Year-End Musings

I've been thinking about spiritual practice (aka 'my religion') of late. As the New Year looms, we tend to do these inventories, as a matter of course.

One of the things I've been thinking about lately is, reflecting on my consumption levels. Recently, we installed a new hot tub and deck out back of the house. It's been glorious to just jump in after a hard bike ride or just whenever you get a chill in the house on one of the recent spate of bitter cold winter nights. But as I sit there, luxuriating in the tub, my mind often turns to how others are suffering around the world, and why we should be so comfortable.

Some of my religious friends would say that's appropriate of course, in light of the fact that you live the way you live, at the level of comfort you do, and yet so many suffer. You SHOULD be uncomfortable about your...well, your comfort level. And I'd say I can't entirely disagree with them. And mind you, this all has been going on in my mind and heart long before this week's tragic tsunami in Asia and Africa. I've long had those regions of the world on my heart--China, the Sudan, Vietnam, Nepal, Uganda, Rwanda, Nigeria, Egypt, Iraq, Iran. Anywhere in particular where the Gospel is hard come by, where my brothers and sisters suffer under enormous oppression, where even those outside the Church suffer injustice and oppression.

I regularly pray for these people, even give from time to time, as we will certainly to CARE or other relief efforts for the tsunami victims. But God, would You direct my thoughts to other ways to release Your power through my agency? Move in my heart and mind to extend Yourself through me, my wife, my family, to "re-present" You to my friends, neighbors, and those in my own Judea, Samaria, and the uttermost parts of the earth.

I also weekly (at least every Tuesday, my regular day for prayer for family) wrestle with my misgivings about how I am (or am not, as the case may be) leading my family toward a deeper commitment to living out a life of discipleship.

This blog entry itself is the result of receiving a year-end fundraising letter from Mars Hill Audio Journal, in which host Ken Myers treats on discipleship, what it entails, and I am convicted of my lack of commitment. Lord, have mercy! Grant me redirection in this area of my responsibilities.

Still, much of what Myers says resonates so completely with me. Myers says, for one example:

"[The] radical work of God in conversion and discipleship is nothing less than the making of a new creation, and to the extent that our cultural lives are extensions of our engagement with creation, the patterns of our cultural conventions require transformation as well. Jesus did not die, rise, and ascend to change something in our hearts and leave it at that, but thereby to change everything."

Now, as Myers goes on in the next paragraph, I'm with him. He discusses how people escape "the ramified demands of discipleship" by what has been termed "compartmentalization" of the faith. We separate out our lives as "spiritual" (discipleship...of the mind, at least) and go on living our physical lives according to the "priests of our age," the "allegedly neutral, value-free, mechanical principles established by economists, sociologists, and other scientific experts." And I think to some degree, we're (that is, I and my family) guilty of doing that. But not entirely, or else I don't think I'd be a regular subscriber to Mars Hill Audio Journal, in which such criticisms are leveled regularly by Mr. Myers & co.

But then, my old, almost Catholic guilt arises...Why don't you pray more regularly with your wife and children? Why do you not limit (seriously) what you watch on television (I do, but not to the extent my former, more fundamental churchmates would approve of) or the movies? The magazines you read, the DVD's and CDs you purchase, why are they not all "sacred" and not increasingly "profane" (in the classical sense, if not in the literal)?

Why don't we give more in tithe and time to our church? (I can tell you some of the reasons for this, actually, but am not sure it's such a great place to here)? Why don't we give more to charity and voluteer at places like soup kitchens, or seek ways to do short-term missions work? Why ?

Well, I don't know the answers to these questions, but I hope and pray that in 2005, I'll get the answers to some of them, and I aspire to draw nearer to my Lord in disciplining myself, in His disciplining me to walk closer with Him in to the future. One thing I do know, and that is the character of the 'good and loving God' (Thanks, Sheldon Kallevig!) that I worship, however weakly. He is faithful (1Timothy 2:13)

Grace & peace in 2005!

"I just wish people would stop being mean.....!!!"

Cody's been dealing with a bully at school this week. Two days ago, on the playground, apparently, this kid kicked Cody where it counts, so he jumped the bully, and he backed off. Apparently, he was back at it again today. Perhaps the kid's a sucker for punishment. I don't know. I also don't know if it's wise or not, especially these days, and in the public schools, but we didn't exactly discourage him from standing up for himself. He's such a sweet-tempered kid. I'm sure he's a lot like I was as a kid. Prone to being hassled by bullies, but when the button's been pushed enough times...

Anyway, while chatting with him earlier tonight about the situation, he just looked up and in a pleading sort of way, said "I just wish people would stop being mean.....!!!" Later on, while reading a self-described article on Bruderhof.com by Howard Zinn about hopefulness for the future, I was struck by the similarities to the themes of childlikeness and childlike faith that we've been talking about in church, and here in the house lately.

I decided to go back to Tim's blog . and check it out again. His recent talk (sermon, really...or as close as you'll get to one at K10, anyway) was on the Gospel teaching about becoming like a child. I think Tim accurately brought out that what Jesus meant by this teaching was, for the most part, about humility. However, I think he may have overstated the case that the first-century readers would have had *no* concept of the common, romanticized version of childhood of our own day.

If that was truly the case, then you would have to ignore scriptural reference to 'put[ting] away childish things,' and 'can a mother forget her own child?,' 'Rachel weeping for her children,' etc. Certainly, folks in that day loved their children dearly, and thought of them in what we would call, 'romantic' ways. Yes, children in that day would undoubtedly be much more likely to be 'non-persons' without property rights, whose status was lower even than servants in their households, but still, they were their precious possessions, their 'heritage of the Lord,' and therefore, highly valued.

I wish we'd all stop being mean, too. But how do I inculcate in my son the notion that that's just the way people are? That that's the problem with us? That we are, as the catechism puts it, totally depraved?

One of these days, God's gonna put it all right. In the meantime, I need a little dose of that childlike faith and humility, to trust God that He's got the whole world in His hands, and that He's going to work it all out to the good.

Amen!

what to do?

On weekend days, I've tried to make it my regular practice to pray for 'world affairs' or however you'd like to put it...international events, for God to alleviate suffering. For years now, since at least the early 1990s, I've felt like Sudan has been somewhere I've been concerned about, like a 'burden' (to put it in a sort of super-spiritual way) for the country.

This morning, I read another account, from the NY Times, detailing the recent increase in violence between the many warring factions there in the country, and how folks have been affected. And this right after an apparent November 9th peace accord reached in Nigeria about the situations there.

People were once again on the move, mostly women and children. One woman's plight that is told about in the story was related. She was making breakfast when she heard warplanes circling overhead. She dropped what she was doing, gathered her children and her mother, and fled. When she was well along her way to the next refugee camp, she looked around and realized two of her children were not with her...simply gone.

God, please bring peace to this place, and bring back this woman's children. I don't know what I would do if this happened to me. Some accounting must be made for this misery someday. God, have mercy on us. Give us insight, direction! How can we live so that we make a difference, even in places so far removed from one another? Ignorance of such issues would be bliss, but the 'convenience' of the newspapers brings new burdens (this not in the super-spiritual sense at all). Help us bear them for others.

Lord, how long will you look away?

Disenfranchised...Sorta

Well, I went to the polls this morning. I vote (or at least try to) at the local Mennonite church down the road about a half mile, Community Bible Church they call it. I guess being Mennonite isn't such a great draw these days; pictures of ladies with little baskets on their hair buns... This church isn't like that at all, though.

So, after misjudging how long it was going to take me to get out the door this morning and get over to the polling place, I arrive at the church right at 7am-ish. Doors are already open, donuts & coffee await us early birds, about 25 or so in all so far. I get in line and wait my turn, drinking my coffee, eating my forbidden donut (chocolate, with blue sprinkles!). I saunter up, thinking to myself, man, back in the August primary, I'd had to vote provisionally, since I'd failed to re-register my new address after buying and moving into the new house. But I figure, well, I'll prolly be on the rolls this time since I voted here last time. I go up to the election judges, and shazam! No name on the rolls!!! I'm forced to vote provisionally again!

I take the paper ballot, after spending time filling out my voter information for identification purposes, and head to the "voting machine" (actually just one of the voting machine boxes/tables with the little walls that make it difficult to write legibly. So, I take my black ink pen and begin laboriously filling in the little ovals on the ballot. By now, I'm angry, so you Kansas judges wondering why you were all turned out of office...well, heh heh...that's why. I get done and take a look at the little slip of paper the election judge hands me (after apologizing to me for not getting my name on the rolls this time...even though my WIFE was on the rolls!) and I notice that MY vote won't even be counted until next Monday! AFTER the election is (*hopefully*) long since decided. After that time, I can call and see if my vote was even counted. By then, I hope that it won't matter anyway.

So, I was sort of disenfranchised, but beings it's Kansas, and Kansas being what it is, I'm not as angry. If I lived in a true battleground state, I think I'd be fuming. Or if I wasn't confident that the electors for Kansas were going the way they're expected to go anyway, I'd be much more concerned. Still, it sucks that in the election of a lifetime (aren't they all?), my vote really probably won't count.

C'est la vie!

High and Lonesome

Thinking about too much stuff tonight, I guess. It's after 11pm CST here, and I'm still awake, even after reading Flannery O'Connor's short story, "The Life You Save May Be Your Own" to Beck at 9:30, then making her listen to Vincent Miller on the most recent Mars Hill Audio Journal (www.mhaj.org) discuss the commodification of religion. You'd think that'd be enough to make anyone fall asleep. The O'connor story just disturbed her, and she was snoring before the half-way point in Miller's piece. I, on the other hand, am afflicted, both physically and psychically.

I've been fighting back from a severe cold, for which I've been taking Claritin D (24hr), Nyquil at night, and now I'm sucking on the only cough drop I could find in the house. It's one from the bottom of my shaving kit I keep under the sink in my bathroom. I'm surprised it doesn't taste like old cologne I never use, but that I keep in there. It seems just to leak and evaporate away on me. I don't think I've bought any cologne for myself in about 5-10 years. I always have some left over from years ago that I must have rec'd in a stocking at Christmas or something.

The cold has been manifesting tonight in what feels like I've been breathing in feathers. The tickle in the back of my throat refuses to let me sleep. Hence, the cough drop. I'm tempted to have a beer, but at this hour, and with the Nyquil, I'm afraid I'd oversleep and miss the early-morning bike ride in the cold pre-dawn I'm looking forward to.

Listening to the newest Bill Mallonee record also has me up. He's such a beautiful songwriter. The one on "Dear Life" called 'High...and Lonesome' is just about one of the most beautiful songs I've heard in years. Here's a couple lines:

"people sure buy a lot of what doesn't make them happy, but our love is money in the bank."

"you really oughta tidy up those loose ends of your life, the ones you keep hangin' on the fence, people seem to want substantial periods at the end of my every sentence..."

Couple lines like these with the spare acoustic guitar and violin and bass, and you have the makings of a real classic, melancholy tune. Mallonee's like (the late) Rodney Dangerfield. He don't get no respect.

All Quiet [and dry] on the Bag End Front

I guess things quieted back down some since the last posts. I'm not sure if anyone's reading this, but I suppose if I want them to, I have to post occasionally.

Been feeling a bit under the weather the past few days. I haven't been wanting to ride as much, or exercise, I haven't been eating all that well. And while I find it difficult to pray regularly of late, I have found myself curiously interested in spiritual exercise, reading/thinking mainly.

Couple of weekends ago, my "Bag End" friend intro'd a spiritual exercise called "Lectio Divina" which is essentially reading and ruminating on a passage of scripture to let it speak to you. They took a verse or two from Psalm 42, I believe it was this one:

"As the deer pants for streams of water, so I long for you, O God. 2 I thirst for God, the living God."

It may have been a bit more than that, but not much more. Some might plead slim pickins, and one might grant that complaint. However, even so, this little tid bit is really packed, if you want to take some time to chew on it like the exercise teaches.

How does a deer pant for streams of water? Naturally, I'd think. I want to desire God in that way. God, make me a natural follower of you. Let me desire You like I desire water, which is my very life. I thirst for God, too. But not like the deer do. I have a thirst, but don't act on it. Matter of fact, we can go right on living without God, but not well, and not healthily. I pray for that kind of spiritual health that makes my seeking something that comes almost naturally, like breathing. Supernaturally would be even better.

Amen to that!

Bag End

I wish certain acquaintances of mine would cease and desist bagging on the brothers & sisters. Even if they deserve it. For one thing, there seems to be a double standard. While they bag on the brothers, this leader (admittedly so) acknowledges that he's not entirely above the same criticism, but still finds excuses to go ahead with really stiff criticism, all the while missing the fact that God is bigger than his favorite whipping boy's 'organization,' and more powerful to boot. That "bothers the crap outta me."

Pax,
Bill

Re-evaluating Choices

y_llib's sawhorse

I was reading a very interesting article in Touchstone Magazine (http://www.touchstonemag.com/archives/article.php?id=17-08-042-f) that has a lot of implications for not only the obvious 'choice' issue (i.e. abortion), but also community, and just plain ol' choices. Here's an excerpt:

"The Dragon Choice

But in all things short of the ultimate, is choice really the dragon I have made it to be? I think we need some prudence and hardheaded facing up to reality here. There are many things, among them the most beloved and noble in life, that are compromised or vitiated or changed in nature just insofar as they are chosen or planned.

If you choose martyrdom, you are not a martyr but a suicide. The truly brave man is not the man who chooses to stay in the battle, but the one who sees that he has been chosen to fight and who has given up any choice to run away. The faithful husband is precisely he for whom infidelity has ceased to be a choice. The vagabond monks of Benedict’s day were caught in the trap of their ceaseless choosing; only with that wise vow of stability, which is a wise and brave tossing of choice to the winds, could a monk begin to climb the mountain of God.

If a group of people get together and choose to form a village, they have formed not a village but a club, a clique. The true village embraces all the romance and adventure of a pirate raid: people next door who insist on keeping chickens; a troop up the street who yell like Huns on furlough; the near genius who drinks too much, who can take your car apart and rebuild it better than it was, but who cannot keep a job; Irish and Italian boys who get into brawls now and who marry each other’s sisters later.

There they are, the crazy lot of them, from the smug churchgoer to the even smugger atheist, thrust into one cranny of a continental crust, forced by the accident of birth not only to put up with each other but also to keep their streets clean, rebuke each other’s children, spike the punch on holidays, and bury each other at the last. When Christ asks us if we loved our neighbors, how many of us modern choosers will be hoping he means those nice people with the good grace to live far away in India, people whom we chose to help, rather than those strange and terrible beings who just happened to live on our block?

The whole of modern life, says Chesterton, is an attempt to flee from real dealings with other men and to retreat to the haven of a clique. So have we fled the family:

'The modern writers who have suggested, in a more or less open manner, that the family is a bad institution, have generally confined themselves to suggesting, with much sharpness, bitterness, or pathos, that perhaps the family is not always very congenial. Of course the family is a good institution because it is uncongenial. It is wholesome precisely because it contains so many divergencies and varieties. It is, as the sentimentalists say, like a little kingdom, and, like most other little kingdoms, is generally in a state of something resembling anarchy.'"