"Dude, I'm glowing and my hair is totally sweet now!"

Can you imagine what it would feel like to come back from the dead? What would Jesus have felt like as he began to feel the blood coursing through his veins, appendages tingling with new life and breath catching in his lungs?

I was hit by this last night as my small group was discussing the experience of a man who had played in 20-plus passion plays. Upon reflecting on all those significant acts of thesbianism (I love that word), he said that the most impactful was one where he was playing Jesus in the tomb lying perfectly still and then began to move one arm and then another until finally he sat up and stood.

I have to admit that I'm jealous of this actor's experience. Of course I'd never be allowed to play that part because I'd be way too tempted to come out of the grave with arms raised in zombie-pose, drooling and mumbling incoherently. It would be too blasphemous they say, but I think it would be absolutely hilarious.

But I guess we've all had a resurrection experience, or a rebirth if you prefer(that's what I love about Christianity, you get choices). We've all been in a tomb, deader than a door-nail you might say: "RIP in peace Philip, your buckets been kicked. The poor guy croaked tirelessly blogging on and on about something I can't remember. You know how he was, now he's playing with the maggots."

I'll have to get better friends before I die. But before then I want to grasp hold of this whole coming alive thing. Isn't it a little hard to grasp? Most of us don't really think the resurrection is all that big of a deal. The reason being we don't really think we were really dead.

And I guess that's were sactif-i-can't-do-anything-good-ion comes in and reshapes our thinking. We really were lifeless and totally dead, dependant on divine rescue just as Christ made himself dependant.

I've been told that we need to clean house for God to make ourselves receptive to God. Try giving a dead guy a broom. Or even a dust-buster. Unless you grab his arm, pry his petrified hand open and then shut it on the dust-buster and use a pulley system to drift him around the house like Tom Cruise in "Mission Impossible," it's going to be difficult to get a dead guy to clean house (maybe I put to much thought into this). Plus even if you do get a dead guy cleaning house, wouldn't it be sort of self-defeating since bits and pieces would be constantly falling off? Gross, but true.

I think grasping the fact that we didn't do anything in effecting our rescue is key to understanding salvation and having a big picture of the cross. Repentance, our will or God's gift? God's gift. Softened heart of reception our work or God's gift? God's gift. Life lived in dependance on God? God's gift of life lived well. Working hard yes, but working with God's will, not our own.

I need to be careful here because we do not dissapear in the new life of Christ following. The reality is that we actually appear for the first time. And do we have free-will? Yes, but with qualifications. Does it actually make it "free" then? I'm not sure. I'm getting myself too deep, gurgle, gurgle-gurgle, "Help, cough, I'm drowning! Can somebody get me a Seminary Prof!?"

But I do think I'm right in saying we were absolutely helplessly dead and getting deader-er, and then for some innexplicable reason, God chose us, breathed life into us, and we were awoken to a life we could never have imagined. And as this is "now" it will be even more fully "then." We are being awoken to heavenly realities. I hope I'm awoken a little more today, "And Jesus, I promise I won't do the zombie thing. Cross my charcoal-black heart."

Stuff

I don't have anything deep to say this morning. Not anything from myself anyway. But I feel a torrent, a deep river of grace moving through me, and I must write. Perhaps it's the coffee and I'm simply experiencing a caffeine high. Perhaps it's literal as well, and with the best gospel singers I can sing along "I've got a river of life flowing out of me" as I run to the Starbucks bathroom to relieve my confused bladder (sorry, I've always been tickled by this sad joke).

But I feel so full this morning. Filled on the goodness of my God. I've heard testimonies of God's mysterious and amazing ways in my men's group. One man talked about real prayers, prayers asking for God to speak to him, prayers for him to be part of God's agenda, not for God to simply be a part of his. He's hearing from God. And this man, who months ago believed there was no God, read to us God's words to him from his journal. Grace overflowing to atheists. Good stuff.

I watched the movie "Hear after" last night. In it Matt Damon is finally playing a part which had Melissa and me thinking he didn't have to make himself look older or younger than he actually is. I don't know how old he is now, but with flecks of gray in his hair and some brow lines from all the facial expressions that mark the genius of his trade, he looks about as old as I feel: I'm in my mid-thirties and I think he's in his early forties, but he's a baby face.

Matt (may I simply call him Matt? He feels like a friend with all the great roles he's played.) plays a character that reaches deep into my yearnings. In fact, there is a triad of characters in this story, and they all are being driven towards something other, somewhere larger, somewhere more real: the "here-after."

Now I'm not going to go ruining the movie for you so don't worry. But this movie, which Clint Eastwood directs, like his "Gran Tarino," is obsessed with questions of substance. I believe CS Lewis would love Clint Eastwood for these two movies. For these two subtly whisper of a "far-off country," a place beyond this world and the yearnings and cravings for this reality that mark the human race. Characters in Eastwood's movies are in a process of transformation, having their walls of self-protection broken through by the invading forces of both pain and beauty.

My walls too are being pulled down. I'm in a process of seeing and revelling the big God in the small details. I'm writing and meditating on all the "little things" I'm thankful for. And it's taking me to places that are more real, more sure and more in-tune with my heart's yearning than my typical modes of escape, recreation and exercise. It's taking me from a place of brainlessly mouthing the big things in church and moving on with my life to a place of deep suspicion that I don't know much about the big things.

How and why is my men's group, "Here-after" and my gratitude affecting me? And why am I writing about it. I really don't know. I can't say. But I get hints. Hints like we serve a God more mysterious than my "Sunday-school parrot-talk" can describe. A God who reveals himself to those who are in the depths.

A God "who redeems your life from the pit, and crowns you with steadfast love and mercy."

"Bless, the LORD, Oh my soul, let all that is in me Bless his holy name." - Psalm 103

I fear I'm becoming a sentimental sop (but you already know I'm a sop). In fact I fear that this entry will be so mushy-gushy and dis-connected that you, the reader, will begin to feel critical and jaded. That's OK.

But these fears, onve laid on the table, seem simply irrelevant. They don't do justice to the difficulties of writing about a God who deserves full reverence and fear.

And isn't part of the deep mystery of God's grace, is that he keeps bringing us around to fear? Fear of man. Fear of God.

As I'm learning that fear of man gets me absolutely nowhere, God is really forcing my hand to fear him. In this fear, in dealing with the real "Fear" (as Frederich Beuchner calls God in one of his stories), I find substance and peace. Stuff that I can lay on my bed at night and ponder on. Stuff that I can sleep to. Stuff of Shalom and rest. God stuff. Good stuff.

So I guess that's about all I've got today. I've got a river running through me that's doing real stuff to me with it's real stuff. It's sometimes a torrent and sometimes a trickle, but always it's with me, moving, transforming and shaping. The breath of the LORD is blowing on me, and for this and for all of this stuff he's doing I'm grateful beyond words. Someday I'll write a little more coherently on it. But I pray never too coherently for then I might not be writing about God.

"Anguish of Childbirth"

"... my little children, for whom I am again in the anguish of childbirth until Christ is formed in you!" - Paul to the Galatians.

This morning I was sitting at the breakfast table with my kids discussing death. Of topics I like to address in the morning this ranks pretty high on my list (I hate mornings). It was David, who's 2 yrs. old, who brought it up with, "I don't want to die."

I disagree, most mornings I want to die. But this morning I was "perky." Maybe because I'd already been out for a beautiful early morning bike ride where yes, I actually saw the sun rising.

So I wanted to engage my children in spiritual conversation, or as I like to consider it, "discussing the really real." Being the official missionary/evangelist I am it was time to do my duty. I think I could hear the sound of trumpets blaring.

I explained that when we die, if we know Jesus and he lives in us we get to go to be with God forever. I sounded like a Sunday school parrot. But I went on to explain how Jesus was going to make all things new and how there would be nothing that makes us cry or hurt and it'd be like the Garden of Eden. Why did I still sound like a parrot?

To all of this, Teya piped in with helpful theological adjustments, as well as some pragmatic thoughts on death. Like, "We'll get buried under the dirt David." "Exactly," I said, "but we'll get new bodies." David didn't seem to like this as he looked at his arms and bulbous tummy, slapping it and saying, "I like my body."

With doctrinal astuteness, I told him that his new body might be very much like his body now, just perfect. He seemed to like this idea until he started wondering if he'd be black. "I don't want to be black!" he said. "Great," I'm thinking, "This is going to sound so racist when I write about it." Yup, it sounds racist, sorry.

I calmed David down and convinced him that he'd be big and strong, and probably look like his Daddy (which came from my great store-houses of vanity). To my delight he liked this idea. "Yeah, I'll be big and strong like Daddy!" David then came to the conclusion, "I want to die, Daddy."

These weren't the words that I was expecting, but I should have seen it coming. In his expression of hope, David, at 2 and a half, was to catching on. Little people see so clearly.

The verse above got me thinking on our conversation this morning. How much do I long for "Christ to be formed" in my children and others? Could I really express with Paul that I'm "in the anguish of childbirth?"

I've been in the room for two childbirths, and let me tell you, for the lucky uninitiated, the anguish is not pretty. Melissa, who's probably has the quietest voice on the planet (so much so that my Grandfather took it upon himself to teach her how to project by repeating "how now brown cow" over and over. I know it's weird, but it works.) reached into the darkest canyons of her soul and let forth a scream that I never ever want to hear again.

When she screamed I pictured a woman who'd been feeling a few slight contractions, being peacefully wheeled into the hospital by her doting husband (I hate husbands who dote, especially around stuff like births. Doters are dopes.), perhaps with flower pedals and song-birds dancing in her head, thinking, "I'm going to have a beautiful precious baby today!" But upon hearing this unearthly scream she frantically claws at her husband to turn her around and take her what she's now found to be "the hospital of hell." I know it happened to some poor young lady, and I'm sorry, my wife is a screamer.

But back on topic, do I really long to see Christ formed in others? I guess I do sometimes, occasionally and sort of not so much. Sadly I think too much about Christ being formed in me to worry about others. And I think this misses the point of spiritual formation completely. Because the Gospel is not primarily about our personal formation. We are the beneficiaries of a kingdom coming, and we are to be on the lookout and to be eager, "yeah even in the pains of childbirth" (thank you Paul) for others to experience Christ as King.

I'm this way for my children and for people I like, but it's probably about time I begin to have a heart bent this way for all people. The Gospel draws us out of ourselves and towards others, I think. I don't know about child-birthing analogies Paul, but I would like to have a heart. Maybe today I'll pray for Christ to be formed in someone I know. But I'm not about to scream like Melissa. Man can she scream.

"That's Vhat I'm Talkging Abouut!"

"When Christ who is your life appears, then you aso will appear with him in glory." - Paul in some letter to a church in some strange land called Colossae.

Did you know that 1st century Christians were not only referred to as followers of the "Way" but of the "Life" as well? I didn't know this until yesterday. As I came upon this in my reading I was struck by the reality that our life is God's, or rather God is our life. We now have a life.

I was sitting at Panera's this morning experiencing this life with two dear friends. They were "bearing" with me and sharing "compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness and patience" and binding them all together in "love." Such is life, the life of the "Life."

I rarely think of life in such selfless terms. Sadly my heart and actions often echo the sentiment that I've seen on bumper-stickers: "Life is shit, and then you die." Without God, I imagine this is a legitimate sentiment. In fact life is full of hardship, turmoil, heart-ache and let-downs. I often muse that I used to have dreams, and then I lived a little.

Life on this earth can crush us. Life from God can free us. Like the young dude (or was it an elderly lady?), in the movie that just came out (or came out sometime in the last year), who found himself alone in the mountains of Utah (or was it Wales?) with his arm crushed under a boulder (or was it a Fiat? Come on, you know the movie I'm talking about!), life can get us into some desperate situations (as you can see, I'm refusing to Google things today.). His only solution was to painfully sever his arm. Sermon illustrators the world over now rejoice upon hearing about this old lady who, crushed under the weight of a Fiat in the peat-district of Wales, bravely severed her arm to free herself!

I'm not going to go into that illustration though. I'm simply going to share how I'm finding life in people who are living in Christ. They attempt to live, breath and eat (especially eat) Christ. And from them I benefit enormously. If it were not for my brothers who are have this alien Christ-life, I know where I'd be. I'd be cruising aimlessly through the roads of life with all sorts of depressing bumper stickers like the one above slapped to my truck (or Ford Escort in very poor health - for those of you who know me).

We need eachother to live and to share that life with one-another. As westerners, to our severe detriment, we have been infected with the philosophy of "Autonomous Individualism." In America it's a virtue to go it alone. This is not at all the "Way" and the "Life." We are invited into a family, a community of brothers and sisters whose Father is God and Brother is Christ.

I used to always cringe when people would say, "There's no 'I' in team." And I loved it when my brother would come back with, "...but there is an 'm' and an 'e.'" He echoed all that is rebellious in American individualism: Me is what it's all about. The line from the movie "Despicable Me" still rings in my head, "That's vhat I'm talkging abouuut!" (the main character, who's an evil villian, has a thick Slavic accent).

My brother and the evil villian in "Despicable Me," have a lot in common. But one of the main things is self-exaltation (Not my brother here, or at least God's working on that.). Our whole culture is full of it. Just look at our sports heroes. To touch upon the sore subject of my life, it's one of the main reasons soccer will never truly make it in the States, because soccer truly is a team sport.

Our life in Christ, the "Life," is intrinsically others centered. First on God and second our brother. For those who claim Christ, community of some sort must happen. It's innevitable.

"And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which you were called in one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiriual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God."

"Do-re-me-fa-so-la-(crack)ti!" (some of us are called to get the hymnals for others.) However it works, the "Life," is a beautiful thing, and I am grateful to have experienced in my brothers this morning. Isn't it just like Jesus to take something so simple as relating to one-another in love, and make it the cornerstone of His "Life."

I hope you experience The Life today. And if you aren't a recepient, don't sweat it, it's something that's supposed to be given away anyway.

"Hey Jeeeesuuus?"

I'm hesitant to write today. I fear that whatever I write will be somewhat empty and hollow. If you want to quit reading right here or ... here, I'll understand. Thanks for trying.

I've been going on a wicked sort of "fast" recently. Maybe it's not so wicked as it is "Nanny 911 Naughty." It's a fast from God's word. I don't recommend it. It's been one of those weeks where I thought I'd read a little, pray a little and basically go it alone. Far from "Jesus taking the wheel" - I really loathe that song, though it's message is good - I've been white knuckled as I grip my wheel of life. And whenever I need to make a stop, I even install "the club" on my steering wheel just to frustrate Jesus.

I don't know. Why am I so stubborn? As much as I'd like to be reincarnated as a hawk, I fear it's going to be a jack-ass. I don't believe in reincarnation, but it's fun to think about, unless you're depressed: a worm, yeah, I'd come back as a worm if I died today.

But there's hope in this old ESV Study Bible (When I finally become a famous writer they're going to send me a fat check for referring to their book so often. We all know that people who publish Bibles are rolling in dough. But what does rolling in dough have to do with being rich? Is it that they're so rich they waste food? Couldn't they find something more expensive to roll in? And wouldn't it get kind of itchy after a while?). Yes there is hope for this crotchety old soul of mine.

If I would just pick it up. "Pick up and read" are the words that St. Augustine heard and that I need to heed today. If I'd done so, I'd probably have something more interesting to write about, that's for sure.

But God doesn't give up on me when I do "stupi-fasts" - short for stupid-fasts. In fact he uses these times to press into my restless heart that what I'm looking for in the world just won't satisfy. I don't know why I can't seem to learn this easy lesson all at once. Why don't I drop it all and simply follow God with my whole heart? As Melissa reminded me this morning, it's because there's a battle going on, and someone doesn't want me dig in and fight. It's a little spooky when I think about it but true.

So in my indecision or laziness I simply join the enemy in my acquiescence ("That was a big word Philip! Try it in your next game of scrabble!"). Jesus said there's no sitting on the fence. If I'm not for him, I'm against him. And although I know I'm with him, wed to him and bound to him inseparably, I still find a way to smack him on the back of the head and be a royal pain. I can see myself like Jim Carey in "Dumb and Dumber" saying to Jesus, "Jesus, Jesus, you want to know what the most annoying sound in the world is? AAAAAAAANNNNNGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!"

Did Jesus know what he was getting into when he chose me? Was his providence machine having a few glitches that day? No. And in his providence machine I rest my case.

As hard as it is to believe sometimes, because I'm getting to know me better, my name is written in the Lamb's Book of Life. And since in 1st century Palestine there were no pencils and erasers, where the Lamb's book of life came from, Apostle Peter can't do anything about my name being there. He's tried white-out but that made Jesus real mad.

So where am I going in this dizzy rambling walk through my fields of cotton candy (Why cotton candy? Because I'm the one writing this and I want to walk through fields of cotton candy.) Well, I guess I'm just trying to sink my unbrushed teeth ("Again Philip? You need to get on top of that! The dentist is running out of lectures.") into the Gospel truth that Gospel living is not about performance, but picking myself up after I fall off the metaphorical horse onto my face, dusting myself off and getting back on. Because the only ride worthwhile is the Gospel ride, and I for one need to ride that horse. It's an imperfect metaphor I know, but I'm a rodeo cowboy at heart, even if not in body, brain, bones or courage.

Yee-haw!

God's Country

"My big Daddy above all, your name stands alone. Bring your country, bring your desires to this place, may they happen here as in your country which is far better! Give me what I need to get through this day, and forgive my selfish desires that hurt you, as I forgive those who hurt me. Please don't let me be tempted, as I know I will fall. Rescue me from evil." - Jesus (mis-quoted by Phil)

This week I've been challenged to just pray the Lord's prayer whenever I want to pray. It's really amazing! I need this prayer. For it tunes me to the heart of God and takes me to the springs of his heart.

I tend to pray willy-nilly, half talking to myself, half seeking some nebulous God to hear and answer. Sometimes I ask him to meet my demands, and sometimes, as I try to envision him and really pray for others, I get headaches. I've learned that I pray like I'm God. "Please heal my friend, please work this out for so-and-so, please help me to get this done." It's all about my desires, not surrendering to God's desire, or will.

The Lord's prayer teaches me that God's desire is where it's all at. When I fall in line with him, I find peace, joy, strength, protection and rescue. These are no small benefits. I'd say they're sort of desirable.

And I learn in the Lord's prayer about worlds colliding. God's world meeting ours. I ask for his country to come. This reminds me of Aslan bringing Spring in The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. It reminds me that I live in a rebel land, with a rebel heart and am a small person who needs a big God.

It teaches much, much more. More than my heart can speak right now. Some mystic said somewhere that "You can't say the Lord's prayer and remain unchanged." It is that powerful and beautifully simple. The words like "Father," "thy will," "thy kingdom" all speak of a reality beyond us. It is our depedance. It is our source of hope. Our source of life. From this kingdom we receive every breath.

And even though I translated it in the first person singular, the first person plural teaches me that as humans we are in this together with God. There are no more hopeful words than "we're in this together." We need to hear this more in church, more in our lives and more in the everyday.

I apologized to Melissa last night for ignoring the kids, then went on to ingore the kids again and she forgave me both times! She showed me that we are in this "God country coming" together, with her patience and forgiveness. She's a tangible reality of grace.

I don't want to stop praying. But I'm tired of praying in the wrong direction. My hope is that as I rehearse and ponder the prayer Jesus recommended (pretty high props!), I'll begin to listen and speak to the real God. Not a figment of my imagination. Not a positive self pep-talk. But real engagement, real communion with the living God. Living. That's what I want.

My Brain's Spaghetti Junction

I don't know why I'm writing this morning. It's raining outside, cold and just plain miserable. Sure, I'm in a coffee shop, all cozy and warm, listening to the weird new age music and the subtle clinking of cups and conversations, as well as the lady clicking away on her keyboard behind me. She must be a prolific writer. Jerk!

It's just that at times like these, when I feel I don't have much to write about that I'm finding out that my mind is simply a spaghetti junction of thoughts. Now don't get me wrong, I don't think I have anything that profound to say, it just helps me to straighten out a few of the highways - send a few vehicles out in the right direction, so I write in order to get there.

Life is a funny thing. Last night I was pondering it with Melissa and we were talking about God's gift of sleep, where we are finally forced to surrender completely to his control. No longer are we under the allusion that we are little gods when we sleep.

Sometimes I wish I could sleep all the time. It's a taste of the peace and shalom that, as a believer, I think I'm supposed to have all the time. As I looked into a few posts back, there's something really exciting about the reality of God in the believer's life. Understatement.

The fact that we do everything "in Christ." With his presence active in the middle of our lives. His life "templing" within us is pretty amazing. Sometimes it makes me feel a little schizophrenic. Whose thoughts are whose, how do I pray and whatnot?! And at others it gives me great peace and courage.

The times when I feel most depressed are when I don't believe in this core truth: that Jesus is within me. For when I do, his peace and riches are mine, and I really don't "need" anything else. It's a rare and restful place to be. One which I covet to experience more often.

Yesterday I was sharing with some friends who are bold enough to admit they are as needy as me, how I swing from pride to fear and back from fear to pride. It's like life is giving me "underdogs" and I'm going "Wheee!" happy in my little world of unhappiness.

Rarely do I ever find my true center. The reality based in reality that "I am way worse than I can imagine and way more loved than I'd ever dare hope." But when I do, wow, it makes a difference. All of the sudden I have freedom, freedom to be me, freedom to live, breath, turn off my brain and simply rest. It's a wonderful place! With the Psalmist I think of the broad place of beauty that God has cleared before me.

So today, if you're like me, at once prideful and fearful, swinging like crazy, unable to slow down with a spaghetti junction of freeways running through your head - thought-cars slamming into each other, flipping over guardrails and bursting into huge balls of flame, my prayer is that you'd find Christ within. The one who ushers us crazy humans into peace. The one brings true quiet. And the one who really loves you. He loves you.

Coin, what coin?!

"Master, I knew you to be a hard man..."

Jesus told difficult parables. I find his thoughts hard to unravel. Even with all the teaching I've received and my fat ESV study bible, Jesus seems to be intentionally obtuse.

In the parable of the talents, the "wicked and slothful" servant was ruled by a perception of his master as a "hard man, reaping where he did not sow and gathering where he scattered no seed." My commentary says that this was a misperception that led to this servants laziness and irresponsibility, but I find it notable that the servant was not repremanded for his perception of his master. He was repremanded for what he did with his talent.

Honestly, I don't know what to make of this. But my guess is that my commentary is right. If Jesus is talking about the kingdom, the king figure is surely God and it was the perception of the servant that lead to his disobedience and his untimely and not-so-pretty end.

Could this be a lesson for us today? I think it is. I so often think of God as miserly, mean and spiteful. I have to admit that his parables don't do to much to make me think otherwise. For it's my perception of God that determines my interpretations.

I find myself much like the wicked and slothful servant. Thinking of God in ways that are not only depressing but are flat out wrong!

As AW Tozer, GK Chesterton or CS Lewis once said somewhere, the most important thing about a man is what he believes about God. That's precisely why I'm extremely thankful how God's reshaping my thinking.

I have a ton of gratitude for the God of scripture. His kindness and ear for those who mourn their sin, for the spiritually destitute, the poor in spirit and for those who simply haven't got a clue, is drawing my thinking in more appropriate directions. I'm finding God again. And finding more of the real God.

My prayer is that I won't be like the wicked and slothful servant whose disservice began with his misperception of the character of his master. He had a slanderous heart. We seem to be born with it.

God is really, really patient. To take servants like me and patiently illustrate his faithfulness, true justice and love in the life lesson of life, is truly astounding. I think that when I get to heaven's gates, I'll shed a ton of these missperceptions, but my desire is to shed a few now, so that I can live.

I believe that I've been made alive in Christ. So it follows that living is a good idea when your alive! I can only do so inasmuch as I think about God in ways that honor him.

Give me, give me! I need, I need!

Something is not right. Deep inside I can feel it. There's something deep within me that cries for more, more than I've been striving for: my desires, my comforts, my pleasures, my hopes, my dreams. A voice deep within me cries for Christ.

I wonder if this will pass. If I'll wake up tomorrow and begin again chasing after the wind. If I will staunch the wound of my bleeding heart with my mass of temporary pleasures. No, not this time I determine, this time I want Christ. Do I?

I feel like a stubborn child, stomping his feet and screaming, "I'm tired of this, give me, give me!" Or like Bill Murray in the movie "What About Bob?" saying (in one of my favorite movie moments of all time) "Dr. Leo Marvin, give me, give me, I need, I need!!!" (If you haven't seen this movie, you must.)

You'll have to forgive my melo-drama. I get this way often. I see the gap that represents the life I now live and the life that I believe I could have in Christ. But I'm beginning to suspect that there's someone else closing the gap. There is someone else building a bridge to me.

That's one of the amazing things about knowing Jesus Christ. He never gives up, he never quits, he never gets tired, or fed up. He always pursues, he always rescues, he loves and loves and continues to love, in spite of our hatred and indifference. In him and in him alone we find "steadfast love."

So as much as I feel helpless, hopeless and frustrated by my stubborn refusal to embrace what is already mine in relationship, "forfeiting grace," there's another party at work: Jesus. As much as I think I'm that child crying out for him, he's the shepherd recklessly endagering himself to get to me.

Who can't love this Lord? I can't on my own. As I've said before, I often find my actions betraying that I'm a god-hater. There really is that much of a gap! But he's finding me. He's taking this crying child and wrapping him in bonds of familial love. He gently, patiently holds me in his muscular arms of rescue. He sings over me and rocks me to the rythm of grace and a new reality and a new way of life, life with him, life secure and life eternal!

Do you see this? Do you believe in a this kind of a savior? On the cross he purchased not only our freedom but our eternity with him now. He both lives within us and pursues us. His strong arm doesn't let go though we beat against his grip. He allows hardship to draw us close. He brings joy to broken hearts. And he will not give up, he will never give up until we one day embrace him fully as his children and become what we already are, His.

Can we reject him? Of course. Can we run from him. Yes, I do all the time. But can we out-run God once he's begun his pursuit? I have my doubts. Thank God for doubts.

Run

Running, running, running. Moving, rushing, charging. Restless, distracted, disconnected. Looking, searching, groping. And always running.

Words like these seem to describe me these days. Everything I run towards to grasp vanishes into mist in my hands.

Temptations beckon as lessons learned are forgotten. I find myself falling and falling again.

As I've written before, for each one of us, the Christian life is impossible. It's full of paradoxes: you must die in order to live, admit defeat in order to win and suffer in order to grow. Argh!!!

It kind of leaves my puny brain bewildered. I often wonder what in the world to do next. I feel like a fish swimming in an ocean of temptation. Even good things ensnare and enslave as I set my hopes on them, and I do it all the time!

Yet somebody is beginning a work on me that I can't explain, and that makes sense if it's God working, as I sense it is. And all my true hope is set on this work. Because otherwise I know that I'm a human time-bomb set to go off, which will not only self-destruct but hurt all of those around me.

I've always cringed and shrunk away from calling myself a miserable wretch. But the truth is I am. I am hell-bent on filling my life with the next fix: be it a cup of coffee, a mountain-bike ride, or even a blog entry. I need something to validate me, someone to say I have worth. Someone to say that everything really is all-right and that I am loved and safe.

However, I want all this and my toys as well. I'm still running. I'm not sure I've admitted defeat when faced with myself. I'm not sure I'm ready to quit old habits.

Am I hard on myself? Absolutely! It's the fuel that keeps me going and keeps me from God. Grace is a painful and audacious thing. To think there is nothing, nothing and more nothing that I bring to the cross kind of kicks your pride in the pants. And my pride wants nothing to do with something I can't control or see. My pride resists grace on instinct.

That's why I'm growing more and more convinced that this whole sanctification thing is a process initiated and fulfilled by a very, very patient and loving heavenly father. My guess is he's not going to take all my supposed lifelines at once. He may or may not choose to enable complete surrender to his good way in this lifetime. And ironicly, for me to contemplate complete surrender short-circuits his process. It's not something I can bring about.

I guess all I've got today is the prayer of faith that has been prayed for centuries, perhaps millenia: "Oh Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner."

And one more thought, that involves running, "I will run in the way of your commandments when you enlarge my heart!" We're all made to run.

Raw and Undistilled

We know that Christ, being raised form the dead, will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him. For the death he die he died to sin, once for all, but the life he lives he lives to God. So you also must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus. -Romans 6

When I read the Bible, I have a tendency to run ramshod over some amazing passages that don't hit me until I take a closer look. In my eagerness to get my reading done, I sometimes miss the whole point. I breezed over the passage above, as it's so familiar, highlighted it and went on with my reading like nothing had changed.

But this passage if it's true is kind of a big deal. I mean it's showing us what happened in Jesus' death and resurrection, and it's stating how I'm to view myself in light of his actions. It says that Jesus "will never die again" since he's beaten death, that he died to sin and now he lives to God. Then it continues to say that this is exactly the way I am to view myself!

I am to view myself as "dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus." How cool is that!? Sin really doesn't have any dominion over me. The truest thing about me now is that I'm alive to God and dead to sin.

So what do I do with this? Especially since I sin all the time. Let's get real, I'm a habitual sinner and to call myself dead to sin seems like a statement that's a little far-fetched or naive. After all I'm not a good person floating around in a sinless utopia. (Can you float in utopia? In my utopias you can.)

But how am I to view myself when we've just sinned? Let's say I've just done something really obviously bad. Not a mistake. Not a blunder. But a premeditated choice to do harm to someone I'm supposed to love. Am I still dead to sin? The answer is yes.

This was something that my brother shared with me not too long ago and it's sort of revolutionized my thinking. Because I'll face it, I feel like a worthless sinner a lot! The truth of the Gospel is not that I don't sin, that would be dumb, but the truth of the Gospel is that my root identity is not characterized by sin, it's characterized by Christ's sinlessness and life towards God.

A little tangent here: some Christians think that we shouldn't consider ourselves sinners anymore, and others think that that's just silly. Frankly, I don't think it matters that much because of the second point that I'm about to make.

I am now dead to sin, just as Jesus is and because Jesus is, but way more cool than that, I'm actually alive to God! The issue is not how I'm to view myself, though that's really important, but the way I actually am. The way God views me. I'm alive to God in Christ Jesus. I still sin, and can call myself a sinner, but the truth about me is that I'm alive to God, finally alive to a life I've never experienced before.

Death used to dominate me, but Chirst dominated death. Death had no dominion over him, and since I'm united with Christ, it doesn't have dominion over me either. And here's the kicker, what he accomplished was way bigger than defeating death, it reunited me with my Father. The fact that I'm free from death and sin to relate with my Father is big. I mean real big. That he loves me, holds me and calls me son is what it's all about and something I'm excited to share.

So the next time I'm tempted to get down on myself, pouting about my habitual sin adiction, I'm going to try and remember this truth: I may still sin, but I am totally freed from my sin by Christ and can now relate to God before, after and during my sinful actions as his beloved and sinless son. That's substitutionary grace my friend, raw and undistilled. It tastes good doesn't it? Yes, we're still free to sin, but we're also free to live, because of, by and through Jesus Christ alone. Let's get on living.

When Slugs Surf

I was slouched in the lounge chair last night, muscling up the energy to press the button on my remote. I was a puddle of useless, brainless, unproductivity. I didn't care, it was time to turn off my brain and turn on the ambient fuzz of delights. That sounds like a really fancy attempt at creative writing doesn't it? Nice.

Channel surfing in no way reminds me of actual surfing. Surfing takes muscle control, balance, and coordination in concert with nature. And on top of that it deals with one of nature's most difficult elements: water, lots of it. Channel surfing on the other hand requires the muscle control of a twitchy finger, total neglect of balance, and the coordination of a slug laying belly up. And the closest you'll get to nature in TV watching is far, far away my friend. A bug does occasionally interrupt my escapes into TV land. Of course rather than appreciate it, I'll usually terminate it with brutal efficiency and a spontaneous burst of adrenaline, so I can quickly get back to being a totally useless blob.

What is it about channel surfing that I like so much? I mean, I love it and I hate it. I hate trying to shield my eyes and brain from all of the trash that's out there, so mine is a sort of nervous twitching. If you think my surfing is Pharisaical and self-righteous at times, you've got me pinned. The reason being is that I typically shield or avert my eyes from things I'd really like to take a closer look at. But in a more innocent way my TV watching is also characterized by an eager pursuit of something that will give me a little distraction, satisfaction, and escape from my world.

I guess I find my world is both boring and frightening sometimes, and watching TV enables me to escape. In some ways, its a good escape, not a bad one, so I'm not totally down on it. But there's something about the action of watching TV for me that's a bit sad in that it reminds me of something lost or something not attained.

I often turn on the TV because I've either lost satisfaction or am searching for it. Or maybe it's simply that the restlessness of my unquiet mind draws me like a human moth to its soothing blue light. I don't want to get too philosophical about it, as you'll probably quit reading: "Oh great, another blogging snob going on about the perils and evils of TV."

But I think that the root cause that makes me pick up the remote is the same that makes me do a lot of things in my life - a sense of loss. Something has been taken from my life, something that I remember, something that I only get hints at, but definitely something I want. I believe its what CS Lewis may have been describing when he referred to "the whisperings of a far off country."

TV reminds me of my deep longing and the gulf separates me from my home. Of course its not just TV that reminds me of this, but TV is a particularly acute example, because I typically turn to it in times when I could be losing myself in satisfied reflection, worship, or a dreaming directed by my friend God. Do I believe God watches TV with me? Yes, all the time! Does he wish I'd do something more productive sometimes, probably.

I guess it's all part of living in a fallen world and having longings that are too big to be met here. Maybe my TV would be well replaced with a mirror, for it mirrors the storm that is my inward life.

When as a slug, I find myself on my back in front of my false world of delights, may God gently flip me back on my belly and send me on my way, be it ever so slow. And to get really artsy with this piece, maybe this slug will take up surfing and dissolve as it hits its first salt-filled wave. What a way to go!

Seeing Blind

Righteousness that is based on God's promises is sure. Period.

Sometimes we think that righteousness is something we must produce, or conjure, or work out, etc. But if we look to scripture this way of thinking is condemned over and over again. Righteousness, as I mentioned in one of my earlier blogs, is solely based on our position before God.

I was reminded of this again while I was reading in Matthew. In Mt. 13 Jesus quotes Isaiah to his disciples to explain why he talks in parables: "(that they) will indeed hear but never understand, and (they) will indeed see but never perceive..." That sounds cryptic enough, especially as an explanation. The disciples must have been thinking, "Thanks a lot Jesus, that clears everything up!"

But to make it all a little more confusing Jesus goes on to say, "but blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear." How can he say this? The disciples in no way understand the parables. They remind me more of groupies, blindly following around their rock-star and heckling for autographs, rather than people who understand the one they follow. Or more accurately they remind me of sheep. Hmm...

And that's just it. They are the sheep. Their righteousness is not based on their understanding. They are far from understanding. But for these "blessed" disciples, the understanding sits right in their midst. Jesus in his personhood is a gift of righteous understanding, not a cognitive ascent to a truth. What I mean is that Jesus by simply being with and choosing these guys, knew not only that they would one day understand but stood up on their behalf in actuality as their understanding and righteousness.

Why do I believe this? Because it's really obvious. They have no clue what Jesus is talking about! He has to explain the parables to them and even then we have no follow-up questions like: "Jesus can you explain in more detail, because this kingdom of God stuff makes my head hurt, and I know you want us to get it?"

That's what I'd be asking. If I truly knew who Jesus was, as the disciples didn't (they were blessedly naive), I'd be asking him this and that, taking notes and making sure I got everything just right to make sure I was in and not out, open to and understanding God's word and not hard and deaf.

Jesus knew all this. He knew man's tendency to make understanding into a form of possession. And Jesus refused to be possessed. He was simply at peace with his disciples cluelessness. Why? Because he was with them. He was the answer to their questions. And they'd get their answers.

But more importantly, Jesus could confidently assert that they were already "blessed" based on his presence with them. His choosing was everything. Jesus knew that with him they had righteousness and would slowly begin to understand. Jesus knew that without him the situation was hopeless. This dynamic is reflected in all the gospel accounts, and particularly in Mark, where the disciples ask some of the most audacious and stupid questions ever.

So why am I rambling on about all this. I believe Jesus is teaching us something through the disciples ignorance and his proclamation of them as "blessed." He wants the reader to recognize that Jesus, in the flesh, is our righteousness, and our understanding.

Also, Jesus is showing that he is perfectly happy to call blind and deaf followers as seeing and hearing. He's perfectly happy to lead you and me. So often we think that we've got to understand this and that about Jesus in order to grow, mature or even claim our identity as followers. But if Mt. 13 has anything to say about this, it's stating that righteousness, blessedness and perfect standing before God has nothing to do with our understanding and everything to do with Christ's presence in our lives.

Are you uncomfortable in your sanctification? Look to the Lord of your sanctification. Do you feel you have to understand your salvation, and hold true orthodoxy in your mind in order to be saved? No, this is simply unbiblical. Jesus is our salvation, our orthodoxy, and even claims to be our new mind.

I need to hear this truth over and over again. Because I hate being in tension. I can't stand this "now, but not yet" stuff. It doesn't fit in my paradigm. And that's just the point: the radical love of God revealed in the very personal work of Jesus nakedly shows our ignorance and highlights God's grace.

This should impact our evangelism and teaching. Our focus should move from intellectual comprehension and understanding to prayer and dependence. After all, we can spout off the truth about Jesus, and people can even believe us, but if they don't receive Jesus through the Spirit they've got nothing.

The same goes for us every day. Unless we have Jesus we have nothing. But since we do have Jesus we have everything! And we can rest and allow him to explain himself to us and in-so-doing sanctify us. If you're like me you're tired of the self-salvation project anyway, and this is really good news. Good news for a tired and blind soul.