For You

The God of the Old Testament is, shall we say, a bit of a vengeful God.  If you've ever read these stories, you can't help but walk away with that impression of Him.  His people offend Him by offering sacrifices to this or that other god.  They upset Him by breaking this or that rule.  They defy Him, deny Him, and dishonor Him...and God won't stand for it.

We often see Him promising destruction, articulating a curse that involves some form of mass death where wild animals of various species will eat the flesh of the deceased, where bodies will lie rotting in the streets for lack of graves, where bones will disintegrate to dust.  It's gruesome and kind of harsh, but this is what He promises.  (Although, to be fair, I'm not sure I have seen any instances of this actually coming to pass, any times when God has not, in His mercy, changed His mind.  Jezebel, of course, was eaten by dogs, but I think the en masse slaughter and subsequent eating by birds and beasts of the nation of Israel never happened.  I'd probably remember that.  Even when He promised not to let an entire generation into the Promised Land after their rebellion in the wilderness, He let them wander and die of natural causes and even buried Moses and Aaron.  So there's that.)

But what strikes me is that, as often as this is the God we remember, He is just as often the God of a different curse.  If you read through the Scriptures, even the ones that promise destruction, what you find is that just as often as God is promising the destruction and death of the people, He is promising the destruction of the land and their home and their crops and their food.

Take this passage from Jeremiah 4:

My anguish, my anguish!...I see the earth.  It's formless and empty.  I see the sky.  Its lights are gone.  I see the mountains.  They are shaking, and the hills are swaying.  I see that there are no people, and every bird has flown away.  I see that the fertile land has become a desert, and all its cities are torn down because of the Lord and his burning anger.  This is what the Lord says:  The whole earth will be ruined. (19, 23-27)

There are other verses that say the lands will lay barren, the fields won't produce, the crops will rot, there will be no rains, etc.

In His anger, the Lord completely undoes creation.  He undoes this place He created.  He takes back Eden.

Isn't that what it is?  Look again at the passage from Jeremiah and compare that with the creation story in Genesis.  In the beginning, everything was formless and empty.  And here we have the earth, formless and empty.  Then God separated the light from the darkness...  And here, the light is gone.  It's just darkness again.  He created the lands and separated them from the waters.  The mountains are shaking; the hills, swaying.  He filled the waters with creatures and the skies with birds.  All the birds have flown away.  He created vegetation to cover the earth, plants to grow and food to harvest and so on and so forth (in case you haven't noticed, yes.  I am paraphrasing Genesis).  The fertile land has become a desert.  And He created man.  There are no men.  There are no women.  There are no people.  Creation is completely undone.

The story of Genesis is the story of Eden.  It is the birth of a place, culminating in the formation of people.  It's easy to think that maybe Eden was missing something, and that something was man, but the opposite has always been true.  It was man that was missing something, and that something was Eden.  God created this place for you.

And if you're not going to appreciate it, He says, then what's the point?  In one moment of burning anger, He proclaims a curse that undoes His creation.  That's anger.  That's righteous fire.  That's a powerful and passionate God right there.

It just strikes me as I read these kinds of verses how willing God is to let us keep going, to let us have whatever it is that we think we want to have, and that He has these other ways of dealing with us.  It's easy to destroy evil people.  It's simple, at least to our minds, to wipe out the offender.  But it's not love, and at His core, that is what God is.  He is love.  So in love, He can't just destroy us.  He can't write us off.  But He can shield His investment.  We don't want Him?  Ok, that's cool.  Then we must not want Eden, either.  We must not want our fields and our flowers and our food.  We must not want our mountains and our molehills.  We must not want our sun or our stars.  Because these things are from Him, special gifts created just for us, and well, if we don't want that, then God is willing to show us what life without Him - fully without Him - is really like.  That is the essence of this curse.  It is God telling us that He's created this beautiful, wonderful, awesome place for us and if we're not interested....good luck creating for yourself.  See what you can do in a formless, empty place.

God is not pick-and-choose.  We don't get to take this part of Him and not that part.  We don't get to have just a piece of Him.  It's all or nothing.  The fullness of God or the formlessness of godlessness.  There is no in-between.  This place we're blessed and honored to live in, it was created just for us.  This place, it was created just for you.  Do you get that?  This is part of the incredible gift God is giving to you, this very place.  He's not as attached to it as He is to you.  So if you don't want it, He'll destroy it.  If He can't have the one thing that matters - YOU - then none of this matters.  He will take away the entire work of creation for the chance to spare you...so that maybe one day you'll come back to Him and rediscover this place.

So maybe one day, you'll discover Eden.  

Hand-Me-Down

Life is afoot, and in this new season of things, a little rearranging must take place.  But in order for that to happen, I need to create some new storage space.  Which means, of course, I am purging through boxes of stuff in the basement.

A couple of times a year, I go through the things I have stored in closets, getting rid of this or that.  I'm always amazed at what I'm paring down.  There's something more to get rid of every time, even though for the most part, the stash o' stuff never changes.  I am just ready, at various stages, to part with this or that.  The basement is a little more interesting.  The stuff down there has been there since I moved into this house 14 years ago, except for that one terrible summer when the basement flooded.  I got to go through too much stuff then and get rid of more than I was ready to.

That's not this story.

I have previously written about my criteria for keeping or tossing an item, and that was true.  Sort of.  It was also kind of a lie.  Because as life moves on and things develop, as my heart and my mind and my story mature, my criteria change.  I noticed this last night when I came across some trophies, some books, and a pile of tiny wooden Christmas ornaments.

For the longest time, I've kept a lot of "records."  Report cards, papers I got a good grade on, cards from this person or that person, notes of encouragement, mentions of praise.  Ribbons, trophies, plaques for participating.  I've kept these things because these seem to me the kinds of things everyone keeps.  After dad died, I found every school paper he'd ever completed, every card for every occasion that everyone had ever given him dating back to "Happy 2nd Birthday Bob," a list of awards and merits and honors and achievements...and I didn't know what to do with them.

He kept them, I think, because they meant something to him, just as my sorts of things have meant something to me.  I think sometimes we keep these things, and I'm speaking from my own heart here, because we have these lingering questions and doubts about ourselves and if we can point to something we did, particularly something we did well, or if we can show documentation of this thing we were a part of, maybe our hollow places don't seem so empty.

The problem is that when people go through your stuff after you die or move or get married or whatever empowers people to start going through your things, whatever you're holding onto is also the story you're telling.

If I hold on to every school paper I got a good grade on, every participation plaque from Boys & Girls Club sports, every made-up award I received (like the 8th-grade honor for "commitment to kitchen cleanliness" in home-ec), then the story I am telling is that I am an achiever.  I did things, and I did things well.  I excelled.  I achieved.  I participated.  I won.  My heart absolutely sank last night, going through some of these things, and thinking that this was the story I was going to leave my kids to discover?  

Yuck.

These things have been my story in some ways.  There's no denying that, and it's not that I would want them to be wiped out.  It's not that I want to not tell this part of the story.  It's that I don't want these things to define my story.  Because these things are the story of my insecurities, my questions, my doubts.  They look like good things on the outside, but I know they were levees against darkness.  That's not the story I want to tell.  

The story I'm telling does not deny the good things, nor does it deny my insecurities, but I want to leave my children the story of my heart.  I want them not to see how my life wrestled with doubt but how my heart did, how my love responds to questions.  Not how my life responds.  I don't want them to think that this life holds the answers for the hard questions or that by throwing themselves into something, they can get out of anything.  I want them to understand the reality of this place and know how to write their own stories by discovering mine.  They don't get that from piles of papers and plaques.  I shudder to think of my children writing the story of achievement when there is so much more to living in this place.

I want them to know how to write a story of mercy.  I want them to know how to write a story of grace.  I want them to know how to write a story of surrender and silliness and questions and answers and dark places and light places and hollow places and hallowed places.  I want them know how to write a story of life.  I want them to write a story of love.  And I just don't think they get that from one day discovering that their mother won an award for dishwashing.  (Although the novelty of this still amuses me.)

So as I go through the basement, I'm trying to be careful.  I want to share my life with my children one day, and I want to have some of my memories to hold onto myself.  But I don't want to tell the wrong story.  I want them to know what was important to me.  I want them to share in some of my favorite moments and pasttimes and things.  I want to sit on the edge of their beds and read them Berenstain Bears stories (I just found the whole stash, nearly-complete collection last night).  I want my little girl (and little boy, if he so desires) to go to dance class and see the video tapes of mommy dancing when she was their age.  I may or may not show them my trophies.  I want them to see enough of my report cards to understand that school was important to me, that I believe in knowledge, and I want them to see enough projects to know that education is about more than grades.  I want to share with them the things my great-grandmother, grandmother, and mother have passed down to me, and I want them to know the stories so that when they share these things with their children, they appreciate the heritage.

But I want them to know that the essence of my life, of their life, of life in general, goes beyond what you do or what you have or what you hold onto.  It's about the story you're telling with your life, about how you live, about how you love.  I'm not sure you can do that with "things."  Which is why I'm trying to be mindful as I purge yet again...mindful of the story I'm telling.

Come By It Honest

Do you ever read the footnotes in your Bible?  I do.  Every one of them, even when I know it's just going to define one more time what clean or unclean is or tell me again the exact definition of a concubine.  I often grumble about halfway through Leviticus because of this repetition, but every time I see that little superscript marking that tells me there's more information, I just have to know what it is.

As boring as many of them are - the aforementioned, for example, or the awkwardly confusing "exact meaning unknown" or the frustrating "this verse in this translation is actually three chapters ahead in the Hebrew translation" or whatever - there are a handful in which I find tremendous encouragement.

The truth is the most rewarding footnotes, as in any part of the Biblical text, are not those that tell me more about my Bible.  They are those that tell me more about my God.  And I can't help but smile when I read them.

Meanings of names and old Hebrew words are interesting, and to an extent, they also reveal the heart and the spirit of God.  It's in the footnotes that you discover that Isaac is named He Laughs because Abraham and Sarah laughed when God brought the good news of their coming son.  It is here in the footnotes that you are told that Emmanuel, the name of the coming Messiah, means God With Us.  It is here that you find Jacob's new name, Israel, to mean He Struggled With God, just after Jacob the man struggled with God!  There are some more awkward examples.  For instance, in Isaiah 29, a footnote in my Bible reads, "Ariel is an unknown Hebrew word which may mean 'lion of God,' 'mountain of God,' or 'fireplace.'"  Really?  I eagerly dive back into the verse to figure out how they know it didn't mean fireplace this time.  All while wondering how they know when they admit they don't know the word.  It's crazy!

(I love words.)

But what I appreciate most are the footnotes about God's language.  I run across these from time to time, mostly in my footnotes but occasionally in other word studies and so forth, and I'm using the following example from Jeremiah simply because it is the one I ran across a few days ago and started laughing all over again.  From Jeremiah 1: 9-12:

Then the Lord stretched out his hand and touched my mouth.  The Lord said to me, 'Now I have put my words in your mouth.  Today I have put you in charge of nations and kingdoms.  You will uproot and tear down.  You will destroy and overthrow.  You will build and plant.'  Again the Lord spoke his word to me and asked, 'Jeremiah, what do you see?'  I answered, 'I see a branch of an almond tree.'  Then the Lord said to me, 'Right.  I am watching to make sure that my words come true.'

On the surface, ok.  It's a nice story and you're probably wondering what makes me smile.  Here is the footnote on verses 11-12:

There is a play on words here between Hebrew shaked (almond tree) and shoked (watching).

The God of the Universe uses His divine authority to bestow this tremendous blessing and gift on His prophet Jeremiah.  Then, He uses His creation to open the prophet's eyes.  Then He uses His humor to bring the prophet joy.  I can just imagine Jeremiah, who would have known the play on words without a footnote, smiling and shaking his head.  This is His God.

I smile because this is also my God.  And one of the things I was repeatedly chastised for in more structural journalism classes was my complete inability to pass up a good play on words.  It's part of what makes me a good writer...and a terrible journalist.  Nearly every paper returned by the professor had the same comment at the top - if you don't control your word play, it's going to control you.

That's ok.  I come by it honest.  That is to say, I get it from my Father.

(For the record, there were many more English and creative writing professors over the years who couldn't get enough of this very thing, and for them, I am grateful.  They encouraged me to continue in the voice given me.  Thanks.)

This footnote in Jeremiah, this experience the prophet had, it wasn't a part of the Bible.  It wasn't the word of a man.  This was the word of God, the interplay of a God who created the play on words and utilized creation to make it work.  He's incredible!  I mean, what are the odds that the prophet looks up and out of all he sees, chooses to say that he sees an almond branch?  God put that branch there, and He opened Jeremiah's eyes to, out of all things, see the branch.  All in the name of a good twist of words.

I have to say that sometimes, I have gone to similar lengths.

But I love it!  There are some twists of words and plays on words in my upcoming book that still make me smile every time I read them, even though I know just as many will read them and groan.  It's fun!  And fantastic!  And so much my Father that I am even more humbled to share this gift with Him.

And as a point of housekeeping, for those of you that just said "shaked" as in the past tense of "to shake" and "shoked" as in a word nearly rhyming with "choked," please do me a favor and *facepalm*.  This is Hebrew.  Shaked is pronounced shah-ked and Shoked would then be show-ked.  Lesson over.  

Feet

You've heard it said that the heavens are His home and that earth is God's footstool, the place where He kicks up His feet.  That's certainly a powerful image.

But think about the power in this one:

"Lebanon's glory will come to you: Cedar, fir, and cypress trees will come to beautify my holy place, and I will honor the place where my feet rest."  -Isaiah 60:13

There's a humble beauty and incredible power in this verse, where this place is not His footrest but instead, the place where He rests His feet.  It's the difference between God laid back in the heavens and lounging around the living room.

Resting one's feet was a big deal in the day of Jesus.  Sandals were primitive and roads were dusty.  When you settled into a place to rest your feet, you stayed for awhile.  Someone brought you a rag and some water to wash the weariness off your soles.  If you were an honored or respected man, they might even wash your feet for you.  It was an investment, for both the resting man and the host, to be in a place to rest your feet.

In this passage in Isaiah, God is talking about the Temple.  He's talking about the ornate building in Jerusalem, designed by David, directed by God, erected by Solomon.  He's talking about the place where people would find Him, the place He had chosen to dwell on earth.  It was the place where He would invest in resting His feet, as long as His people invested in His presence there.

Fast forward to the New Testament and a new holy place.  You, God says, are the temple of the living God.  Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you...? (1 Corinthians 6:19)  You are His holy place, which makes you....YOU....the place where His feet rest.

Think about God lounging around your living room.  Think about Him stepping into your space, making Himself welcome in your home, deciding to stay awhile.  Think about Him being willing to make your life the place where He washes the dust off His feet because He has nowhere else to be right now.  He's not going back out; He's here to stay.

That's the image of the feet of God that I want to have.  Not that some cosmic, bigger-than-the-heavens God is using my life as a place to kick up His feet and relax a little.  Not that I'm living under the pressure of God's smelly feet bearing down on my everything.  But that I have in this moment the very presence of God invested in my life and that I have today a chance to invest in His love.

In one of the Gospel stories, Jesus chastises the Pharisee for not bringing Him water to wash His feet.  This, He points out as a sinful woman "wastes" a year's pay worth of perfume by pouring it out on the Christ.  Now, we know Jesus sometimes invited Himself into various places, the Upper Room for example.  But we also know that more often, others invited Him.  The Pharisee probably extended the invitation that Jesus join him, but when Christ gets there, the man is a miserable host.  He doesn't even do the one basic thing!  Here's Jesus, willing to rest His feet for awhile in this man's home, and the man can't be bothered with it.  He wants the Christ but not the investment.  And Jesus points that out.  Publicly.

Christ is willing to come into your life.  You are His temple, and that makes you the place where He will rest His feet.  Your place is the place where He's willing to stop for awhile, come in, sit down, have a glass of wine (He liked wine, ok?), and enjoy your company.  All He asks is a simple rag, something to wash His feet, some sign that you're making the investment, too.  That you're making the space.  That you're making the accommodation to have Him here.

Let the Son of God wash His feet and He will rest them here.  In you.

Isn't that worth your measly rags?

Balaam's Donkey

A pastor friend wrote about Balaam's donkey this week, just hours after I'd been up late into the night thinking about this very beast of burden.  When I saw his post come through, I was like - wow!  No way!  I was just thinking about this!  But our thoughts on the subject could not have been any different.  Not that we disagree; we are simply answering different questions.

I encourage you to check out Patrick's take on Balaam's donkey here.  (Patrick is the author of Tentpegs, a blog dedicated to answering theological and church-related questions.  I read it daily, even when there's no new content.)

What I was thinking about Balaam's donkey is as follows:

The story is in Numbers 22.  A prophet of the Lord, Balaam, has been asked to come to the leader of a less-than-righteous nation and bless them in battle, a ruse to get the powerful God on their side.  God told the prophet not to go, but relented after the wicked nation insisted and then told Balaam to go but only to say what the Lord instructed him.  Along the way, his donkey stops several times because it sees the angel of the Lord blocking the way.  Each time, Balaam strikes the animal harshly and prods it along.  Until finally, of course, Balaam sees the same angel and understands, as the angel tells him, what the donkey has seen all along.

And what I was lying awake thinking was this:

Sometimes, even the ass has some good sense about him.

We all know these people - they're just jerks.  They are beasts of burden; it is a heavy weight just to be around them for long.  This is no reflection on present or recent company in my life; I'm finding the grace that I don't view people so harshly any more.  But from time to time, even I have had my encounters with the ass.

It's easy to be put off by these people.  It's easy to lose our cool.  It's easy to be just as harsh and burdensome with these animals as they are with us.  It's easy to write off everything a person says or does or believes or thinks or whatever just because of their personality.  I'm speaking of the ass because, well...donkey.  But I'm talking really about anyone with whom your two personalities just don't click.  It doesn't make one person bad and one good; it just means we have vast differences with each other and will always have to make graces for one another's way of being if we're going to have any sort of relationship.  It's ok, by the way, to have people in your life like this.  Not everyone has to be exactly like you.  It's ok to clash.  And it's ok to still be friends even after you clash.

But what I was thinking about was some of these clashes in my own life.  I have these people.  They are not necessarily asses, but in a former heart, it would have been easy for me to think such things.  We're just different, and I learn something new every time I have the blessing of interacting with these people.  ...Because I refuse to just write them off.  I refuse to dismiss them based on personality.  I refuse to turn away because of our differences.  They still have some valid arguments, some good points, some valuable insights, and I wouldn't want to miss it.

Though I admit in the past, I probably would have beaten them with my big stick.

Balaam and his donkey could not have been more different.  One was a prophet of the Lord, an honored man, a man of wisdom, sought-after and so forth.  One was an ass.  But read through the story and see which one, in that journey, had a true vision of God.  It wasn't the prophet.  And as much as his donkey tried to warn him, he wouldn't listen.  He thought he had the high road.  They ended up standing in the middle of the road.

I don't know where you think you are today.  Are you the prophet of the Lord who thinks you have the high road?  Do you have the answers?  Do you have it figured out?  Are you shunning any voice that tries to tell you otherwise?  Because it doesn't matter how different you are from the man standing next to you, if one of you sees the Lord and the other one doesn't...who's the prophet?  And who's the ass?

The thoughts in today's post are really the kinds of things I think about at night.  This is a rambling, random thought that I share as an insight and as an encouragement, just so you know that not all thoughts are golden.  But some are very, very amusing.  I apologize if coarse language offends you.  I make no excuses.  I just live in this world and some days, its language invades me.  I am what I am.  I hope you are amused.