope we may have in our lives. He is the Unknown we hope in - whether we realize it or not. Choosing to continue to hope builds life - feeds it - fills it and can within itself produce the very fullness we hoped for.
It is strength to identify the hopes within us - and to consciously decide to keep those hopes alive. And we know also that our hope extends beyond this life into the next.
To hope is to choose life. To hope for grand things, things of goodness and truth, is to choose a full life. Hope connects us to the eternal. It goes beyond daily life, beyond the here and now and reaches for the eternal reality of heaven.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
God without the packaging
Lately, I've had a hard time accepting very much input of any kind. I'm wary of the hidden agendas and empty traditions things may hold.
I have been a Christ follower all my life - believed the right things, learned to say the right things and do the right things, and for the most part, even think the right things. I memorized scripture and the catechism, went to church, and ate large dinners on Sunday afternoons. I learned about not wearing your white shoes on Sunday until after Easter, and switching to your black ones in the fall.
But to me, so much of what I believed and did was the packaging God came in.
And I've thrown all the packaging away. At least, I've tried to.
What I'm really looking for is the real God - the Jesus of the Bible - the God of the ages - without the packaging. If the cheese can stand alone - I'm pretty sure God can, too.
So, I've been careful not to accept anything that may look like packaging - the extras humans have added to God in an attempt to live according to his agenda.
And I ask myself questions like - do I really have to listen to Christian music? Do I really need to raise my hands in worship - or not raise my hands? Do I have to go to potlucks and Bible studies? Do I have to attend church regularly, or do devotions?
And I challenge spirituality - is prayer this hocus-pocus weird hyper-spiritual talk, or can it just be a conversation with God? Do I have to "feel" God's presence, or is getting all emotional about faith another fooling point? What is more the reality - that I am a human being, or that I am a spirit being?
Unfortunately, what I'm finding, is that as a human, I need some of those "religious" extras in my everyday life in order to experience God in my everyday life. God set up the Isrealites as his people. He set up their entire culture - what they wore, what they ate, their celebrations and feasts. He set up their daily lives because he knew that as humans, there is reality in that. Perhaps if I were only a spirit being, I could experience and know God without any packaging at all. But, also being human - I'm finding I do need some packaging.
I'm trying to advance slowly - adding only packaging that seems Biblical to me - including reading the Bible, so I'll know what's right, and prayer. The rest seems to me to fall under Paul's yardstick of "whatever is beneficial". Do I need to listen to Christian music? No. Is it sometimes helpful because it speaks truth into my life? Yes. Do I need to go to church? The Bible does say not to neglect meeting together, so, ok - that's a yes. Can I skip once in a while? Sure.
There is a lot of needless packaging out there, that quite frankly sickens me. Maybe it can belong to someone else, though, so I have to be careful in saying too much. I guess what it comes down to is letting God apply himself into my life however he wishes to do so. I'm an emotional person, so for me, that will probably mean some emotional experiences along the way. I'm also kind of an every day person (who isn't I guess), so that will also mean that God and I may meet at the laundry pile, or by the sink, or in the van bussing kids around.
Maybe it's not so much that I have to go looking for packaging, as much as God shares the packaging that already forms my life. Kind of like Jesus did.
And then maybe there are moments where he calls me out of my human packaging to exist for a while with him in his spiritual packaging. Maybe he not only comes down and lives with me in my here and now, but also calls me up and beyond to live with him in his here and now.
I'm finding God rarely settles for either/or - he's usually about both/and.
I have been a Christ follower all my life - believed the right things, learned to say the right things and do the right things, and for the most part, even think the right things. I memorized scripture and the catechism, went to church, and ate large dinners on Sunday afternoons. I learned about not wearing your white shoes on Sunday until after Easter, and switching to your black ones in the fall.
But to me, so much of what I believed and did was the packaging God came in.
And I've thrown all the packaging away. At least, I've tried to.
What I'm really looking for is the real God - the Jesus of the Bible - the God of the ages - without the packaging. If the cheese can stand alone - I'm pretty sure God can, too.
So, I've been careful not to accept anything that may look like packaging - the extras humans have added to God in an attempt to live according to his agenda.
And I ask myself questions like - do I really have to listen to Christian music? Do I really need to raise my hands in worship - or not raise my hands? Do I have to go to potlucks and Bible studies? Do I have to attend church regularly, or do devotions?
And I challenge spirituality - is prayer this hocus-pocus weird hyper-spiritual talk, or can it just be a conversation with God? Do I have to "feel" God's presence, or is getting all emotional about faith another fooling point? What is more the reality - that I am a human being, or that I am a spirit being?
Unfortunately, what I'm finding, is that as a human, I need some of those "religious" extras in my everyday life in order to experience God in my everyday life. God set up the Isrealites as his people. He set up their entire culture - what they wore, what they ate, their celebrations and feasts. He set up their daily lives because he knew that as humans, there is reality in that. Perhaps if I were only a spirit being, I could experience and know God without any packaging at all. But, also being human - I'm finding I do need some packaging.
I'm trying to advance slowly - adding only packaging that seems Biblical to me - including reading the Bible, so I'll know what's right, and prayer. The rest seems to me to fall under Paul's yardstick of "whatever is beneficial". Do I need to listen to Christian music? No. Is it sometimes helpful because it speaks truth into my life? Yes. Do I need to go to church? The Bible does say not to neglect meeting together, so, ok - that's a yes. Can I skip once in a while? Sure.
There is a lot of needless packaging out there, that quite frankly sickens me. Maybe it can belong to someone else, though, so I have to be careful in saying too much. I guess what it comes down to is letting God apply himself into my life however he wishes to do so. I'm an emotional person, so for me, that will probably mean some emotional experiences along the way. I'm also kind of an every day person (who isn't I guess), so that will also mean that God and I may meet at the laundry pile, or by the sink, or in the van bussing kids around.
Maybe it's not so much that I have to go looking for packaging, as much as God shares the packaging that already forms my life. Kind of like Jesus did.
And then maybe there are moments where he calls me out of my human packaging to exist for a while with him in his spiritual packaging. Maybe he not only comes down and lives with me in my here and now, but also calls me up and beyond to live with him in his here and now.
I'm finding God rarely settles for either/or - he's usually about both/and.
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