I’m “working” at the library right now, but its so slow that I’ve checked out one book in the three hours I’ve been here. That’s okay though. I’m in the mood to blog. And I’ve got nothing but time…and Mary Poppins. *sigh…*

My co-worker is playing the Mary Poppins soundtrack from the broadway show she saw last night. She said it was great. I concur.

It’s just funny though, because when I sat down, I was intent on doing some “serious” blogging. You know, stuff that matters. But its hard to feel stoic when “Spoonful of Sugar” is the music you write to. I feel like I should be writing about the mirgatory patterns of unicorns, fuzzy catepillars, or shiny things.

I think it’s funny how much we are influenced by our surroundings. This isn’t about nature vs. nurture as much as it is about attention span! Although it’s hard for me to picture Jesus turning over temple tables while Roman peace keepers sing “Spoonful of Sugar,” I think he could if he had to.

One of the things I love about Jesus the most, is that while he was aware of his surroundings, he wasn’t controlled by them. Instead, he brought his purpose into foreign situations. And the results speak for themselves.

I like these kinds of thoughts. It just shows me that the silly and seemingly most unrelated occurences in life can teach us about the way He changed His world.

When I was ninteen, I was enjoying the Lord’s move in my life. I was learning to pray, worship, and tell people about what he was doing for me. But somehow I got restless. I can’t explain why I looked to the right and to the left, but I began to consider going back to a bad relationship. I knew this was not the Lord’s will. But I allowed myself to crave what was not for me to have.

One night I was standing inside a dark gymnasium, hoping to see her. I didn’t know what I would say when I saw her— but I just had to see her.

And there standing across the room, was the one I had thought about so often. 

Beautiful.

 She greeted me warmly.

We locked eyes.

Beautiful

I looked at her face–

something’s not right.                    

“Don’t worry about it.”

I looked at her eyes.

Beautiful.

But her mouth looks yellow somehow.

“Just ignore it.”

We went out into the courtyard.

As we began to talk, I noticed what I had seen earlier. I tried not to look, because I didn’t want to be rude. But finally I couldn’t help myself.

She knew what I was looking at.

“Oh…you’re looking at my teeth…I have this gum disease that…”

She pulled back her lips to show me her mouth, if you could call it that. Her teeth were much too large and a dark yellow.

Her gums looked like raw hamburger. Blood seeped between every tooth.

Further back were tusks, like that of a wild boar.

She was rotting from the inside out–

I took a step back, overcome by the sheer presence of evil. I no longer wanted to be with her. I wanted to be somewhere safe, away from the disease that threatened to do to me what it had already done to the inside of her.

Because there was nothing safe about the woman I was with—I started to walk away, but found myself looking at the ceiling. Everybody in the house was asleep.

I sat there for a moment,  shaken by what sin looked like—what compromise looked like to the Lord. In the flesh, there is something about temptation that is a welcomed interruption. An opportunity to daydream, before we marshal a manufactured indignation to say ‘no.’ Inside we say “see you tomorrow.”

But what I had just seen didn’t line up with my past experience. This was unrestrained iniquity–and it’s desire was for me.

This was sin in the eyes of God. And I considered myself warned. Whenever you have the unpleasant chance of a lifetime to see the true horror of sin pre-committed, there is nothing sweeter than the holiness of God. You don’t walk to Him timidly. You run as fast as your legs can carry you. The throne of grace was made for spritners.

Today I heard a man say that the second biggest thing that God had ever done for him, was to tell this person that He ‘liked’ him.

The comment moved me. I mean it really stirred me.

I want to be liked by God. Because God made us, I sometimes feel that he is somehow obligated to provide for us, though I am adamantly reminded by theologians that this is not the case. “God is not obligated to do anything for you.” Yes, I understand that….I said I get it.

Perhaps in your zeal to remind me that God is Sovereign, you forgot to tell me that God is love.

And I choose to believe that God likes me too. Because I’ve never in my life met a good Father who didn’t like His son.

You say my experience is subjective, and therefore unreliable.  I say that there is no other way to be saved, short of experiencing Jesus for yourself.

I can’t draw it on the ceiling for you anymore than you can draw it for me.

So here is a promise. When I am in the position to tell a group of people about God, I’m going to tell them that He is love, knowing full well that’s not what you taught me to do.

But what I can’t stand hearing you say the most is “We can’t let our theology be just head knowledge, without it affecting your heart.” Because before you came along, such a thought would have never entered my mind. You tell me to love God with all of my mind, as if what Jesus had in mind there was learning an impressive vocabulary. But you also insinuated that if I don’t, then I must not love God with any mind. You never mention Romans 12:1 -2 which tells us to ‘come out of the world and be transformed by the renewing of our minds.” You just assume that Jesus was talking about growing in intellect.

And you know what? When Jesus said ’the works that I do, they shall also do. Greater things than these will they do who believe in my name,” he wasn’t talking about closing the canon of Scripture, or giving some guy a blanket.

     It was signs and wonders.

Bible school never had a monopoly on discipleship.

You tell me of the ‘wonders’ of his glory: As it turns out, Jesus didn’t really die for everybody. Just some. And God predestined everything. And I’m not using that word out of context. Read Calvin’s Institutes of Religion if you don’t believe me. So when we see the really bad stuff, you’re nowhere to be found, though all of your “Socratic” questions remain, locked in my head, and making their way toward my heart.

Why didn’t you just go buy a retired vehicle from Waste Management Services, and put a wallpaper galaxy behind it. You could throw a big white sheet over it, and have a big unveiling. “Behold…the glory of God!” Nothing more than a cosmic garbage truck that chews up everything in its path.  

I believe there are truly remarkable theologians out there. I really do. We need good theology. God has gifted theologians with an innate longing for structure, clarity and desire to see God’s work presented in it’s fluid, superfluous best.

We’re waiting

I believe God rescues people.

Yet song after song is written on God’s silence to hard questions, and his tendency to dwell within the storm. These are for the most part true, and I believe useful.

But very few sing of God’s rescue.

Why?

Does he just not do this sort of thing anymore? I’ve been in prayer meetings when the people I was praying with asked God to send us suffering, to be more like Jesus. It sounds holy and sincere. I have no doubt that they were sincere. But is that something we should ask God for?

I would be mortified if my kid asked me to “let him suffer.” It just sounds stupid.

One of the things I love about Jesus is that when he begins speaking, he really does sound like someone who has no part of this world system.  Yet he’s completely relevant. And unpredictable. And realistic. In John 15 Jesus  talks to his friends about what they can expect from the world. I don’t see him looking absently at the moon, then down at his disciples with a knowing smile on his face. 

To me his face isn’t relaxed. It’s tense. Lines across his forehead. His eyes are focused and full of power. Almost agitated. He talks quickly, as if he’s been thinking about this for weeks, and the gravity of it all is coming out all at once.

After a few minutes, he softens a bit. He looks at the ground.

“I have spoken these things so that you can have peace in Me.”

He looks up, his face full of sympathy.

“In the world you will have tribulation. But don’t be afriaid…”

His features hardern. And with blind determination mixed with softness, he points to himself and says:

“I have overcome the world.”

A sudden breeze blows loose leaves from the trees, sending them flying. Creation nods in approval. Jesus doesn’t even blink.

I don’t think we need to pray for suffering. If we’re doing what we should be doing—suffering will find us. You won’t have to ask for it.So what was I talking about earlier? God rescues us. Here is a time when God rescued me.

I had just turned fifteen a few months ago. Our youth group  went to ‘acquire the fire’ for the weekend. I was siiting in my seat in that giant football stadium. I had my head in my hands , while everybody else was praying to God, thanking him for what He was doing.

I didn’t even want to say my prayer out loud. Silently, I told God this:

” I just need the confusion to stop. Please God. Make the confusion stop.”

What was I confused about? Something pretty important. I didn’t know how Jesus could be God. I knew I should believe it, but I was being crippled with doubt. I hadn’t been saved for that long, and I was full of shame. If people knew what I was struggling with, they wouldn’t even know why I came.

And then this girl taps me on my shoulder.

It was Beth. I had probably talked to her twice my entire time in youth group. She was a lot older, and kind of weird. Not in a bad way. She just exhumed confidence. She was excited all the time. Always smiling.

“God told me that your confusion will end.”

     “and I saw fire above your head.”

 About a minute later I asked bewildered: “How did you know that?” That was the day my world changed. Yes–we suffer in this life. Some us will have the opportunity to die for the name of Jesus. It’s an honor I am much too afraid to ask for. We may be forced underground–I have no idea. But trials will come. After all, he warned us. Some of these—we will be rescued from. I mean physically rescued. Because someone overcame the world. Some of these trials, however, may be our end in this world. But he overcame the world. The Second Death has no part of me anymore. I’ve already been delivered.  

Its like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abendego. “If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king.  But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.” If we can get to a place where we approach trials from a disposition that expects rescue, but is not contingent upon it, I think we’re doing good.