God's Not Far

"Yet he is actually not far from each one of us, for 'In him we live and move and have our being.'" - Paul in the Areopagus.

I was meeting with a group of guys yesterday. A ragamuffin bunch. We were sharing our hurts and struggles, and then we were asked to share something we were grateful for. I really couldn't think of anything better than having such a group to meet with at the moment, so I said I was grateful for the group, truly engratiating myself to everyone. I like to be liked.

But then someone, who had shared that he was really struggling asked to pass. We continued sharing and I thought that there had to be something he could be grateful for. "How about oxygen?" I thought.

We take so much for granted, especially when life has us down. I know that when I'm feeling down, I walk around with my personal cloud of grumpiness, trying to fire off lightning bolts at anyone who says something totally irritating like, "You should be grateful for oxygen!" "Smite him cloud!"

But even in our worst times, those times when we can't see anything good, we have a God who is near.

I've always found Paul's words above really fascinating. Couched in his address in the Areopagus about the altar to The Unknown God, it's a really bold statement he makes. He's basically saying, "In all your searching, all this striving, all these attempts at religion, there is a God who is near, 'He's not far from any of us.' This is the God that your Greek philosophers said, 'In him we live and move and have our being.'"

We have a God who is close. And I can't seem to get this truth into my atrophied soul. No matter how much I say it, no matter how many times and ways I hear David express "dwelling in God's house", I still think of God sort of "out there somewhere," or "up there somewhere." (Of course rarely do I think of him in the ground as I associate that with Satan's domain of darkness. I've been caving and can attest to this first-hand.)

So I've been letting this idea bang around in my head for sometime now. In fact, I'm almost positive I've blogged this before. (My blog is getting so old that it's forgetting things.)

But I think that besides actually believing that God loves us, perhaps the second most difficult thing we humans are challenged with is that God wants to dwell with us and in us.

That's also why I'm thinking of buying a crystal and a Volkswagon mini-van and travelling the country. Because we have something in common with those crazed new-agers that lurk behind every bush, just waiting to pounce on us conservative Presbyterians and unleash all kinds of voodoo and mumbo-jumbo wack talk about the divinity within.

Don't we have divinity within too? It's not us, but in a sense, now that we're united with Christ it is us. We're united with God. I hear this kind of thinking got Henri Nouwen in trouble, but perhaps its less risky than we think and less risky than thinking of God out there and up there somewhere, or in our pet ferret Huey.

So even on our worst days, in our worst struggles, even when we're running straight away from God, we have a "near God." Maybe this can help us be grateful and hopeful.

God Come Home

Today all I can do is to cry out to God and plead for his mercy. I just want to take my problems to him and share what's troubling my heart.

On days like today, when I'm this weary, God knows my way. I know my thoughts are a trap. If I look around I don't have anywhere to turn. No one who really cares.

But if I cry to God and repeat, "You are my refuge, my portion in life. O God, hear my cry, for I've hit rock bottom. Please deliver me from those who want my life, because they've got me beat.

Please lead this prisoner forth, that I can thank you. That the righteous will come around me and rejoice over the fact that you are a rescuer."

-My paraphrase of Psalm 142

If you happened to read my blog yesterday, you may still be depressed. It was a tough entry on a tough day. It's not easy being Phil sometimes. Life can easily get me down. I heard on the radio a few years ago that people who are depressed have a perspective on life that is more realistic than most. I'm just really, really realistic sometimes.

But this Psalm is such an encouragement to me today. For it preaches that life, real Life, doesn't come from me. It comes from God. My God. The one who is my refuge. The one who is my portion. The portion that's been layed asside for me.

I love that David chooses to use the word "portion." When I think of the word I think of getting a heaping portion of my favorite food: carrot cake. I just can't wait to dig in, taste it's sweetness and wash it down with whole milk. I crave the satisfaction of a stomach full of carrot cake.

It's interesting to think on this and the connection Jesus makes with us feeding on him. He is to be more our sustanance than food itself. It's the truth, perhaps a truth that's going on all the time even though we barely recognise it.

For example here I type along (hum-di-dum-qwerty-whatever-hits-my-puny-brain-stuff)and he's the one enabling me to breath and do all the other stuff that I don't understand. I don't understand it because my stupid 8th grade Biology teacher thought we were smart enough to handle post-graduate-doctoral-totally-nerdy textbooks. I weren't smart. And I'm not the leastest bitter.

Back on topic: while it's dangerous to go to far in individualistic thinking as a westerner, the truth is that Jesus goes after and delivers the individual. He loves me, and in his rescue the community rejoices.

I believe that, in the process of support-raising, he will deliver this weary old soul of mine. And he won't just do it for me, he'll do it so that all the righteous will rejoice. I'm not saying that we'll get all our funding. Nothings for certain, save the fact that Jesus saves.

His plans are beyond mine and I know that I'll one day rejoice in them. My vision is so myopic, but his is truly comprehensive. He has the good of all of his children in mind.

This is the nature of our God. He's a rescuer. He delivers. He brings his children to rejoice in the bounties he brings home. And when he's around we're truly at home. God come home today.

Our Daily Home: God's House

"The LORD is my strength and salvation, whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life, of whom shall I be afraid?

Though enemies assail me to devour my flesh, my adversaries and foes, it is they who shall stumble and fall.

Though an army encamp against me, my heart shall not fear. Though war rise up against me yet I will be confident.

One thing I have asked of the LORD, that I will seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire in his temple."

- David, meditating again!

I've been meditating again ("Shame on you Phil!"). And I've chosen this passage above to set my heart on. It is a passage that my mother sent me when I was in dark depression and has been a source of great encouragement.

Life throws us curveballs. Enemies of anxiety, fear, broken relationships, wrecked dreams and familial loss, surround us. It is in these times that we call out to our to our "stronghold."

The God we serve deserves our full attention. Why? Because he loves us even though we have throroughly rejected his love. This hit me last night. Have I really rejected his love. Absolutely. And God, in his radically ridiculous love has taken me back. He's made a way for me. He is my "light and salvation."

In the passage above I see a progression in David's thoughts. He begins with stating that God is our savior and stronghold. He then begins describing the dangerous realities of life, and the courage he has in God. And finally he shows us where this courage and hope in God leads: Dwelling in God's presence "all the days of my life."

This last verse has to be my favorite verse of this Psalm, and perhaps of the entire Bible. It invites us to dwell in God's presense and gaze upon God's beauty. Nothing else can satisfy like living in God's constant presense. To live in his temple. We often think of him templing or dwelling in us. A still small voice that we must search for. But the opposite is true, we dwell in something so much greater and so much bigger than us. We dwell in God. Our life is found outside of us. It's found in God.

Notice how David doesn't say, "One day I will dwell in God's house." No, he believes that he can dwell there today. He was already home in God in that day.

Yesterday in Sunday School, someone said, in light of the purgings and wrath of God poured out on people in the Old Testament, that they didn't have Jesus yet. I couldn't dissagree more, if David didn't have Jesus, who did he have? Whereas he didn't know his name he trusted in a God who "forgave all his iniquities, redeemed his life from the pit, and crowned him with steadfast love and mercy..."

David loved God greatly because he had a large view of God. And he spent time meditating on him. It's apparent in the Psalms that this was no feel good exercise, like I often look for. It was the bread and butter of his existence. He clung to God, much like Jacob in his wrestling match.

I hope that I cling to the God that clings to me through all of my rebellion. For I too want to dwell in God's house every day I'm on this earth. I want to see his beauty and wonder. And when troubles come, I want to deal honestly with my BIG God. For no small god in the hear and after will do for me.

God Smoking?

I found God on the corner of 1st and Amistad

Where the West was all but won

All alone, smoking his last cigarette

I said, "Where you been?" He said "Ask anything"

Where were you when everything was falling apart?

All my days were spent by the telephone that never rang

And all I needed was a call that never came

To the corner of 1st and Amistad

Chorus: Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me

Lying on the floor surrounded, surrounded

Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you?

Just a little late, you found me, you found me

But in the end everyone ends up alone

Losing her, the only one who's ever known

Who I am, who I'm not and who I wanna be

No way to know how long she will be next to me

Chorus

The early morning, the city breaks

And I've been calling for years and years and years

And you never left me no messages

You never sent me no letters

You got some kind of nerve taking all I want!

Chorus

- "You Found Me," by the Fray

I love music in the morning. It gets me going, helps me overcome the numbness in my ear lobes and basically makes me feel there is hope. Funny that I heard this song this morning by the Fray. I've been meaning to write about it for a little while now, since the radio plays it over, and over, and over... and over.

As I was gathering the lyrics off the web, I saw a comment that said it's very similar to Psalm 13, so let's put on our sweaters and outdoor shoes and follow Mr. Rogers to the Psalm (I like Mr. Rogers)... Read... Ponder... Blog... Ok, so I read the Psalm and so did you, if you're not as lazy as I am when I read blogs. There's definitely some parallels.

In the Psalm David's crying out to God "How long... Will you forget me forever." It parallels the Fray's question of "Where were you?" and their expression of waiting by the phone for a call that never came. Though David believes a call will come. Hmm.

Another key parallel is David's expression of the sorrow in his heart with the Fray's "losing her." There is no greater anguish in this life than the loss of a loved one.

The idea of being surronded echoes the David's refrain of being surrounded by enemies, which are all throughout the Psalms.

"In the end, everyone ends up alone" reminds me of the difficulties posed in Ecclesiastes and Job.

I find it ironic that a song that plumbs such depths is a popular pop song on my radio. Also one that they would choose to play in the morning. I can see the DJ selecting it for it's lyrics, smiling sadisticly, turning it on with a cackle and saying "Good morning. Now everyone despair!"

But the beauty of the song, other than the coolness of having God smoke, is that it's dealing with God. And the Bible deals. It takes on the hard questions. Where were you God? Where are you? And why?

And the Bible, precisely because it asks those questions, is about deep-rooted hope. I heard a friend the other days express that he's lost and needs to find God. He can't find God. I believe in a God that finds him. A God that will rescue him. In this I'm confident.

With David in Psalm 13, and now much more because of the cross, I trust in God's steadfast love. I know that I will one day rejoice in His salvation and will "sing to the LORD, because he has dealt bountifully with me." Our journey as believers is to hold hope in open palms of dependance. It's how we hold on for dear life, palms open to heaven (for this illustration I thank a dear friend).

The world says "rage, grasp and demand." Much as the song above. The Bible says "rage, depend and hope." Much as in Psalm 13.

Life is hard. It's not simple. The Bible takes us to these places because it wants us to trust in the God of true Life. After all he breathed Life into us, so he knows how and when to take us to his truths.

Predictably, I will get cheesy and end with "Help us Obi-Wan-Kanobi, you are our only hope." Star Wars is never far from my mind and is the source of much of my spiritual heritage. Sorry.

Never Alone

"The LORD will keep your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forevermore." - Psalm 121

This little lamb is a dyed in the wool soccer fan. One of the greatest teams has always been Liverpool. If you were to walk with me into their stadium, above the entrance you'd see these words emblazened in gold: "You'll never walk alone."

I always found this line a little melo-dramatic for a soccer team. But hey, in Europe they're passionate about their "football" as they call it, which makes sense because they actually use their feet. But there's something in the motto that resonates all the way to the deepest frequency of my heart. Simply put my greatest fear is walking alone. So this hits close to home.

I like taking walks alone sometimes, but never totally alone. I never want to walk without God's presence. His presence speaks of the fellowship that Liverpool fans refer to: A longing to be part of something bigger. The ideal of losing themself in a greater reality.

I believe this is what the Psalmest is referring to in the "Song of Ascents" quoted above. As the pilgrims ascended to Jerusalem, they had the promise of God's presence going with them and prompting them on.

Man this is so encouraging to me today. So many of us are isolated and alone. Our world tells us it's all about us, and it will always only be about us. We are the "I am" and God isn't.

We're lost people who need his presence on the walk. As children of God, we have the assurance of his presence always. And his presence never cramps our personality or our need for space.

I'm an introvert, and I never want to be without God's presence. His presence feeds me when I'm apart from people. He is my living and walking home.

Jesus is the only one who knows true absolute isolation. He felt it on the cross. He felt it for us. He cared so much about our "God walks" together, that he endured ultimate seperation. He was the only man who truly walked alone, and just thinking about it made him sweat blood. His was an indescribably desolate walk.

God's children "never walk alone." God has a passionate, even furious, love for his children. From every breath we take to the thoughts we have, we're not alone. And thanks to Jesus, God doesn't leave when we sin. He is always with us. Always with me.

Our God could be described as "the always with us God." This truth comforts me on days like today, when I don't know how I'm going to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Truly alone, walking would be a terrible thing.

So even though I don't always feel his presence, the reality is that he is always with me is the exact encouragement I need. He knows the way. He walks. He moves. He lives. And in Him I live.

You will never walk alone.

Our Lives, God's Home

"...the gospel I preached to you, which you received, in which you stand, and by which you are being saved..." - Paul

How often do we focus on the fact that we are "being saved"? That Jesus' work continues on in us and through us. And thankfully, it goes on in spite of us!

I know I tend to think of Jesus simply having saved me from my sins. But our faith is more robust than that isn't it? Jesus has now taken up residence within us! My guess is he hasn't set up his Blue-Ray player and is busy watching re-runs of Dukes of Hazard. My guess is he's wanting to do stuff!

So here comes the mystery of our "being saved." NT Wright has done some shuffling of categories in regards to justification and sanctification, and I find his thoughts, while not authoritative, helpful. For, if I understand him correctly, he says that God's work in Justification, giving us Christ's righteousness, is an ongoing process. This seems to echo the verse above and the verse that encourages us "to work out our salvation with fear and trembling."

God's justifying work in us is dynamic! It spreads out into every area of our lives. It brings righteousness, right God-life, into all of our mess. And it spreads God-life into the lives and situations of others.

I find this really encouraging. Whether you call it sanctification or consider it the working out of God's justification, I believe that the Good News, which can't ever get any better, gets better and better for us experiencially as we receive the grace of "working it out" in our various lives and struggles. How's that for a riddle?!

The fact that we are currently covered by Christ's righteousness out-trumps the idea that Jesus only died for our sins way back when. Jesus' reality is our present reality. It's the only real thing for us.

This has all sorts of ramifications. We can be profoundly encouraged that we are always "in Christ." Whether we're out sinning or doing the good works he called us to, we're in Christ. Whether our lives feel like a complete sham or feel great, we're in Christ. Whether we feel like we're on top of the world or we feel like we are the refuse of the earth, we're in Christ.

Jesus' reality strips us of both pride and shame. We find ourselves as not worthy, but worthy in him. We have nothing to boast of besides him, and all of our shame is wrapped up in him.

It's taken me years to understand this. I'm motivated by both pride and shame, they're the way of the world. "The Way," Jesus' way, goes the opposite direction. As someone said "I am no longer the terd at the center of the universe."

It's from the ways of the world and self that we are being saved. Our home in the world. We are being saved from lies about self, God and others. And we are being brought back into the real world.

So here's to Aslan's country, God's reality. Let's not just be visitors with nametags that read "saved," but daily find our home in Christ. May we cling to this hope. For this hope is the realest thing about us.

Abandoned?

"This is my comfort in my affliction, that your promise gives me life." - Psalm 119

Abandonment. The word strikes all sorts of negative chords in my heart. Fear, anxiety, insecurity, restlessness, hopelessness, anger and deep, deep sadness. And yet for me and for many other Christians we live with a fear of abandonment by our God.

Why is this? What makes us so insecure in the reality of God's trustworthiness and promise? My guess is that as we begin to see more and more of who we are, we begin to see the audacity of thinking that we could be wed to God. I believe this is perfectly natural.

A friend of mine echoed this sentiment the other night when he said, "For the longest time I lived under the fear that God would abandon me, and it was a horrible burden to carry." He's right, it's too much for any of us to carry. If our hope is set on Christ, to make that hope precarious by believing that our merit gives or takes away anything, makes us profoundly insecure and unhappy.

I do this all the time. I have a really hard time believing that God accepts me, warts and all. And I know the right Christianeze, that God sees Christ's righteousness when he looks at me. But it's one thing to understand and another entirely to experience.

It's popular to talk about "leaning" or "pressing" into the Gospel these days. To these helpful terms I would add the idea of putting our full weight on what God says about us. As we do this, and we step out onto the shaky looking bridge of the Gospel, we find that it does in fact bear our weight (thank you Dan Gilchrist).

God's promise is sure. But what is his promise? That he will make all things new. That we will have life in Him. That everything will be made right. His re-creation of His universe began in the incarnation, reached his climax on the cross, and will culminate in his final return.

This is all well and good. But in the hum-drum of my everyday I really find it hard to believe. What difference does it make? I still seem as sinful as ever, even though I have seen growth. I still believe in my independance and resources, even though all the evidence points towards the futility of doing this. I still am angry, bitter, manipulative, selfish and self-absorbed even though I follow a God who as a human was perfectly in line with what it means to be holy and gave his life away.

I guess each day I've got to remind myself that first off, God will never abandon me. Second I've got to believe in the "even though"s I described above. And third I've got ask God to help me put my full weight on the Gospel alone.

Jesus plus anything is nothing. I've got to remember this. For it brings real joy, real freedom and confident happiness in my Rescuer, Friend, Father-God. And I believe it's the answer to our all to human fear of abandonment. For when we try God's bridge of the Gospel, it always holds.

As I heard expressed at a funeral, when we reach heaven's gate we will finally fully believe the truth that God's life for us includes us. We will express in incredulity "Me too!" and have the rest of eternity to ponder the love that chose not to abandon.

Close

My fingers are numb, hot and slow as they move across the keyboard this morning. Sort of like my heart. It feels numb and slow (I don't know about hot) when it comes to things of religion these days.

Do you ever find yourself not feeling it? Someone says something like "Isn't Jesus amazing?!" and you just want zap them and watch them disintegrate into a pile of dust. Life doesn't have that gloss that you expect it to have. You're not excited about your salvation and you've lost the joy. The existential import of what happened on the cross seems not so "import"-ant (ha). It feels separated from you by about 2000 years.

But how's it supposed to feel? Are we to walk around in ecstasies of bliss all the time? Obviously not. God wants us to feel grounded in something higher, deeper and wider than an emotional experience. He wants us to to recognize his loving immanence.

Yesterday, my pastor reminded me again that God is not only transcendent but also immanent. The word "immanent" brings to my mind pictures of a presence that is immediate, beside, with, and for. That's what I need to hear when my heart is dull and weary. We serve a God that not only has done amazing things, the amazing thing, but is close to us.

Closeness is the antidote to the distance I feel in my heart. And since God is immanent, with me in every moment, I know he'll help me have the passion for "the passion" and his boundless, furious love that was expressed on that cross 2000 years ago. But I'm going to wait on his timing. Forcing sentiment is a sure-fire strategy for disenchantment, discouragement, skepticism, and loss of hope.

So what do we do when are hearts are hot, slow and numb? Remember that the God who did it all, who poured out such passionate love 2000 years ago, is the same God who wants to draw near to us today, regardless of our emotional brokenness. In fact, it may just be because of our emotional brokenness that he is so close to us today. Closer than we dare hope.

May he turn me back to his cross in his timing, enabling me to feel his presence in the wasteland. Until then I'm going to fight false sentimentality, for it ruins the message of the cross: the message that now God has drawn near to us, not us to him.

"Blessed are they who have not seen, but believe." I cherish this blessing today and so do my fingers.