there's no i in god

You wake up one day and the idea that you are overweight, out of shape and off-track gnaws at you so much you need to act. So I tell my friend TK that I need his help. Can’t do this alone.

So TK gives me a book. Renovation of the Heart in Daily Practice, by Dallas Willard and Jan Johnson. Typical TK – he knows me well enough to know that the only way to change my outer physical shape is to start within… by changing my heart.

Each chapter is only two-three pages, but it takes me a few days to let a chapter sink in. So I think about what it means to linger on the beauty of God and God’s Kingdom. Asking God to show me the small steps in my life that will quietly and certainly lead to inner transformation. And whether I can rely on the love and divine grace of Jesus Christ to transform me into the man I was mean to be.

Here’s the big take away from week one: in the past, whenever I would spend time thinking about my relationship with Christ, I spend most of the time thinking about me.

What prayers can I put before God?
How did I fall short of His will?
Where did I need God’s help?
When was I obedient, when was I not?
What does God have to say to me? Can I hear Him today?

So this week I am trying to shift the focus, not worry about me, and simply enjoy the awesomeness of God. Or what Willard and Johnson call “dwelling on the beauty of God and the Kingdom life.”

9/11 thanksgiving

crossposted at Daily Prayer
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It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children. Rev 21: 6-7

On September 11, 2011 more than 47,000 people were safely evacuated from two burning towers. It probably ranks as one of the greatest rescue operations in the history of the world.

Yet salvation comes at a cost. On that day, 403 firefighters, police officers and paramedics sacrificed their lives.

A few millennia earlier, one man gave his life to save a people. And when he breathed his last, he looked to heaven and declared, “It is finished.”

Tonight’s prayer is one of thanks, for the victories of 9/11. And the life everlasting these heroes now enjoy.
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the good samaritan

I spent a few hours down at the rail trail this afternoon, handing out water and lemonade to the joggers, walkers and bike riders.

So I am talking to one guy in a red t-shirt, and he says "you're a good Samaritan."

And as he left, I wondered. This man was comfortable making a NT reference, but to him, seeing a simple act of kindness brought to mind a Samaritan and not a follower of Jesus. Could you imagine a person in a similar situation saying "you're a good Christian"?

About five minutes later, another man makes the same comment, "You're a good Samaritan."

So when I get home tonight I do a little reading. I was surprised to find out that Samaritans believed in God and the Torah. They considered themselves Jews, though they were detested by the "mainstream" Jews. (One writer compares this to the rift between Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland.) In the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus tells the tale of one man who rises above this bigotry to help a man in need -- exemplifying God's call to love your neighbor as yourself.

Today, the term "good Samaritan" is used as a common metaphor and applies to any charitable person, especially one who, like the man in the parable, rescues or helps out a needy stranger. My guess is that it represents a term acceptable in a secular society, where as any reference to God or Christ may be off-putting.

So while these guys weren't giving Christ any credit for me being out on the rail trail today, the fact that my presence led a few people to reflect on Jesus' words made me feel good.

But when a third guy came by and asked "Who can I thank?" I decided to clarify the situation.

"God," I replied. "You can thank God."

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unstoppable

After a highly-scheduled week, which included after work plans every evening, I plopped down in front of the wide-screen last night to see what HBO had to offer and was pleased to see Unstoppable coming on.

It's funny that I've never considered Denzel Washington to be a great actor--I find a lot of his characters are too similar--but I almost always love his movies. So I hit the play button and sat back for a welcome night in.

Good flick for cable or even a rental, not much character development but a dramatic story line. Rosario Dawson excellent in a supporting role.

Anyway, about half way through the film, my two oldest children come home along with a few carloads of friends and ask if they can take over the family room.

I declined to move. Partly because I was quite comfortable. Partly because this was the first time I had sat down this week. Partly because my kids and their friends have taken over my TV at least a few nights every week this summer. So yes, I declined to move.

In hindsight, there was nothing wrong with this decision. My kids accepted my decision without a second thought. And I enjoyed the second half of the movie in hi-def (and in peace).

When I woke up this morning, however, the first thought that popped into my head was that I wish I had said yes. Instead of being the guy who did was what was reasonable and expected, I could have said yes to love.

Love should be unstoppable.

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Luke 19 redux

Reading the same passage of scripture several times over the course of a few days or weeks is a new discipline for me, but one I recommend--for you never know how that second or third reading will differ from the first.

Take Luke 19: 11-26, the “Parable of the Ten Minas.” First time through, came away with the message that was taught to me when I was young: God has given you talents and if you use them for God’s purpose, you will receive even more gifts or abilities.

But is that what this parable is really about? Here are a few excerpts that stood out on a subsequent reading:

12 He said: “A man of noble birth went to a distant country to have himself appointed king and then to return.

14 “But his subjects hated him and sent a delegation after him to say, ‘We don’t want this man to be our king.’

And later on…

22 “His master replied, ‘I will judge you by your own words, you wicked servant! You knew, did you, that I am a hard man, taking out what I did not put in, and reaping what I did not sow?

26 “He replied, ‘I tell you that to everyone who has, more will be given, but as for the one who has nothing, even what they have will be taken away. 27 But those enemies of mine who did not want me to be king over them—bring them here and kill them in front of me.’”

Am I truly to believe that the Master in this parable is God the Father, or Jesus himself?

Reading through a third time, I am drawn to the first line of this parable:

11 While they were listening to this, he went on to tell them a parable...

And what were they listening to exactly? Jesus was explaining his mission on earth.

10 For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.

And who is lost in the parable of the ten minas? Perhaps the delegation that protests the appointment of a selfish, ruthless man as king—only to find themselves put to death. Perhaps the servant, who is so fearful of this powerful man, that he is afraid to act on the minas entrusted to him?

Perhaps I need to read this one again…

don't look at me...

Then Jesus said to his disciples, "I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.”

If I did not have the responsibility of being a father or a husband, I could easily sell my possessions and give it all to the poor—storing up treasures in heaven instead.

Yes, that thought popped into my head yesterday.

(And not for the first time.)

In this warped sense of reality that is my brain, you see, I can convince myself that my need to live in a nice neighborhood, save for retirement, go on vacation, etc. is driven solely by my love of family. If it wasn’t for them, I could rid myself of worldly possessions and live the simple life God intended.

But you know better, Lord, don’t you.

the river

People I know often refer to life as a journey. Some days the road is paved, other times you must navigate through pot holes, or debris left by others before you.

You can go weeks or months travelling a path that is clear and well defined, only to wake up one day finding yourself off the beaten path, unsure in which direction you were headed. We come to forks in the road, or even dead ends. We walk in pairs, groups, crowds… but often alone. Sometimes we stop moving all together.

Recently, my path came to a river.

Looking up, I could see that the path continued on the other side. While we were not talking about a Mississippi-sized waterway, it was daunting none the less. The current moved rapidly downstream toward a place beyond my vision.

Turning back was an option, though in the moment I could not recall exactly how I had gotten to this place. The path that lay across the bank was the natural progression—but only if I could transverse the raging river that flowed with such force and purpose.

How many times in life do we face such decisions? When our purpose collides with fear and uncertainty.

My decision made, I stepped into the water. My sneakers and sock quickly becoming weighted with the cool water. By the time I was waist-deep, the force of the current had already announced its desire to take me downstream… away from that safe haven of beachhead that sat there so inviting.

Another moment of indecisiveness was squashed as I dove in, swimming toward the distant bank… that path… my destiny.

A direct route was not an option, for the current matched me stroke for stroke.

When I fought to swim upstream, a vision from my childhood came to mind—of a young boy struggling with the undertow at the Jersey Shore, fighting the strength of the ocean to stay in front of the life guard chair and away from the life-threatening jetty.

Here, the path on the opposit bank represented my lifeguard. And while it took a while, I soon found that I could tack like a sailboat—swimming upstream then cross-stream—bringing me closer to my destination. Yet I needed to swim harder. Swim faster. Swim with even more determination. For the current never took a break. Never took a breath. The river was relentless in its purpose.

Even as the path grew closer, its firm-footing seemed further from my grasp. My arms grew weary. My legs were losing their strength. And in that moment of sheer fear and desperation, I did what I should have done long before stepping into the water. I cried out to God.

“Father,” I prayed. “Give me the strength. Give me the power. Give me the courage and determination I need to swim harder. The power to swim faster. Please God. Please. Answer my prayers.”

And to my surprise, the voice of my creator responded. The God of the universe spoke in the quiet of my heart.

“My son,” God called. “I am the river."

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