A Living Witness

Yesterday, I suggested that this world needs more prophets like Ezekiel, in contrast to what the modern church has done with the more fire-and-brimstone, truth-and-judgment prophets (and to be honest, that's a pretty unfair reading of them, too). But that's tough for us because Ezekiel was so, well, weird.

But weird is what this world needs.

Everything that's weird about Ezekiel is exactly right for what it means to be a witness in this world. When we talk about a prophet who spent more than a year lying on his side, only to flip over and spend another almost-6 weeks lying on his other side, we're talking about a prophet who lives what he preaches. We're talking about a guy who doesn't just talk. He's an example to the world, and you can see it in the way that he acts. That's the kind of witness this world needs - a witness that's done just talking and ready to live it out. They need to see a faith that has a real, tangible, meaningful impact on our lives, not just one that entitles us to some kind of hypocritical self-righteousness. If that means lying on our sides, let's do it. Let's have a faith that requires as much of us as we want to require of "sinners" (who, by the way, we must be counted among). 

When we talk about a prophet who does not grieve when his wife dies, who instead does what God has asked him to do and goes about his daily life, we're talking about a prophet who actually believes what he says he believes. He believes that he can trust God. That's the kind of witness this world needs - a witness that actually believes what it claims. So often, we talk about things like peace, joy, and forgiveness. But then the line at the Wal-mart takes too long, the waitress brings us slightly undercooked french fries, the bill exceeds the paycheck, and we're just like everyone else. Where is this God that we said we believed in? Oh, we don't believe in Him now. Not for any practical things. Our faith in God is kind of, you know, philosophical. It's the kind of thing we think about when we have the luxury of thinking, but in the process of living? Forget it. And this world sees right through us. They need to see something different. If that means standing up, washing our faces, and setting out into this broken world all over again, then let's do it. Let's have a faith that is what we say it is, especially in the times when we so desperately need it to be. 

When we talk about a prophet who has these wild visions of angels, we're talking a prophet who trusts in the imagination of a created people. He know that what he's seen is indescribable, but he tries to tell his story anyway. Why? Because it's important. And even though he's specific in his details, he knows that not everyone is going to get what he's trying to say. But they might come close. That's the kind of witness this world needs - one that trusts in their imagination. We've gotten so scared that someone might think something different about God than we do, that they might not come to exactly all of our conclusions. So we spend much of our time and testimony trying to tell everyone what to believe, exactly what to believe. This world has forgotten how to dream about God. They have forgotten how to conceive of Him. They don't know what it means that He is beyond their imagination because modern Christendom has told them there's no room for creativity, that we can't trust them to play with the image and figure it out. And they're missing so much of Him. We have failed to give them so much of Him. Why? Because we don't know what they'd do with it. Let them dream! Give them enough to spark their imaginations. Let them be creative in the image of their Creator. If that means painting bizarre images, I'll get the brushes. Let's have a faith that imagines, that dreams, that depends upon this creativity. 

When we talk about a prophet who watches dry bones come alive, we're talking about a prophet who confesses the limitations of his knowledge. He knows how bodies work, roughly. He knows how bones come together. He knows how muscle and tendon and skin are vital to a human being. He understands, he thinks, death and dryness and decay. But what he doesn't know is how dry bones become flesh - there's something there he can't understand or explain, except to say that it is God. That's the kind of witness this world needs. We got so interested in pretending that we have all the answers, that we've got it figured out, that we know everything - and if we don't know, we make something up. But there's an incredible mystery in God, and our firm answers just don't do it justice. The world needs to see us saying there are some things we can't understand; we can only believe. Let's have a faith that knows the limits of its own knowledge, that makes room for the mystery of God.

When we're talking about a prophet like Ezekiel, we're talking the kind of living witness this world needs - a witness that's actually acting out the faith that is what it claims to be, that dares to imagine and that knows the limits of its own knowledge. And so many other things (need we also be willing to eat our own words sometimes?)....

...even if it is weird.

A Prophet Like Ezekiel

The Old Testament is full of prophets and the testimony of prophets, men and women called by God to deliver His message of truth to the people of Israel amidst their unfaithfulness. Although their messages are usually grim, with lots of fire and brimstone, this sounds to a lot of God's faithful like exactly what these people need. Someone needs to tell them the hard truth and set them free!

For a long time - a tragically long time - these are the pages from which modern Christianity has taken its cue. Rather than sharing an emphasis with the early church in Acts on meeting together, breaking bread, instruction, and prayer, the modern church has had more in common with the prophets of Israel's most wicked days, thumping their Bibles and declaring judgment over the fallen world.

And then, there's Ezekiel.

Ezekiel kind of gets pushed to the side a little bit because, well, Ezekiel's book is weird. Ezekiel sees weird visions, he does weird things.

Ezekiel is the one who tells us what the angels look like, which is far different than the image we get when, say, Gabriel comes bearing a message to Mary. The angels have four faces and more than one set of wings. They each come with their own wheel, which is a whirling sort of wheel trapped within another wheel. And everything about them is covered in eyes. Eyes, eyes, and more eyes - eyes as far as the eyes can...well...see. 

Ezekiel is the one who tells us about the valley of dry bones, where before his very eyes, all these bones rose up out of this makeshift graveyard on the edge of town and started piecing themselves back together. Bone came upon bone, ligament and tendon appeared, then muscle and flesh, from only-God-knows-where, and these dead bones lived. 

Ezekiel is the one who eats the words God's given him. He doesn't just write them down and stick them in a jar the way Jeremiah does. He doesn't wrap them up in a scroll and tuck it in his pocket. No, he painstakingly records all that God has given him to say...and then he eats it, paper and all.

Ezekiel is the one that God called to lie on his side for a number of days, one day for each year of punishment that God intended to bring upon His people. And when he's finished that - more than a solid year of lying on his side - God has him flip over and lie on his other side for another number of days, one day for each year of punishment that God intended to bring upon His other people. Right out there in public, right in front of everybody. Ezekiel just lying on his side. 

Ezekiel is the one who God told not to mourn, not to cry, not to change anything about his life when the unthinkable happened, and then God took Ezekiel's wife from him. 

The whole thing is just weird, and the more you read it, the weirder it gets. And when we start to think about what kind of prophets we want to be in the world, what we want to do with God's truth, our easy answer is: not this. This is not the kind of prophet we want to be.

But it's exactly the kind of prophet the world needs. Particularly, I think, today's world. And for a lot of reasons.

Stay tuned.

Test of Spirit

All these little annoyances that come into our lives are not tests of faith, but that doesn't mean there's nothing to them. At the end of a day like the one I described yesterday, it doesn't much matter what I did with the baby bumblebee; it wasn't a test of faith.

But it matters, I think, that I laughed.

See, not every little thing that happens is a test of faith, but quite often, days like this day are tests of spirit.

At the end of a day like this day, can I laugh when one more little thing comes up? At the end of a day like this one, can I feel something holy about connecting with God? Can I connect with God at all? At the end of a day like this day, can I bring myself to worship? If I turn on a playlist of praise right now, will I be encouraged or annoyed?

That is the question of a day like this one.

We need look no further than the book of Job to figure that out. Job was a guy who had a lot of these kinds of days. And often, when we read the book of Job, we find ourselves wondering just how much he was willing to put up with. We want to know how far he can be pushed. We read the devil's temptations, and we can't help but ask the same questions: just what do you have to do to this guy to get him to give up?

But Job's story was never about giving up. Not. once. There is no narrative in God's story for "quit;" that's not what it was about. Job's story was about spirit. How far can you push Job before Job is not Job any more?

At what point does Job stop praying? At what point does he stop trusting? At what point does Job lose perspective on his life, his heart, his God? At what point does Job look into a shard of broken mirror and no longer recognize the man looking back at him?

At what point do I?

Count it all joy, the Bible tells us. Count it all joy when you are tested. And we wonder how that could ever be possible.

At the end of a day like this one, I know. It is joy because it shows me plain and clear where I'm at, and if that's anywhere near where I'd hope I would be, it's on my knees. It's joy because that moment when I'm just about to lose all perspective is the same moment when I see most clearly. It's joy because just as I'm about to throw my hands in the air and ask God why things have to be this way, I realize that my first instinct is still to run to God. Even if I'm indignant, at least I'm here - asking Him what's up. Maybe my faith is not as shaken as it seems.

Maybe there's something to this spirit that hasn't given in yet.

And in that moment, man. I don't know. I don't know what day could be better than this one. The world is falling down around me in a million little ways, but somehow, I'm still standing. Somehow, I'm still trusting. Somehow, I'm still seeking, and my gut reaction to whatever doesn't seem to be working for me is to turn to the One who is working all things for good. That's got to be a good moment, doesn't it? That's got to be a good day.

So at the end of a day filled with minor irritations, common annoyances, and a thousand distractions, I shake my head and smile. I laugh a little bit. I wash my hands, wipe my face, and pray, knowing that God is who He says He is, and I'm okay, too.

And I thank God...for days like this one.

Angles and Demons

Some days, I really feel the tension between my faith and my fallen world. It doesn't have to be the big things, and it's usually not; it's usually just a bunch of minor irritations, little things that I have to keep working around when, honestly, I'm just trying to do one faithful thing.

And sometimes, I know what that faithful thing is. I'm sure of it. I know that there is the whisper of God in my heart to take a step in this direction, to trust Him with this resource, to risk this potential awkwardness, and then there's this tremendous sense of grace when I just bite the bullet and do it. 

But then, there's something else. Then, something else. Then, something else. Inevitably, I get this voice in my head that screams, God, I just did what You asked me to do. Can't I catch a break? As though, of course, I'm entitled to a life without irritations. 

But some days, they just get thrown off. They just take turns that I'm not expecting. They require things I don't have, suck up time I haven't planned for. I grow increasingly frustrated as time seems to push me further from my own imagination and there's nothing left to dream of, nothing to hope for except that this day would end and that tomorrow might be better.

It's important to note that on days like these, there almost always (if not always) comes a time when, if I just keep pushing through, something so absolutely ordinary and ridiculous will occur that will push me past frustration and into concessive joy. I just can't help but laugh. Because if it weren't so obviously every little thing, it just wouldn't be a day like today. 

The last one of these days I had (over the weekend), it was a bumblebee. One thing after another after another after another until I finally was able to look up and think I might be able to finally breathe for just a second, and there laid a dead baby bumblebee in my kitchen floor. I'm severely allergic to bumblebees. I have two dogs who are going to want to play with the bumblebee. I can't just leave it in the floor; I have to do something about it. That something will require hauling out the vacuum cleaner to make sure a stray stinger doesn't end up somewhere potentially harmful for me. So I opened the closet door, dragged out the vacuum cleaner, sighed, then laughed.

Because on a day like this one, it really is every little thing.

But not every little thing is a test of faith. That's what it's so easy to lose sight of when we run into these kinds of days. We start to think the whole thing is just one big test of faith, but it's not. There may be one test of faith nestled in there somewhere, that thing that has the voice of God whispering in your heart that you need to respond in a specific way. Most of it, though? Not faith-related.

That's why the title for this post is not a typo. It's not angels and demons; it's angels and demons. It's all about how we look at things. We have to be able to see with eyes that know which things are sacred, which things are spiritual, which things are significant, and which things just are. 

On a day like this day, I did the faithful thing. I did one faithful thing, the one thing I truly believed that God was asking me to do. How did I know it was the faithful thing? It required faith. It required that I put my money where my mouth is, trust God, take a step, move. It required that I confess something fundamental about God that I believe...and then live as though I actually do believe that. And at the end of this day, when I ask myself how I did, that's the moment I'm going to look back on as my yardstick. 

Given the chance - the command - to do one faithful thing that I hadn't really planned on having to do today, I did it. I chose faith. At the end of this day, when I pray, I'm going to thank God for the opportunity to do this thing. I'm going to thank Him for blessing it. 

I'm going to thank Him for blessing me.

A Bit of Context

Of course, it is always possible that I'm wrong on this whole idea of women in the Gospels being images of the people of God. I've been wrong before. I will be wrong again. Maybe this is just another one of those times.

Maybe Jesus really is the radical feminist that modern Christianity makes Him out to be. Maybe these are stories about sex and waste and inappropriate social dynamics. Maybe the women at the tomb were chosen precisely because they were women and their testimony would be a radical step in a new direction for a new faith that was about to take the world by storm.

What do I know?

But we have to at least consider the possibility that God uses women in the Gospels, at least in part, the same way He uses them throughout the rest of Scripture. That can't be offensive to us; it was a different context, a different time, a different place. And if we read into everything our modern sensibilities, we're going to miss a lot of what God is doing.

Because we can't make sense of the Bible if we're so busy either being offended by it or championing it as something that it never intended to be, and these are the extremes that we're drawn to when we don't consider how God crafts His story but focus too intently on what we think it says.

Just take one example - one of the biggest complaints that modern minds have regarding Christianity is that God is a warmonger. He loves to wage war and kill people. How can we reconcile that with the God of love that we see in Jesus?

The simple answer is that we're wrong on both counts; we're not reading either testament correctly if these are the dichotomous images that we come up with. The truth is that the God of the Old Testament did not relish blood, and the Jesus of the New Testament is not all love and unicorns. 

In the Old Testament, we have witness that God condemned the sin of Cain (which was murder). God told David that the reason he could not build the Temple was because he had too much blood on his hands, even though God was the one who led him into battle (there were a couple of murders in there, which undoubtedly also play a role). Over and over again in succession battles, we see the cautionary tale being offered that killing off one's competitors is not the way to go. It's not as simple as blood, guts, and glory - that's not at all the image of God that the Old Testament paints when taken as a consistent witness.

In the New Testament, we see Jesus lose His temper a few times. He storms through the Temple, throwing over tables. He calls the Pharisees all kinds of vile names. Snakes. Hypocrites. He weeps at the death of His friend, grieves over Jerusalem, agonizes over the fate of God's people. He doesn't go around hugging everybody and telling them He loves them and that He doesn't care what they do; He's invested in their stories, which is His story, too. 

But we bring our modern minds into it, and we read war and love, blood and "tolerance," and we say, how can this possibly be? It is only because we are not reading God's story, but our own fantasy. We are not reading His sensibilities, but our own.

That's why we have to be willing to at least consider the idea that there are scenes in God's story that aren't what we thought they were or even, sometimes, what we'd like them to be. I mean, yeah, it would be great if everything was just straightforward and convenient, but the Bible wasn't written to people of our time. It wasn't even written to people of its own time.

It was written to God's people of all time.

So we have to be able - and willing - to step out of our own culture and into the Kingdom if we ever hope to understand what it is that God has to say to us. And in the Kingdom of God? I don't know. Maybe it is about sex.

But maybe it's not.