Put away your notes, sign off Facebook for just a second, and reflect on the end of the world with me. (As soon as we are done here, I promise you can get back to Facebook.) Navigate to your favorite search engine and type in “natural disasters.” Take a look at any list of recent disasters and let the magnitude of loss sink in. It’s a scene out of those Tim LaHaye books you started reading two years ago, isn’t it? Now, scroll down a few search results and start clicking on all the apocalyptic sites. In a moment, you’ll be reading how the 9-11 attacks were orchestrated by the Illuminati, a group who is dead-set on ushering in the reign of the Antichrist, and how this same group is disguising the fact that a volcano in Washington is about to blow and cause earthquakes in California and somehow wipe New York off the map. Are you panicked yet?
Lest you dismiss these people as conspiracy theorists, read Matthew 24:7. “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places.” Anyone else thinking: Terrorism, war in Iraq, Katrina and Rita, tsunami, and earthquake in Pakistan? Is it time to start thinking about the Rapture? Or maybe we should be making hide-outs to protect ourselves from the Antichrist? Aren’t we supposed to be ready for the End Times?
I want to pretend that I’ve been saying all this with a smirk and distaining laugh, (After all, what’s the fun of being a wanna-be intellectual cynic if you can’t scoff at people’s self-produced paranoia?) but the truth is that when I read the news of the Pakistani earthquakes Sunday, I began to have Chicken Little thoughts. I mean, the tsunami last year had me wrapped up in a flurry of relief efforts for months. Then we get back to school this year, and the country is reeling from the effects of Katrina. How long can the world keep up with this?
But if the idea of hiding out in a bunker, waiting for the revelation of all things apocalyptic appeals to you, this is where you should leave off because I have no intention of encouraging such hysterics. Instead, I’d like to suggest that perhaps we’ve gotten ourselves a little worked up over natural disasters this past year. Not that they haven’t been significant, nor have our relief efforts been in vain, but our obsession with reading and watching news coverage of these events might be slightly excessive. Naturally, when something as big as Katrina hits close to home, it draws attention, but it shouldn’t produce this low-level panic in the hearts of Christians. Did you get this worked up about the European heat wave in 2003? Don’t seem to remember that? Funny—it killed an estimated 45,000 people. Think the tsunami of 2004 was the deadliest natural disaster ever? Check your history. In 1970, Bangladesh lost 300,000 people to flooding; in China, floods in 1887, 1931, and 1959 killed 900,000, 3 million, and 2 million people respectively; China also suffered an earthquake that killed 830,000 people in 1556; and the deadliest earthquake ever recorded killed 1.1 million people in Egypt and Syria in the year 12011.
We might want to reexamine the idea that these disasters are ushering in the End. While we are at it, maybe we should challenge people to look at the verses around Matthew 24:7. The passage reads:
Watch out that no one deceives you. For many will come in my name, claiming, ‘I am the Christ,’ and will deceive many. You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come…All these are the beginning of birth pains. (Matthew 24:4-6, 8, emphasis added)
These things will happen Christ says, but they are only symptoms of a world left after the fall—a world that needs the Second Coming of Christ to restore peace and perfection. So when it comes to natural disasters, a response of grief and compassion is appropriate, but panic is not. We don’t stop only at natural disasters, though. This rule applies to all “Signs of the End of the Age.”
Though I’m not an eschatological scholar by any means, I would assert that marking the “End Times” as a special imminent period and reserving special actions and behavior for that time is contrary to Biblical and historical church teaching. The Church has traditionally taught that the time after Christ’s ascension is the “End of the Age.” The Biblical references and the historical teaching of the Church to Christ’s Second Coming refer to it, not as something in the future, but as something imminent. We are NOT nearing the End Times; we are living in them as were the apostles. We are NOT looking for signs that will tell us that Christ’s return will happen in the near future; His coming is imminent—ready to occur at any moment. None of this should be panicking us, nor should it be prompting us to prepare in a special way. Instead, it should be an encouragement to live out our Christian faith with the determination and intensity that God calls us to.
The most important thought to leave with is this: Christ’s Coming is a source of unspeakable hope to us as Christians. It’s the hope that one day the King will return and set right all that has gone so terribly wrong in the Kingdom. It marks the end of dominion of Satan. We will rejoice that these natural disasters, with their destruction and death, have come to an end, and our rejoicing will continue with the million other things which have been set right.
So Chicken Little, quit waiting for the sky to fall, pluck up your courage and start living with a determination and hope that comes from the knowledge of our Lord’s imminent return.
All natural disaster statistics taken from http://www.nbc.com/
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Saturday, March 19, 2005
Faces of Disaster
The following journal entry is from the day after I went to the East Coast to see the worst of the devistation in Sri Lanka. In a rare decision, I have decided to post it here for public reading. Despite the fact that I’ve now had almost a week more to process the events of this particular day of my trip, I feel as if this is the best summary of thoughts I can give at present.
3-9-05 East Coast (Martremonee?), Sri Lanka
So as always there is a desire to catch up on all that has happened in the last few days, but there is simply too much, and I’m not sure my written words would do justice to the images I have captured with my minds eye.
Lord, it is too much what I have seen. I have no way of grieving a destroyed village. I stand with feet buried in beautiful, warm sand, while the ocean tide laps around my ankles. Tropical beach and azure ocean as far as the eye can see. But through the thin veil of tropical palms is the haunting image of a village in which no brick and mortar wall could withstand the force of the now so docile sea. Closer inspection of the beach reveals rubble—not from the interior of Sri Lanka, but trees and branches from the destruction in Indonesia. But I can’t grieve this—I don’t understand it. My mind cannot wrap itself around the fact that 15,000 people lost their lives in just the beach area that I can see. What is 15,000?
My feet shuffle through sandy ground—and I wonder if the sand had always been there. UNICEF tarps, corrugated tin, and scraps of wood make temporary “houses.” Hastily built brick and mortar buildings, with tin roofing make a series of stalls that whole families live in. The smell of cooking fires and the stench of 900 people living in close quarters inundates my nostrils. The translator tells us the stories, but none of them pierce the protective (and ever thickening) callous around my heart. The children follow us in groups—desperate—for what, I am unsure. Desperation hangs in the air, as thick as the smoke and stench, but who know what will quench it? But I can’t grieve this—I cannot grasp 900 people destituted—ripped from their once normal lives. What is 900?
I find myself in tears over things, which among such tragedy shouldn’t even cause me to blink. But I do; I cry over the translator who tells me that for 3 days after the tsunami, he thought it was the “END.” But he hasn’t lost his family, his house, or his business. I cry when the husband, lounging listlessly with his friends, tells us that he lost his wife of 9 months. We try to convey sympathy—he responds with a feeble but genuine thanks. But still I feel, “he should have some joy; His house stands intact, in sharp contrast to the destruction surround it. My eyes well with tears, as we try to communicate with 4 teenagers who are using a small hammer to chip away at what is left of their house. To what end? And I cry often in the home of an extended family. They used to live in 4 beautiful homes, now they are crowded into the home of the brother. They are lucky—they have a nice house to stay in, and they did not loose any family members to the deluge. But still I cry. I almost loose it as the wives rush cold bottles of pepsi into the room—in an act of hospitality unrivaled by anything I have seen in the States. As if 15 middle class college students from America are in desperate need to slake their thirst at the expense of a family who has lost so much. I cry often over the beautiful little girl who was saved as her mother scooped her up in her arms as the ocean swallowed the church. I can only begin to imagine the horror of the young mother as she was swept away, clutching the child. How many other mothers and children did not live to tell such stories? My heart goes out to the wife who weeps as she tells her story—her prayers were answered as she and other members of this family cried out to God in desperation that He would spare their family. And I cry as the grown sons (husbands to wives mentioned earlier) shove their camera phone into my hands and scroll through the pictures they had taken the day after. Pictures of bodies strewn among the litter of their house. Decaying and stiff bodies. Women, children; men whose clothes had been stripped off by the force of the water. I thought I had seen horrible things before. I thought I knew what it was to be in the presence of a dying patient or a dead body. But the horror of these pictures remains unparalleled in my experience. Why do they want me to see these horrible, sick pictures? Why did they take them in the first place? Why scroll one-by-one and explain in faltering English each slide to a college student from across the globe? But, it occurs to me, of course they do. The actions of these two grown men cry out—grieve with me, understand what I have gone through.
These are the things I can understand. These are the things that will make me cry. How do you grieve for something so big, so tragic? I believe it is so tragic that I can’t even begin to be properly sad for it. Maybe over the course of the next few months, I will be able to process it, to review this mental video tape I have taken of the vast destruction, but for now I’m almost in a state of denial. And so I must cry for the simple things—for things less tragic. Smaller personal tragedies. The newly-wed who has lost his bride. The experience of a family amidst utter chaos and suffering. These things I can begin to relate to; theses are the things which fit into the model of my grieving. I cannot relate to 15,000; it is too big. It does not fit my model of understanding. I think I can begin to understand what it must feel like to loose a wife. I think I can begin to relate to an overwhelming sense of dread. But a destroyed village? Loosing everything—home, family, employment in a simple 10 minutes? 200,000 dead? Not a chance, not now.
Standing on the beach, I realize that this natural disaster is not about 15,000 dead! What is 15,000? What is 200,000 dead? I realize that it is about the loss of a wife, the loss of a home, the psychologic trauma inflicted on two adult men who must move corpse after corpse (their friends, neighbors?) from the debris left of their home.
The warm wind blows, and I wipe the sweat from my brow. The tropical sun beats down on this paradise. I think to myself, “we do a great injustice to these people when we describe their situations with facts and figures.” Numbers don’t describe devastation. If we can’t report personal stories, then we should at least use generic terms. The tsunami was/is NOT about 200,000 dead. It was about mother loosing child, husband loosing wife, and family loosing home, work, and neighborhood. It’s about sitting happily in the church pew singing a chorus one minute and waking from what must seem like a nightmare of swimming, struggling, to find that your life has been turned upside down. The rest of the world likes numbers; they are fun pieces of trivia, which we can tally, collect, and finally, when the newness wears off, forget. Stories are real. Stories make us a small part of the suffering. Stories at least begin to do justice to those who live and die in this hellish tragedy.
I pick my way through the rubble and pray “Lord show me how to pray in this situation.” Somewhere deep within His voice speaks about the reality of the current situation. The present day reality is that the tsunami tragedy is not about the dead, but about the living. It is not about the rubble, the destruction, and the images of a child-corpse mouth opened like a deep grave; it is about the sad, down-trodden, listless, and tear-streaked faces of the survivors. THESE are the faces of tragedy! Sure, we must remember the dead, and even weep over their loss—but our sympathy, concern, and action must now be directed to those who live on. They are the ones who suffer. The Lord would have us direct our care to them. We face no the tragedy of the living, not the dead.
I sit cramped on a bus—obviously not made for over-sized Americans—as we make our 12 hr. trip across the country—back to the capital city on the west coast. We bump and jolt, screeching to stops to narrowly avoid the trucks coming around blind corners on a narrow road that weaves through this 3rd world jungle. I have an affinity for this world that I cannot explain—mountains, tea fields, shanty houses, crowded markets. My mind races ahead with the thoughts, while I desperately try to force my hand to organize the wild thoughts. I feel like exploding; I want to scream—at the bus driver for taking us on such a bumpy road, and at my noisy teammates, who have found laughter to be the best method of coping. I grip my pen tightly, wishing I had finished this journal entry at 5:30 tea, and try to proceed in orderly fashion even though my mind is miles ahead of my hand. As I paint the sickening reality on these pages the glints of hope and the brief flashes of joy amidst the sorrow keep shoving through the darkness. I resist writing about them because I don’t want to strip the disaster of its heartbreaking potency, and I absolutely hate the “happily-ever-after” cope-out. But the stories and the two verses plague me—refusing to let themselves go untold. So I recall the family mentioned earlier praising the Lord for all He has done in their lives—including giving the 72 year old grandmother strength to run a mile as she fled the tsunami. I remember the children who played happily as we entered the refugee camps—a glimmer of hope, unexplainable. And the words from Scripture that the Lord spoke to my heart as I survey the devastation. “Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:21-23). “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28).
Yes, these thoughts stand as glimmering paradoxes against the bleak darkness that I have tried to describe. They don’t make it all better. They don’t stop me from thinking of the disaster. No pacifier to stop my crying. Naturally, when I stood among the ruins of the tsunami, doubt crept in. Where was God on December 26? He that parts the seas, calms the wind and waves, and He who walks on water amidst the storm. I’m not sure. But on March 8th, He was there, whispering quiet words of hope to a college student from America.
Lord, may I be equal to the task of sharing this hope, of helping others to see it.
3-9-05 East Coast (Martremonee?), Sri Lanka
So as always there is a desire to catch up on all that has happened in the last few days, but there is simply too much, and I’m not sure my written words would do justice to the images I have captured with my minds eye.
Lord, it is too much what I have seen. I have no way of grieving a destroyed village. I stand with feet buried in beautiful, warm sand, while the ocean tide laps around my ankles. Tropical beach and azure ocean as far as the eye can see. But through the thin veil of tropical palms is the haunting image of a village in which no brick and mortar wall could withstand the force of the now so docile sea. Closer inspection of the beach reveals rubble—not from the interior of Sri Lanka, but trees and branches from the destruction in Indonesia. But I can’t grieve this—I don’t understand it. My mind cannot wrap itself around the fact that 15,000 people lost their lives in just the beach area that I can see. What is 15,000?
My feet shuffle through sandy ground—and I wonder if the sand had always been there. UNICEF tarps, corrugated tin, and scraps of wood make temporary “houses.” Hastily built brick and mortar buildings, with tin roofing make a series of stalls that whole families live in. The smell of cooking fires and the stench of 900 people living in close quarters inundates my nostrils. The translator tells us the stories, but none of them pierce the protective (and ever thickening) callous around my heart. The children follow us in groups—desperate—for what, I am unsure. Desperation hangs in the air, as thick as the smoke and stench, but who know what will quench it? But I can’t grieve this—I cannot grasp 900 people destituted—ripped from their once normal lives. What is 900?
I find myself in tears over things, which among such tragedy shouldn’t even cause me to blink. But I do; I cry over the translator who tells me that for 3 days after the tsunami, he thought it was the “END.” But he hasn’t lost his family, his house, or his business. I cry when the husband, lounging listlessly with his friends, tells us that he lost his wife of 9 months. We try to convey sympathy—he responds with a feeble but genuine thanks. But still I feel, “he should have some joy; His house stands intact, in sharp contrast to the destruction surround it. My eyes well with tears, as we try to communicate with 4 teenagers who are using a small hammer to chip away at what is left of their house. To what end? And I cry often in the home of an extended family. They used to live in 4 beautiful homes, now they are crowded into the home of the brother. They are lucky—they have a nice house to stay in, and they did not loose any family members to the deluge. But still I cry. I almost loose it as the wives rush cold bottles of pepsi into the room—in an act of hospitality unrivaled by anything I have seen in the States. As if 15 middle class college students from America are in desperate need to slake their thirst at the expense of a family who has lost so much. I cry often over the beautiful little girl who was saved as her mother scooped her up in her arms as the ocean swallowed the church. I can only begin to imagine the horror of the young mother as she was swept away, clutching the child. How many other mothers and children did not live to tell such stories? My heart goes out to the wife who weeps as she tells her story—her prayers were answered as she and other members of this family cried out to God in desperation that He would spare their family. And I cry as the grown sons (husbands to wives mentioned earlier) shove their camera phone into my hands and scroll through the pictures they had taken the day after. Pictures of bodies strewn among the litter of their house. Decaying and stiff bodies. Women, children; men whose clothes had been stripped off by the force of the water. I thought I had seen horrible things before. I thought I knew what it was to be in the presence of a dying patient or a dead body. But the horror of these pictures remains unparalleled in my experience. Why do they want me to see these horrible, sick pictures? Why did they take them in the first place? Why scroll one-by-one and explain in faltering English each slide to a college student from across the globe? But, it occurs to me, of course they do. The actions of these two grown men cry out—grieve with me, understand what I have gone through.
These are the things I can understand. These are the things that will make me cry. How do you grieve for something so big, so tragic? I believe it is so tragic that I can’t even begin to be properly sad for it. Maybe over the course of the next few months, I will be able to process it, to review this mental video tape I have taken of the vast destruction, but for now I’m almost in a state of denial. And so I must cry for the simple things—for things less tragic. Smaller personal tragedies. The newly-wed who has lost his bride. The experience of a family amidst utter chaos and suffering. These things I can begin to relate to; theses are the things which fit into the model of my grieving. I cannot relate to 15,000; it is too big. It does not fit my model of understanding. I think I can begin to understand what it must feel like to loose a wife. I think I can begin to relate to an overwhelming sense of dread. But a destroyed village? Loosing everything—home, family, employment in a simple 10 minutes? 200,000 dead? Not a chance, not now.
Standing on the beach, I realize that this natural disaster is not about 15,000 dead! What is 15,000? What is 200,000 dead? I realize that it is about the loss of a wife, the loss of a home, the psychologic trauma inflicted on two adult men who must move corpse after corpse (their friends, neighbors?) from the debris left of their home.
The warm wind blows, and I wipe the sweat from my brow. The tropical sun beats down on this paradise. I think to myself, “we do a great injustice to these people when we describe their situations with facts and figures.” Numbers don’t describe devastation. If we can’t report personal stories, then we should at least use generic terms. The tsunami was/is NOT about 200,000 dead. It was about mother loosing child, husband loosing wife, and family loosing home, work, and neighborhood. It’s about sitting happily in the church pew singing a chorus one minute and waking from what must seem like a nightmare of swimming, struggling, to find that your life has been turned upside down. The rest of the world likes numbers; they are fun pieces of trivia, which we can tally, collect, and finally, when the newness wears off, forget. Stories are real. Stories make us a small part of the suffering. Stories at least begin to do justice to those who live and die in this hellish tragedy.
I pick my way through the rubble and pray “Lord show me how to pray in this situation.” Somewhere deep within His voice speaks about the reality of the current situation. The present day reality is that the tsunami tragedy is not about the dead, but about the living. It is not about the rubble, the destruction, and the images of a child-corpse mouth opened like a deep grave; it is about the sad, down-trodden, listless, and tear-streaked faces of the survivors. THESE are the faces of tragedy! Sure, we must remember the dead, and even weep over their loss—but our sympathy, concern, and action must now be directed to those who live on. They are the ones who suffer. The Lord would have us direct our care to them. We face no the tragedy of the living, not the dead.
I sit cramped on a bus—obviously not made for over-sized Americans—as we make our 12 hr. trip across the country—back to the capital city on the west coast. We bump and jolt, screeching to stops to narrowly avoid the trucks coming around blind corners on a narrow road that weaves through this 3rd world jungle. I have an affinity for this world that I cannot explain—mountains, tea fields, shanty houses, crowded markets. My mind races ahead with the thoughts, while I desperately try to force my hand to organize the wild thoughts. I feel like exploding; I want to scream—at the bus driver for taking us on such a bumpy road, and at my noisy teammates, who have found laughter to be the best method of coping. I grip my pen tightly, wishing I had finished this journal entry at 5:30 tea, and try to proceed in orderly fashion even though my mind is miles ahead of my hand. As I paint the sickening reality on these pages the glints of hope and the brief flashes of joy amidst the sorrow keep shoving through the darkness. I resist writing about them because I don’t want to strip the disaster of its heartbreaking potency, and I absolutely hate the “happily-ever-after” cope-out. But the stories and the two verses plague me—refusing to let themselves go untold. So I recall the family mentioned earlier praising the Lord for all He has done in their lives—including giving the 72 year old grandmother strength to run a mile as she fled the tsunami. I remember the children who played happily as we entered the refugee camps—a glimmer of hope, unexplainable. And the words from Scripture that the Lord spoke to my heart as I survey the devastation. “Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:21-23). “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28).
Yes, these thoughts stand as glimmering paradoxes against the bleak darkness that I have tried to describe. They don’t make it all better. They don’t stop me from thinking of the disaster. No pacifier to stop my crying. Naturally, when I stood among the ruins of the tsunami, doubt crept in. Where was God on December 26? He that parts the seas, calms the wind and waves, and He who walks on water amidst the storm. I’m not sure. But on March 8th, He was there, whispering quiet words of hope to a college student from America.
Lord, may I be equal to the task of sharing this hope, of helping others to see it.
Friday, January 14, 2005
My Yoke is Easy…
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matt. 11:28-30)
Ahhh-hummm…Excuse me? Easy and light, you say? In the words of Dr. Lennox, “Or am I the only one who…” has thought this might be a little out of sync with my experience? Ok, ok, MAJORLY out of sync. Yet the truth of this statement calls to me. It beckons my heart to come and lay my weary burden down.
I’m going to make the honest confession that lately I have gotten out of step. It started well, I’m sure, but somehow I have found myself mired down with a spiritual to-do list that was about to take me under. I was breaking at the impossibility of achieving that which I sought, when His gentle Spirit intervened. In an effort to sound like I have it all together (intellectual pretense is everything in blogging) I am writing as if I really do have it all figured out and that I am skipping under my new-found light and easy yoke. No such luck. Despite my dashing good-looks, charming personality, and dazzling intellect, I learn spiritual lessons at the speed of lesser mortals.
I confess, somewhere in my desire to draw nearer to the Lord and to serve Him whole-heartedly, I switched into “Law Mode.” Spiritual disciplines became ends in themselves. Thoughts of the future were plagued with the fear that I would settle for less than the best, and end up simply a mediocre Christian. I think I might still be there…not to fret though, I’ll drag myself out of it, if it’s the last thing I DO… (I’m a hopeless Martha.)
In all seriousness, Lord, I truly want to know: What do You do, and what’s my responsibility? Lord, I don’t want to end up a mediocre Christian. I want to be passionately in love with You. I want to spend myself in service to You. I want to make the right decisions about the major opportunities that are presenting themselves to me in these next few months. And yet, Lord, above the din and racket, I hear you say, “Come to me.”
“My faith has found a resting place,
Not in device or creed;
I trust the Ever-living One,
His wounds for me shall plead.
I need no other argument,
I need no other plea,
It is enough that Jesus died,
And that He died for me.
Enough for me that Jesus saves,
This ends my fear and doubt;
A sinful soul, I come to Him,
He’ll never cast me out.
I need no other argument,
I need no other plea,
It is enough that Jesus died,
And that He died for me.”
Blessed Be Your Name
Today in chapel, we entered to some lame pop-ish contemporary worship song. The lyrics of which were about as valuable as the melody was to the history of world music. A friend in front of me sat down, in protest to the vast and profound theological misconceptions portrayed in the song. Though I try to avoid cynicism, I too did not join in singing because he had a very valid point—the song was terrible in every way. (For those of you who don't think theology should be involved in music...I remind you that Jesus says that true worshippers will worship in Spirit and in TRUTH.)
After we were seated, we began to watch a series of video clips related to the Asian Tsunami. The clips were truly heart-rending. I pray that the Lord will never allow me to grow numb to this, nor any other such tragedy. But I can’t dwell on this thought, for this blog is dedicated to something else. After several minutes we were asked to stand. We began to sing the song, “Blessed be your name.” While at first I was resistant to the way we glibly transitioned from sad imagery to pop, feel good music, I did approve of the song choice.
Blessed be Your name when I’m found in the desert place,
Though I walk through the wilderness Blessed be Your Name
Blessed be Your name on the road marked with suffering
Though there’s pain in the offering Blessed be Your Name.
As I sang these words, I was confronted by the thought: “You don’t even have a clue. You have not tarried in the wilderness, nor trekked long on the road marked with suffering. Keep singing, this is truth. But remember that you have no clue.”
It’s all true. I honestly haven’t suffered much. The contrast is made so clear by the disasters of late. I have never lost all but one family member. I have never been left with only the clothes on my back—completely dependent on foreigners from around the world to feed and clothe me. I have not had much opportunity to praise the Lord amidst my hurt and pain. Perhaps my praise should rise all the more fervently because of that fact. (Lord, truly, I do thank You for Your marvelous protection of me.) Yet, at the back of my mind and from deep in my heart, the challenge arises, “Remember these lyrics, so that you truly can say Blessed Be Your Name, in the day of your suffering.” Lord, prepare me for that. May my life pour forth blessing to you when “the world’s all as it should be” or “when the road is marked with suffering.”
There is time to kill…
Nestled between the intriguing and challenging thoughts of Deuteronomy 6 and 8 is a chapter that is fairly disconcerting. Yup, you guessed it….chapter 7. Allow me to set the stage first.
At the beginning of the Fall Semester, I randomly picked up a book at Borders. The title caught my eye immediately. “We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families.” It is the story of the 1994 Rwandan genocides. The book was, simply put, profound. My heart grieved the fact that so many (myself included) are ignorant of the injustice and evil around the world. How can we sit idly by while one people groups exterminates another? 800,000 people were hacked to death with machetes, and America and the UN did nothing. The time and busyness of the semester soon took the edge off those thoughts.
Then over Christmas breaks, two events brought me back to those thoughts. First, the December Tsunami, which has currently claimed at least 150,000 lives. I reeled at the thought that as I sat safely home during Christmas, others lost everything they had, including family. My heart ached for them. Oh Lord, how I long for the day of Your return, when this world will be set aright and death shall be vanquished. And then I saw the movie “Hotel Rwanda,” which is based on the book I mentioned previously. It visually recalled the events of the book, and flooded back those same thoughts and emotions.
Through all of this, I have felt the prodding of the Holy Spirit to be conscious of the world around me. To feel deeply for those who suffer world-wide, and to respond in the ways that I can. I realize that death and destruction are not the Lord’s desire. They are not how He wants this world to be. They are a result of sin, the corruption of the universe, and the reign of Satan in this world.
So when I arrived in chapter 7, I didn’t read anything new—I was quite aware of these events. Yet this time I was conflicted? How could the same God who was prompting me to have this heart from the world, say to His people Israel, “ and when the Lord your God has delivered them over to you and you have defeated them, then you must destroy them totally. Make no treaty with them, and show them no mercy. (7:2)” ??? Lord this is a hard teaching.
I understand the desire to keep Israel pure…and that the Lord may have been pouring out judgment on these other peoples because of their idolatry…but this picture doesn’t line up with the picture of the God I love and serve. Lord, instruct my heart. Give me understanding. Teach me more about Yourself and Your character. Why this command Lord?
I invite anyone reading this blog to respond. I would love to hear your thoughts.
At the beginning of the Fall Semester, I randomly picked up a book at Borders. The title caught my eye immediately. “We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families.” It is the story of the 1994 Rwandan genocides. The book was, simply put, profound. My heart grieved the fact that so many (myself included) are ignorant of the injustice and evil around the world. How can we sit idly by while one people groups exterminates another? 800,000 people were hacked to death with machetes, and America and the UN did nothing. The time and busyness of the semester soon took the edge off those thoughts.
Then over Christmas breaks, two events brought me back to those thoughts. First, the December Tsunami, which has currently claimed at least 150,000 lives. I reeled at the thought that as I sat safely home during Christmas, others lost everything they had, including family. My heart ached for them. Oh Lord, how I long for the day of Your return, when this world will be set aright and death shall be vanquished. And then I saw the movie “Hotel Rwanda,” which is based on the book I mentioned previously. It visually recalled the events of the book, and flooded back those same thoughts and emotions.
Through all of this, I have felt the prodding of the Holy Spirit to be conscious of the world around me. To feel deeply for those who suffer world-wide, and to respond in the ways that I can. I realize that death and destruction are not the Lord’s desire. They are not how He wants this world to be. They are a result of sin, the corruption of the universe, and the reign of Satan in this world.
So when I arrived in chapter 7, I didn’t read anything new—I was quite aware of these events. Yet this time I was conflicted? How could the same God who was prompting me to have this heart from the world, say to His people Israel, “ and when the Lord your God has delivered them over to you and you have defeated them, then you must destroy them totally. Make no treaty with them, and show them no mercy. (7:2)” ??? Lord this is a hard teaching.
I understand the desire to keep Israel pure…and that the Lord may have been pouring out judgment on these other peoples because of their idolatry…but this picture doesn’t line up with the picture of the God I love and serve. Lord, instruct my heart. Give me understanding. Teach me more about Yourself and Your character. Why this command Lord?
I invite anyone reading this blog to respond. I would love to hear your thoughts.
Deuteronomy 6 & 8
I am no expert on blogging…as you can see by my entry dates, I write pieces few and far between. However, the common theme I’ve noticed is that most intelligent writers stick to one topic and explore it through detailed writing. Well I am about to defy those rules. My dear friend Adam Thada commented that I wasn’t doing such a great job at “nursing perspective.” So, here are the enticing thoughts of the day.
Deuteronomy 6:10-12. “When the Lord your God brings you into the land he swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to give you—a land with large, flourishing cities you did not build, houses filled with all kinds of good things you did not provide, wells you did not dig, and vineyards and olive groves you did not plant—then when you eat and are satisfied be careful that you do not forget the Lord who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery.”
Perhaps we would do well to heed this caution. “Be careful that you do not forget the Lord…” Among the opulence of the land you inhabit, do not forget Him. When your stomachs are full and you aren’t desperately seeking the Lord for your next meal, do not forget Him. The danger is real.
Chapter 8 elaborates: “(10) When you have eaten and are satisfied, praise the Lord your God for the good land he has given you. (12-14) Otherwise, when you eat and are satisfied, when you build fine houses and settle down, and when your herds and flocks grow large and your silver and gold increase and all you have is multiplied, then your heart will become proud and you will forget the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. (17-20) You may say to yourself, ‘My power and the strength of my hands have produced this wealth for me.’ But remember the Lord your God for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth, and so confirms his covenant, which he swore to your forefathers, as it is today. If you ever forget the Lord your God and follow other gods and worship and bow down to them, I testify against you today that you will surely be destroyed. Like the nations the Lord destroyed before you, so you will be destroyed for not obeying the Lord your God.”
Let us not allow money and wealth to become a god that we place in prominence above our God. I fear this is the situation among many, many Christians in America. Even those who haven fallen prey to this god are certainly tempted. How often are job choices dictated by money and not by the Lord’s leading? You may not agree with what I say here, but I really wonder if Christian college students shouldn’t spend a large amount of time considering the motivation in their major selection. Perhaps if we all honestly evaluated and then chose on correct motives, we would find more people in ministry-related fields?
Bottom-line: With fear and trembling we need to evaluate the effects of wealth on our lives.
Deuteronomy 6:10-12. “When the Lord your God brings you into the land he swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to give you—a land with large, flourishing cities you did not build, houses filled with all kinds of good things you did not provide, wells you did not dig, and vineyards and olive groves you did not plant—then when you eat and are satisfied be careful that you do not forget the Lord who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery.”
Perhaps we would do well to heed this caution. “Be careful that you do not forget the Lord…” Among the opulence of the land you inhabit, do not forget Him. When your stomachs are full and you aren’t desperately seeking the Lord for your next meal, do not forget Him. The danger is real.
Chapter 8 elaborates: “(10) When you have eaten and are satisfied, praise the Lord your God for the good land he has given you. (12-14) Otherwise, when you eat and are satisfied, when you build fine houses and settle down, and when your herds and flocks grow large and your silver and gold increase and all you have is multiplied, then your heart will become proud and you will forget the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. (17-20) You may say to yourself, ‘My power and the strength of my hands have produced this wealth for me.’ But remember the Lord your God for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth, and so confirms his covenant, which he swore to your forefathers, as it is today. If you ever forget the Lord your God and follow other gods and worship and bow down to them, I testify against you today that you will surely be destroyed. Like the nations the Lord destroyed before you, so you will be destroyed for not obeying the Lord your God.”
Let us not allow money and wealth to become a god that we place in prominence above our God. I fear this is the situation among many, many Christians in America. Even those who haven fallen prey to this god are certainly tempted. How often are job choices dictated by money and not by the Lord’s leading? You may not agree with what I say here, but I really wonder if Christian college students shouldn’t spend a large amount of time considering the motivation in their major selection. Perhaps if we all honestly evaluated and then chose on correct motives, we would find more people in ministry-related fields?
Bottom-line: With fear and trembling we need to evaluate the effects of wealth on our lives.
The Pattengale Theory
According to Dr. Pattengale statistics show the MOST successful students doing the following:
(The following suggestions appeared in a study manual for one of my classes)
- Never miss class (16hrs/week)
- Average 3-4 hrs of study per class hour (4 x 16hrs/week)
- Get 7-8 hrs. sleep per night (8x7hrs/week)
- Never work more than 20hrs per week (20hrs/week)
- Eat 3 well balanced meals per day (7days x 2hrs/ week)
- Have personal quiet time daily (7x 1hr/ week)
- Have a cheerleader. Talk and share often (5hrs/week??)
The above calculations were added by myself.
Successful student= 16 + (4x16) + (8x7) + 20 + (7x2) + 7 + 5 = 182hrs/week
Hours in 7 day week= 7x24= 168hrs/week
Hours in an actual week MINUS Hours in successful student’s week = -14hrs
Successful student = Logical impossibility
**I believe our beloved President (George W.) would say something like, “Seems like fuzzy math to me, Al.” Somebody must know something I do not. I have not yet figured out how to add hours to my week. I am going to hire a personal cheerleader though because I could definitely use more hours in my week.
Keep in mind, we haven’t factored in anything in regards to necessities such as communication with others (family, friends, etc), going to the bathroom, bathing (successful students=stinky!) going to church (or chapel for that matter), extra nursing (or class) meetings (we all know they exist!!), and the list rolls on. AND we haven’t even begun to think of having fun…you can forget that as a successful student.
Also keep in mind, Dr. Pattengale makes the following recommendations which didn’t make the above time calculations:
· Successful students show initiative: their desire to excel makes them do MORE WORK THAN IS REQUIRED
· Never assume that the same effort they expended the year/semester before will earn equally high grades this semester (PROGRESSION CALLS FOR MORE EFFORT!!!)
Well you can count me out. Sounds like success comes at to high a price for me. I’ll settle for being the best student I can, while I depend on the Lord to lead me and show me where to best invest my time.
Here’s to a “successful” semester: Cheers!
Monday, November 15, 2004
Missions Calling
A.B. Simpson (founder of the Christian and Missionary Alliance Church) says (of CMA missions):
"We want men and women who can live simply, endure hardship, deny themselves, put up with every discomfort; who do not want things 'just so' for their wardrobe; who are willing to go to the nations just as they are getting on at home, if necessary; who do not need two or three trunks and a great amount of baggage; who can travel with a knapsack like a solider and sleep in their boots and will not grumble about it either, but enjoy it for Christ's sake; who have got over the romance and novelty of travel and are going to the nations for one thing only, and that is to win souls for Christ, to please HIm and hasten His coming!"
Lord, as You "carry [this good work] on toward completion" in me, may this be an accurate description of my life.
"We want men and women who can live simply, endure hardship, deny themselves, put up with every discomfort; who do not want things 'just so' for their wardrobe; who are willing to go to the nations just as they are getting on at home, if necessary; who do not need two or three trunks and a great amount of baggage; who can travel with a knapsack like a solider and sleep in their boots and will not grumble about it either, but enjoy it for Christ's sake; who have got over the romance and novelty of travel and are going to the nations for one thing only, and that is to win souls for Christ, to please HIm and hasten His coming!"
Lord, as You "carry [this good work] on toward completion" in me, may this be an accurate description of my life.
Friday, November 12, 2004
Possession
A certain uneasiness has laid heavily upon my heart as of late. It is the curious feeling that I am possessed. I assure you that this possession is not the demonic sort, but it very well may be a foe equally as dangerous. To be cliché, I fear that the things which I possess have come to possess me. Have I been duped—convinced by the leaders of my day and culture that the things I own are mine to enjoy? They are a gift from God; I have but to mumbled “thank you” and He will make them a source of endless delight. (Let us not confine our thoughts to simple material objects, I believe freedom, safety, rights, and the life of ease can be equally, if not more, dangerous.) Have I blithely accumulated the best things this world has to offer, only to realize with horror that the treacherous beasts have stuck daggers into my spiritual life? I have decorated the throne room with many a treasure unwittingly usurping Christ’s complete reign in my life.
Galatians 4 paints the beautiful picture of Christ delivering us from the bondage of sin and adopting us. “So you are no longer a slave but a son.” I believe that this deliverance is complete—efficacious for loosing the chains no matter how stubborn and numerous. So my fear is not that Christ won’t heal me from this disease; I am terrified that I won’t want Him to...
When the sower plants seed, some does fall among the thorns. The thorns never kill the plant, they simply choke it, rendering it fruitless. In the same way, “the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth” will not kill the spiritual life, they will simply render it useless. Am I soothed by the voice telling me, “You will not surely die”? Do I not perceive the danger here? Or do I foresee the pain of the cure? I do not know. I do know that my heart cowers at the thought of going any further with this train of thought.
I have arrived at this point of thinking before, but mercifully I always recall the importance of attitude. ‘As long as my attitude is to serve the Lord first, it doesn’t matter if I have nice things. I know many rich Christians who have a solid relationship with Christ.’ Yet such arguments have never completely satisfied me. Let me make clear two points.
First, the disposition of the heart should be evident in the actions. This may not be a fail-proof test but is generally true. The tree will be known by its fruit, and the attitude of heart will be known by the actions of the man. So when the Christ-ruled heart learns that a brother is in dire need, it should gladly sacrifice all the excess it has to meet the need. In this world, it would seem that American Christians should be sending thousands, perhaps millions of dollars overseas to meet the needs of Christians who don’t know where their next meal will come from. The American Christian should gladly lay aside the life of ease if the life of strife will advance the Name of Christ here on earth. Furthermore, we should abandon rights and freedom if we know that our own oppression and slavery will honor our Lord. Safety should be sacrificed so that those who live in areas of violence and darkness may know the precious light of the Gospel. Does this stand to reason?
Secondly, I have vowed in my heart not to make the latter a standard by which I will judge other Christians. Perhaps there are those whose hearts are not lured by possessions. Indeed, to reach the rich, one must have some means to do so. And perhaps the Lord must deal more severely with my heart. Maybe my missions-calling will call me to levels of sacrifice not demanded by others. Conversely, I will not judge myself according to the lives of others. I will not look at a fruitful Christian and adopt their standard of living as my own. My lifestyle will be determined by the Lord.
That being said, I will say the following, which I believe to be true of many in American Christianity and certainly true of that which is sinful in me. We lack simplicity. We live cluttered lives, and our view of Christ, our brothers and sisters, and the lost and dying world around us is obscured because of it. When it comes to sacrificing for the Lord, we are cautious investors, putting on the line only that which will make little difference when lost. We are more like the servant who buries the talent, than the two who risked it all to please their ruthless master. And perhaps we are scared to find Christ to be just that, ruthless. Maybe we are afraid to see the rage and ruthlessness with which He will clear the change tables from the courts of our hearts in order to allow for uninhibited worship. Our God is a jealous God, and His fury against that which prevents His children from knowing Him fully, caused Him to sacrifice His Son. We are mistaken if we believe that He will not call us to sacrifice things as near and dear to our hearts, so that we may purely love Him. It is time to take up our crosses.
I have here only touched the tip of the issue, or maybe just simply pointed at the problem from a distance. And I say all this, all the while my heart still cowers, begging me not to allow Christ to convict, convince, and work.
So Lord Jesus, all intellectual posturing aside, I ask Lord that the light of Your Holiness will convict my heart. Lord grant me wisdom so that I may know the grip possessions have on my life. Free me Lord, whatever that takes. Give me strength and courage to pick up my cross. The cross is ruthless and painful, but it is effective. May the throne of my life be wholly Yours. In the Son’s precious name I pray, Amen.
Galatians 4 paints the beautiful picture of Christ delivering us from the bondage of sin and adopting us. “So you are no longer a slave but a son.” I believe that this deliverance is complete—efficacious for loosing the chains no matter how stubborn and numerous. So my fear is not that Christ won’t heal me from this disease; I am terrified that I won’t want Him to...
When the sower plants seed, some does fall among the thorns. The thorns never kill the plant, they simply choke it, rendering it fruitless. In the same way, “the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth” will not kill the spiritual life, they will simply render it useless. Am I soothed by the voice telling me, “You will not surely die”? Do I not perceive the danger here? Or do I foresee the pain of the cure? I do not know. I do know that my heart cowers at the thought of going any further with this train of thought.
I have arrived at this point of thinking before, but mercifully I always recall the importance of attitude. ‘As long as my attitude is to serve the Lord first, it doesn’t matter if I have nice things. I know many rich Christians who have a solid relationship with Christ.’ Yet such arguments have never completely satisfied me. Let me make clear two points.
First, the disposition of the heart should be evident in the actions. This may not be a fail-proof test but is generally true. The tree will be known by its fruit, and the attitude of heart will be known by the actions of the man. So when the Christ-ruled heart learns that a brother is in dire need, it should gladly sacrifice all the excess it has to meet the need. In this world, it would seem that American Christians should be sending thousands, perhaps millions of dollars overseas to meet the needs of Christians who don’t know where their next meal will come from. The American Christian should gladly lay aside the life of ease if the life of strife will advance the Name of Christ here on earth. Furthermore, we should abandon rights and freedom if we know that our own oppression and slavery will honor our Lord. Safety should be sacrificed so that those who live in areas of violence and darkness may know the precious light of the Gospel. Does this stand to reason?
Secondly, I have vowed in my heart not to make the latter a standard by which I will judge other Christians. Perhaps there are those whose hearts are not lured by possessions. Indeed, to reach the rich, one must have some means to do so. And perhaps the Lord must deal more severely with my heart. Maybe my missions-calling will call me to levels of sacrifice not demanded by others. Conversely, I will not judge myself according to the lives of others. I will not look at a fruitful Christian and adopt their standard of living as my own. My lifestyle will be determined by the Lord.
That being said, I will say the following, which I believe to be true of many in American Christianity and certainly true of that which is sinful in me. We lack simplicity. We live cluttered lives, and our view of Christ, our brothers and sisters, and the lost and dying world around us is obscured because of it. When it comes to sacrificing for the Lord, we are cautious investors, putting on the line only that which will make little difference when lost. We are more like the servant who buries the talent, than the two who risked it all to please their ruthless master. And perhaps we are scared to find Christ to be just that, ruthless. Maybe we are afraid to see the rage and ruthlessness with which He will clear the change tables from the courts of our hearts in order to allow for uninhibited worship. Our God is a jealous God, and His fury against that which prevents His children from knowing Him fully, caused Him to sacrifice His Son. We are mistaken if we believe that He will not call us to sacrifice things as near and dear to our hearts, so that we may purely love Him. It is time to take up our crosses.
I have here only touched the tip of the issue, or maybe just simply pointed at the problem from a distance. And I say all this, all the while my heart still cowers, begging me not to allow Christ to convict, convince, and work.
So Lord Jesus, all intellectual posturing aside, I ask Lord that the light of Your Holiness will convict my heart. Lord grant me wisdom so that I may know the grip possessions have on my life. Free me Lord, whatever that takes. Give me strength and courage to pick up my cross. The cross is ruthless and painful, but it is effective. May the throne of my life be wholly Yours. In the Son’s precious name I pray, Amen.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Removing the Veil
I will not pretend that the title of this blog is original. I shamelessly borrowed it from a mind far more capable than mine. I've been reflecting a lot on thought, reason, faith, knowledge, and their interplay. In fact, this whole blogging scene is based on a lot of that. It is the interchange of ideas and knowledge, and retrival of agreeing and opposing points of view. The sharpening that occurs in this process is largely what drew me to start reading blogs and then to create this blog. I should clarify my previous point to include the fact that many use blogging as nothing more than a place to spew emotions, feelings, and giddy nonsense. While I hold a respect for the proper use and expression of emotions, I'm not sure I respect public display of every deep feeling and thought onto a web page for all your friends to read. I'll try to be man enough to express my feelings to my friends in person, so that I don't totally loose touch with reality. I fear that we could be entering a time when couples will break up because one partner is having an emotional affair with his/her blog page (or would that simply be himself??).
I place high value on thinking correctly. Perhaps never more than this year, when I have begun to understand that the diligent and right use of knowledge affects the very course of my life and indeed my relationship with God.
"What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us. The history of mankind will probably show that no people has ever risen above its religion, and man's spiritual hisotry will positively demonstrate that no religion has ever been greater than its idea of God. Worship is pure or base as the worshiper entertains high or low thoughts of God." (AW Tozer, The Knowledge of the Holy.)
So, given the capacity, however limited, to know, to apprehend, and to learn, I will seek to love the Lord my God with all my mind. Yet, there has been a quiet discontent with this position that has occasionally boiled up and out of my heart onto the surface of my mind over the past month. However, allow me to continue this discussion in a later blog. For now, let us consider the ramifications of sharpening the mind, of knowing correctly, and actively seeking others input. By nature of being created with a mind capable of reason or by nature of being commanded to love God with all our minds, are we called to know as much and as best we can? If so, what should our sources of knowledge be? Should I continue reading the blogs of people I think sharpen me? Should I dive into books written by Church Fathers? Should I stay current with World News, Politics, and the fine arts? And where do I begin to find the time to do this?
I place high value on thinking correctly. Perhaps never more than this year, when I have begun to understand that the diligent and right use of knowledge affects the very course of my life and indeed my relationship with God.
"What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us. The history of mankind will probably show that no people has ever risen above its religion, and man's spiritual hisotry will positively demonstrate that no religion has ever been greater than its idea of God. Worship is pure or base as the worshiper entertains high or low thoughts of God." (AW Tozer, The Knowledge of the Holy.)
So, given the capacity, however limited, to know, to apprehend, and to learn, I will seek to love the Lord my God with all my mind. Yet, there has been a quiet discontent with this position that has occasionally boiled up and out of my heart onto the surface of my mind over the past month. However, allow me to continue this discussion in a later blog. For now, let us consider the ramifications of sharpening the mind, of knowing correctly, and actively seeking others input. By nature of being created with a mind capable of reason or by nature of being commanded to love God with all our minds, are we called to know as much and as best we can? If so, what should our sources of knowledge be? Should I continue reading the blogs of people I think sharpen me? Should I dive into books written by Church Fathers? Should I stay current with World News, Politics, and the fine arts? And where do I begin to find the time to do this?
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Welcome
Shouldn't I have something profound to say at the beginning of this new blog page? Sure, I think saying something profound might be ideal...but who has time for that? I've got a Bible study to prepare, a test to study for, and lots of nursing paperwork. Yet, that is always the case I seem to find myself in. So welcome to my page. I offer here a (hopefully) honest look at my life and thoughts. And I even hope to keep it current. (We'll see about that.) So it is with this quote (the most profound thing I've read all day--and trust me, I've been reading) that I leave you:
"Missionaries will convert the world by preaching, but also through the shedding of tears and blood and with great labor, and through a bitter death." ---Ramon Lull (Early 1300's missionary)
"Missionaries will convert the world by preaching, but also through the shedding of tears and blood and with great labor, and through a bitter death." ---Ramon Lull (Early 1300's missionary)
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