Wit's End

"But where shall wisdom be found?.. Man does not know its worth, and it is not found in the land of the living... God undersands the way to it, and he knows its place." - Job

When do you come to your wits end? For me it doesn't take too much: a stubbed toe, an unkind comment, an impossible question.

But I've been reading Job again. Dangerous stuff. He goes to his wit's end and beyond. He's unafraid to ask any question, turn over any stone, and push his wit into the great blue yonder.

Why is Job so wreckless? I believe its because he's looking for an answer, perhaps the answer. Sort of like humans in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglass Adams, who are searching for the answer to the meaning of life and find it's the number 41, or not at all like them - ha, Job pushes on in a fierce pursuit of a real answer.

What pushes him? Ironically, I believe it's the innadequate attempts of his friends that drive him deeper in and farther up into the truths of God. Job's argument, far from being an audacious claim of self-righteousness, is a profound appeal to God's real and gracious love, wisdom and justice. It's an appeal to the person of God himself.

So where am I taking this? I guess when we're smack dab in the middle of life, it's really helpful to know that no matter our circumstance, there's a God who's wisdom, love and justice is bigger, greater, and more in tune with reality than we will ever be. That's what I think Job is pushing for: a glimpse of God's reality - what's really real. And in the end, rather than specifically answering Job's questions, God gives him a glimpse into God's world and Job is satisfied.

Job knows that he's reaching beyond human wisdom in asking the questions he asks. He knows that he's walking on difficult and dangerous ground. But God honors him for doing so.

To me Job encourages the believer not to settle. The book of Job teaches us that simplistic explanations of God and his actions are innexcusable. That's why all the questions that pop up in light of war, hurricanes, and aids epidimics probably don't have simplistic answers.

We are to push the limits of our wits to think the highest possible thoughts we can of God and do that only in the humble knowledge that our thoughts will never fully comprehend the actions of God. I think this is important, because "Job thinking" encourages us to embrace difficulty fully and not to gloss over it with simplistic explanations or to avoid asking the hard questions.

I believe that what the world needs these days (and whom am I to say it on some blog, but I'll say it anyway) are robust believers: believers in a real God. We will not settle for anything short of desparately clinging to God and addressing him at our wit's end when we address the world. After all, where our wit ends, God's wisdom begins.

In a Galaxy Far, Far Away...

"Let love be genuine... bless those who persecute you... Live in harmony with one another... Never be wise in your own sight..." -Paul (just being mean)

I thought it'd be fun to do a thought inventory for Philip today (then I woke up this morning). If I begin with the not so precise moment I rub sleep from my aching eyeballs, look around and try to make sense of where I am, what I'm lying on and whose body this is I find myself in, my thinking goes somewhat like this: "Where are you? In your room. Who are you? An older version of yourself. What are you supposed to do today? Ohhhhh crap!!!"

Typically I mutter "crap" or some similar version to myself as a host of worries, fears and anxieties rush at me like a very, very mad herd of rhinos. This drives me to God. I have no where else to go. To hop out of bed is to be trampled into a little red pulp.

But once I'm up and about, I feel a little bit better and begin to think about how I can make this the best possible day for me that I've ever had. My thinking on any given moment in an average day goes something like this: "Me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me... Hum di dum... Something else? No... Me, me, me!!!"

That's why the Gospel is so interminably frustrating for the human being. It tells us that life isn't about us, our personal satisfaction and having the perfect me day (the audacity!). I like me days. And frankly, I don't like the gospel a lot of the time. It sort of distracts me from my purpose: Me.

Me is a small world, in a small galaxy, that's ever shrinking and not expanding, whatever you smarty pants scientists believe. Planet me is in very real trouble of implosion. That is precisely why the Gospel is good news, though it can feel very, very bad.

To extend my metaphor, there's another universe, of which me has always been a part, that revolves around someone else - God. His expanding universe encompasses me, wrests me from my small insular selfishness and basically just flat out rescues me from my collapsing world.

"Me-ness" put God on the cross. "Other-ness" is the new thought of my redeemed mind. I guess that's one more reason that the Gospel is our only hope.

If we'd all only pay attention to the timeless epic that is Star Wars, we'd take the posture towards God that Princess Leia does in her desperate plea for help, "Help us Obi-Wan you are our only hope." Then maybe God would spare our home planet from being blown up by the Death-Star. Then maybe we wouldn't have to be slow roasted by Ewoks to learn humility. Or maybe we wouldn't have to fly around in the "fastest hunk of junk in the galaxy" listening to a Wookie moaning in our ear. Then again, maybe not.

Snotty Kid

I’ve fallen into the trap of writing to publish. Writing simply to communicate and be heard rather than to simply write. I’m not sure what I mean by this, but I know I’ve become too polished and stiff in my style, especially now that I’ve started a blog.

Writing is art. And to do it takes a lot of freedom and discipline. But much like art, we have to let go before we begin to learn. If I cling to closely to my writing my words become tired and worn. So I’m attempting to loosen up and really let stuff flow. I need to become passive in the process and see God’s hand at work as I process my deepest feelings, hurts and joys in print.

That said, I’m not sure what I’m going to write about today. But the world is open to me with all sorts of possibilities. With words I can go anywhere, create almost anything and I’m only limited by my lack of imagination.

Restlessness is a theme that’s been bouncing around my head. And it’s something that really rules my life. I’m restless when I work, when I play, when I love, when I serve, when I worship, when I rest, ha! There’s something in me that I can’t root out. Something that longs for a security that I can’t put my hands on, and say, “Aha, this is it. This is what I’ve been looking for.” I’m just not sure what it is.

Or I guess I do know what it is, it’s God. But I know so little about God really that I’m sure I head in all the wrong directions when I think about him. He’s too much like me in my mind, just meaner. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite as mean as my subconscious picture of God. Wrathful and quick-tempered, he’s holy in a detached and unfeeling way, condemning sinners and seeking out the righteous.

This is such a backward portrayal of God. A betrayal of God. What I guess Satan would love me to believe. In fact it’s got to be what most of the world believes. The kind of thinking that resulted in the fall and all the mess. Now it holds me bond and restless. Restless and wandering the world in search of something I can hold, or perhaps something that can simply hold me.

I long to be simply held and told that I am loved. The lack of this attention is the root of my restlessness. And that which I know is the only source, God, seems indifferent to me, distant, and even a bit hostile. It’s not consistent with the “big story” I find in scripture. But scripture doesn’t seem like the kind of stuff that enables me to get through the day. And let’s not even talk about my trust and faith, it is so entirely weak and insincere.

I’ve got to relax into the hands of a new God. A God who’s not the God of my imagining. The confusing God of Sunday morning rituals and nightly fears and anxieties. The God of multiple conversions, methods and attempts to find peace. The God that’s simply the gatekeeper of hell. The God who preys on my fear and anxiety and puts weights on my shoulders. The God who demands obedience and trust. The God who confuses me with tricky doctrines and exacts correct thought. The God who isn’t characterized by love but by strictness and discipline, namely perfection and holiness in human terms.

A picture of holiness that often pops into my brain is of a elderly woman (sorry women who are blessed with years) dressed in a bleak grey business suit, with hair pulled back tight, clipboard in hand, disdainfully peering over glasses perched on the end of a hawkish nose, mouth pinched in a derisive smile. She asks me quick questions with disappointment and disapproval written all over their demeanor. She’s the kind of person I think of when I think of holiness and righteousness. See why it’s hard for me to reconcile God to these sorts of pictures in my mind?

I know I’m not alone in this, trapped in my mind by misconceptions and lies. Everything that holds me in a state of restlessness stems from misperception of my God. When I think of all the books I’ve read, I feel like either I’m really thick or have serious short-term memory loss. I’ve read so much that debunks these lies that we believe about God, I guess that I’ve always thought that by now I should think of him as my great lover, as my heavenly father, and as my friend. But honestly, I don’t. I strain every day in an attempt not to believe what I seem destined to believe: that God is petty, harsh, even manipulative. That he really doesn’t have my best interests at heart.

Often when I’m confronted by the cross, my mind simply goes blank. Either I blow it off as an event that happened a long time ago or as something that shows that God is melodramatic. These thoughts lead me to a theology of practicality and productivity. I say productivity, for in minimalizing the cross I feel I’ve got to produce to please this God. And then, when I finally arrive, he will grant me the peace I so desire. But I’ve found that I don’t have the energy for that kind of production and if I even attempt that route the works of my hands leave my heart empty.

I need a God who’s different. A God who cares. The one who took shame and rejection on the cross, not for some detached plan, but simply to carry my shame, rejection and my restlessness. This is a good starting point in unraveling the lies that have me all tangled up in a mess. Believing in a God who not only cares but carries my restlessness but died for it.

And like my Dad says so often, this God wants me in the game. He wants me to live. He wants me to experience life without the crippling effects of lies, fear and suspicion. He wants not only child-like faith from me, but that I would simply recognize that I am his child and, as his child, everything is going to be all right.

That’s what we all want anyways isn’t it? To know without a shadow of a doubt that we’re loved and that all the hurt, pain, and sadness will come undone. That there is hope for this life and the next. That we’re not simply trapped. That there was and is a divine rescue plan in place, working for us and that we will finally find what we are searching for.

So what? Is all of this just words. Am I attempting to think deep thoughts to have something to write about? Or are these the wrestlings of my heart. A heart that wants to flee the responsibilities of raising a family, raising support for ministry and living a good Christian life.

I believe these are the reflections of my heart. And I do believe that somewhere in there, deep down in my thoughts/soul/heart is someone divine doing his thing. My greatest hope is that he – Jesus – will win the day by working his Holy Spirit within me. This hope is not so that I can live a good life, but that I can come up for his air, that I can simply surface out of the lies that threaten to drown, suffocate and leave me dead and bobbing.

I need an advocate, a personal cheerleader. Someone who is unequivocally for me. Maybe I’m just selfish. But the truth is. If Jesus doesn’t exist, I don’t have anything, but if he does there’s a promise that I might just have everything and more than I ever dreamed of.

Have you ever thought of heaven? Our minds are supposed to be constantly attentive to it aren’t they? It says that somewhere… But what do you think it will be like? I believe it will be like finally waking up. Waking up to promises and truths that we barely dared to think were possible while we lived on the earth. But I don’t want to wait to heaven to start believing in these realities.

That’s what all this has been about really. Not simply another way of viewing the world, but a reality that anchors my being, something that is imbedded deep in my soul/heart/mind. A reality that I am loved unconditionally, heard when I cry out, laughed with, played with, and in which I enabled to get in the game of life.

If you’re like me you may feel that you’ve stalled out in the game of life. But if Jesus is within you, doing something, or doing anything, you’ll never stall. I think this is the root of my struggle: I believe Jesus has long since gotten tired of my running and given up. If I were him I would have. But to go back to the fundamentals, I’m not God and he is. Jesus doesn’t give up, even if his projects are a wreck, and especially when his projects are a wreck.

“Let the little snotty-nosed kids come to me, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”