Glory

I've been rereading The Allure of Hope by Jan Meyers, for what is probably the 6th time. This thought struck me today:

Glory asks something of us. Our hearts say, "Leave us alone; we're fine. Please don't unveil our faces, because we're not sure how the glory will be handled." It might be too much. We would rather have the comfort of a marred painting than deal with the brillance of the original. The beauty of revealed hope is often met with such distain.

I would welcome a discussion surrounding this unsettling thought from Ms. Meyers. 

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, not the mirror

So, I've recently been reading Wendell Berry's books Hannah Coulter and Jayber Crow.  I'm hooked.  I feel like I'm breathing in fresh air when I read his works.

Here's an excerpt from Hannah Coulter that has my mind working.

I was beautiful in those days myself, as I believe I can admit now that it no longer matters. A woman doesn't learn she is beautiful by looking in a mirror, which about any woman is apt to do from time to time, but that is only wishing. She learns it so that she actually knows it from men. The way they look at her makes a sort of glimmer she walks in. That tells her. It changes the way she walks too. But now I was a mother and a widow. It had been a longish while since I had thought of being beautiful, but Nathan's looks were reminding me that I was.       (p. 65)

 If we strive to find beauty looking back at us in the mirror, then we will surely fail to attain it, for in seeking to be beautiful, I believe we give up a part of ourselves to the slavery of vanity; we actually lose beauty.  Rather, as we move towards others, allowing them to see us, to take us in, it is in their estimation of us that our beauty lies.  It is an openness to being seen, and that is beautiful.

Each of my friends is beautiful to me.  I can't help but see them this way.  Though I know they strive as I do to dress well and practice some degree of good hygiene, I find that they are no less beautiful to me as when they are in their PJ's after having scrubbed off the days make up.

I guess I want to quit trying so hard to create a beauty in myself, and instead to let the beauty that's always been there propel me towards being more open and emotionally present.  It scares the hooey out of me; it really does.  But I think it's more honest and life-giving to others and to me, so perhaps it's worth it.

Hope is scary, and gritty.

"Hope is a radically dangerous passion. Hope is anticipation. It is a vision of the future that guides how the present will be lived."  Dan Allender from Bold Love

I feel like I'm in a dance with hope, not a graceful waltz or passionate tango, but a war dance, and I want hope to win.  As much as I want hope to win, I will fight till the end against it.  Hope demands relational risk, and not about whether or not I will experience the hurt of disappointment, but whether or not this time I will be disappointed, because I cannot avoid disappointment.  Hope does not try to erase the fall, but stares it down with the knowledge that the score has already been settled and we are just waiting to see how it all plays out.

Hope grieves and rages and celebrates, it does not shrink back nor hide. Hope lays bare one's soul, revealing all and believing that one day my longings and desires will be fully realized, so I need not be ashamed of them now.

Resurrection thoughts or It's not about the damn bunny

In some ways I'm revisiting an earlier post in writing this, but I think it is worthwhile as Easter is upon us.  In my mind I have been thinking over and over again that if the resurrection hadn't happened, then Christ's death wouldn't matter, because he'd be dead.  I'm not trying to downplay the significance of Jesus' s death by any means.  But, the fact that after he was dead and buried, he inhaled and came back into life matters tremendously.  His inhalation means that everything prophesied about him in the Old Testament is true.  Everything he told his disciples is true.  That he is God and man at the same time is true.  That he is prophet, priest, and king is true.  But, the resurrection had to happen.  It is through the resurrection that I can draw near to God.

What this means for me who believes in it all, is that I can push back against the darkness in this world and in my life, because he inhaled.  I can fight for my heart and the hearts of others, because he inhaled.  I can believe that I'm worth fighting for, because he fought for me and he won when he inhaled.  I can fight for hope, live in hope, pursue hope with vigor, because he took a breath after dying on a cross, shedding his blood, carrying everything wicked, thoughtless, indifferent, shameful thought our deed I will ever think or do with him.  He made life possible for me.  The resurrection means he won.

Another shout out to Andrew Peterson's High Noon

When Jesus took in that breath 
And shattered all Death with his life 
So long, you wages of sin 
Go on, don’t you come back again 
I’ve been raised and redeemed 
You’ve lost all your sting 
To the victor of the battle

Sometimes I hear the gospel in songs, and I weep.

This song was playing as I drove today.  It got to me.  Especially the parts in bold.

If you don't own music by this man, you should.

Andrew Peterson

Love and Thunder

High Noon  

High noon in the valley of the shadow 
When the deep of the valley was bright 
When the mouth of the tomb 
Shouted, "Glory, the Groom is alive" 
So long, you wages of sin 
Go on, don't you come back again 
I've been raised and redeemed 
You've lost all your sting 
To the victor of the battle 
At high noon in the valley 
In the valley of the shadow 

Now the demons, they danced in the darkness 
When that last ragged breath left his lungs 
And they reveled and howled 
At the war that they thought they had won 
But then, in the dark of the grave 
The stone rolled away 
In the still of the dawn on the greatest of days 

High noon in the valley of the shadow 
When the shadows were shot through with light 
When Jesus took in that breath 
And shattered all Death with his life 
So long, you wages of sin 
Go on, don't you come back again 
I've been raised and redeemed 
You've lost all your sting 
To the victor of the battle 
High noon in the valley of the shadow 

Let the people rejoice 
Let the heavens resound 
Let the name of Jesus, who sought us 
And freed us forever ring out 
All praise to the fighter of the night 
Who rides on the light 
Whose gun is the grace of the God of the sky 

High noon in the valley of the shadow 
When the shadows were shot through with light 
When the mouth of the tomb 
Shouted, "Glory, the Groom is alive" 
So long, you wages of sin 
I said go on, don't you come back again 
I've been raised and redeemed 
All praise to the king 
The victor of the battle 
High noon in the valley 
In the valley of the shadow 

Worshipful Anger

Apparently I'm angry with God.  I say apparently, because it makes me uncomfortable to straightforwardly and honestly state that I am really pissed at God.  I keep my anger at a low simmer, because if I let it loose I think it might scare the hell out of me.  My counselor asked if I thought it was possible to rage against God in worship.  This question makes me uncomfortable, because I think it just might be possible.  It might be the most worshipful thing I could do right now.  I welcome as well as implore you for your thoughts.

I put this post in the hopeful thoughts category, because I think it's exactly where it belongs.  Think about that for a moment.

New Year's Resolution

cyn⋅i⋅cal

–adjective

1.	like or characteristic of a cynic; distrusting or disparaging the motives of others.

2.	showing contempt for accepted standards of honesty or morality by one's actions, esp. by actions that exploit the scruples of others.

3.	bitterly or sneeringly distrustful, contemptuous, or pessimistic.

For too many years I have prided myself on being cynical and sarcastic.  Granted, there is much humor to be found in a well-stated cynical comment, but the problem lies in the darkness of my heart.  I believe a little too much in the cynical comment.  It's a means of protection against disappointment.  It disregards hope.  This year I resolve to choose to trust the motives of others unless given reason not to.  I resolve to face my issues of contempt, for self and others.  I resolve to forge my identity in the cross and not in the sharpness of my tongue.  One of my professors paraphrased Jerram Barrs as saying that there is no place in the Christian heart for cynicism, because we have One whom we look to whose motives and actions can be completely trusted and enable us to believe that it won't always be this way (my paraphrase of his paraphrase).  Here's to it not always being this way!

Attachment Theory

After wrapping up a semester, I have looked back a little as to what I have learned.  There's a lot.  I think it might have changed me in some really good ways.  One of the things that have brought me peace is attachment theory.  Attachment is usually something associated with children, but this semester it was proposed that the need to feel attached is not just something kids need, but people of all ages.  Attachment asks, "are you available to me", "will you be emotionally responsive to me", and "will you engage with me"?  Attachment is someone being emotionally present and connected to you, regardless of circumstance.  This allows for someone to be in an uncomfortable situation and still feel comfortable.  For me, that would be something like being at a large gathering where I don't know many people.  If I am securely attached to someone, I can navigate  and engage with people.  Attachment also allows someone to share deeply without being afraid of how they will respond.  

We studied all of this in the context of marriage, marriage being a place to build a secure attachment, and to admit the need for attachment.  Attachment between a couple leads to intimacy which builds a marriage.  However, let's face it, I'm not married.  But I still have a need to feel attached.  Maybe attachment is what drives us to get married.  I know that this past semester was more emotionally difficult than I could have imagined.  I know that part of it is because I left a place, where amongst a small group of people I felt attached.  I've yet to attach in St. Louis yet, but that's okay, because it's all part of the the process of moving and change.  Change can disrupt in a good, yet painful way.

I feel like I should give props to the author who got all of this swirling in my head.  Sue Johnson wrote Hold Me Tight: Seven Conversations for a Lifetime of Love.  I think it's a worthy read for anyone whose married.  For singles, it may scare you about being married or idealize it, so if you read it, be discerning.

Hope and Grief

I am always attempting to find a way to hang on to hope.  Hope asks us to look at the bigger picture in the midst of the in your face details.  As I look back on my first semester at Covenant, I am forced to reflect on the topic of grief.  Grief came up in class way more than hope.  It seemed to be the answer to way too many questions.  How does a person overcome A, B, or C, well they need to grieve.  They need to face the pain, the disappointment, the unmet expectations, the unfulfilled hope, the sin they've experienced or doled out.  There is a call to honestly looking at your heart, at what you long for (the beginning of hope) and desire, and to own and accept the fact that it hasn't happened or can't happen.  Hope tells us that the world isn't as it should be, and that it won't always be this way.  Grief happens in the middle.  We must acknowledge how much it hurts that we are in the not yet phase of our hope of glory.  Because of the entry of sin into the world I experience pain, suffering, hate, cruelty.  Our suffering often gets undermined or minimized because it is compared to something that is seen as much worse.  But, it's our suffering and pain to bear.  Sucking it up won't make it all better.  I believe that I must look at the disappointment I feel towards myself and others.  There is a time to grieve, and it's not just at funerals.  If we don't look at what hurts straight in the face, how can we then hope for what will be.  We need to grieve what has been lost, so that hope is realized.  And it really does hurt.

got hope?

As I was driving to church this morning, I saw this bumper sticker.  It took me a second before I saw the fine print of Obama's website.  It made me sad.  

Romans 8:18-25 says this:

18 For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. 19 For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. 20 For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope 21 that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. 

22 For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. 23 And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. 24 For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? 25 But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.

My hope is in someone greater than Barack Obama, and I will wait with patience.

Hope

I have been reading The Healing Path by Dan Allender for my Intro to Counseling class.  The topic of hope has come up, and some of you know that hope is as much an area of interest for me as it is a challenge.  Allender has come up with a definition of hope that resonates with the tension I feel towards it.

He writes, "Hope is not naive desire but a calculated risk that declares, whatever the loss, it is better than remaining where we are."

The tension for me is in the risk.  I know that pain may be right around the corner, but it is better to experience pain than continue in my desires without taking any action.  When I choose to hope, sometimes I experience pain, but more often than not, I experience a hint of my ultimate desire being met: to be known, to be in deep relationship with others.  Even in the pain, I feel more alive than when I remain paralyzed by the risk of hoping, refusing to put myself out there, where it is safe, and I am ambivalent, numb, static.

Hoping is embracing the life to which we are called.  Refusing to hope is remaining dead to our hearts.

So hope people!  It may hurt, but it will be worth it!