"For Satan is wiser now than of yore, and tempts by making rich instead of making poor" ~Alexander Pope
I really like my cell phone. It's nothing fancy; it has a large screen and a full keyboard for texting and a slot for a microSD card so I can play music and easily retrieve pictures I take with it, but I don't have a data plan or any app-driven OS and the screen is cracked. I thought it was about as basic as can be. Until my sister-in-law offered to give me any one of her previously-used cell phones to replace mine so I don't have to buy a new one. My first response to this--meant with all innocence--was, "I'll have to play around with them and see which one suits me."
Not, "Thank you, how kind!" nor, "How great not to have to buy a new one!" but more along the lines of "Let me test-drive everything offered from the generosity of your heart and then I'll decide to accept or not." Again, I didn't mean it this way, but a spoiled kid does not know that they're spoiled. They also don't recognize kind gestures so well. I think of that popular YouTube video about the kid who gets a truck for his birthday and immediately takes a baseball bat to it because it was purchased off of the "Used" lot. My wife was annoyed and a little embarrassed by my oblivious snobbishness but more irritated because I picked the phone she predicted I would: a Samsung touchscreen. When I asked what the big deal was she informed me that too often I'm enchanted by whatever is newest, fanciest, or most expensive but don't show a balancing amount of gratitude for what we DO have.
Thank God for my wife. She was right (no surprise there). Now, I don't mean to say (and neither did she) that having nice things was bad or even less preferable. I do mean to say that if (even on a subconscious level) your self-perception is based on the acquisition of status symbols that offer convenient but unnecessary services, you may be dealing with a pride problem. You may be spoiled.
I ended up taking the oldest, most relatively under-tech phone I was offered. Not out of capitulation to my wife but to teach myself a lesson that I find more valuable than a smartphone: gratitude for what I have. Even currently unemployed, I have what would be considered vast accumulated wealth in many countries of the world--my savings--for my family and I to live off of. I have two vehicles, both ugly and on their last leg, but one of which still runs well enough for me to visit my sister and her family who live 300 miles away. I have the cheapest laptop the store had to offer (which had been discontinued and stored in the back), but it's enough to blog, to keep in touch with my family spread out over the continent, and to entertain my wife and I with YouTube and Hulu and such. It's also what I use to submit job applications and draft resumes, which I should probably be getting back to. I have enough food in my refrigerator to provide for my wife and daughter and put on a few pounds myself, and I'm healthy enough to work off those pounds and build my strength. I have family near and far, and I have the love of God. I shall not want. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, so what harm is there in carrying around an old flip-phone that was new just four years ago?
16 January 2012
01 January 2012
O Little Town of Nazareth
I randomly came upon Matthew 9 today. This chapter narrates a few of the short miracle stories that I and many others grew up hearing about at Sunday school: the paralytic, the synagogue teacher's daughter, the woman with the hemorrhage, and (almost as an aside) Jesus calling Matthew the tax collector and having dinner with a bunch of sinners.
As often happens, this time one particular phrase in the chapter completely changed the framework of the entire story for me, and it's in verse 1: "Getting into a boat, Jesus crossed over the sea and came to His own city."
Knowing as I do that at that time in history even the largest cities did not boast a population of 1 million, and knowing that Nazareth was by no means the booming metropolis of Roman-occupied Israel, I'm suddenly realizing that every single individual described in this chapter may very well have been a life-long acquaintance of every other single individual in this chapter. I suppose I could have been heart-warmed by the thought of these Nazarenes all sitting around complaining of their various ailments together and sharing their distaste for the town's tax-collector, Matthew, until their very own home-grown Messiah walks by and makes everything better. Instead, I found myself troubled by the seriousness of their conditions for having lived the past decade or three just a few blocks down from God incarnate.
We know that this story takes place nearer the beginning of Christ's ministry than the end. So, for instance, the woman who had a hemorrhage for twelve years would have been suffering since the Son of God down the street was eighteen years old. We don't know how long the paralytic had been paralyzed, but chances are his condition didn't start the day prior. The two blind men calling out for the Son of David had probably been blind for a little while too. We know that an entire entourage of "sinners" comes to have dinner with Jesus at (presumably) Matthew's house, implying that there was a large enough number of people in this small community for the righteous Jews to label "sinners": frauds, degenerates, thieves, irreligious, sexually promiscuous, unfaithful, lowlifes. Jesus grew up in a neighborhood filled to the brim with human suffering and corruption. Why on earth did He wait until He was thirty years old to do anything about it?
Another read-through of the chapter shows me that maybe I need to rethink the question. Let's take the synagogue official, for instance. This individual is a leader in the community, and the minute his daughter dies he knows exactly where to find Jesus. This indicates to me that Jesus was not some strange young man living on the fringe of an already tiny community. No, He was known by this point. No doubt the twelve year old boy who taught in the Temple that one Passover had done even more noticeable things about His Father's business as He grew up. The people of Nazareth might not believe, even in thirty years of knowing Him, that He was the Messiah, but they had to have known there was some greatness in Him. In Luke it says that He kept increasing in the favor of men as He grew up. He had a reputation.
So I suppose at this point the question is reversed: why did the woman wait twelve years to chase down her gal-pal Mary's little boy if she truly believed that merely touching the fringe of His cloak would cure her? Why did the paralytic finally agree to be carried to Jesus and ask forgiveness of sin? Why did the two blind men content themselves with a life of begging when a potential Messiah--whose reputation was that He had God's favor--lived just a short walk away? Why did the "sinners" keep on sinning when such an example of excellence lived next door? Possibly the most confounding question of all: why did everybody decide they needed Jesus to save them at the same time?
As soon as I have the question, Scripture has the answer at the end of the chapter:
Seeing the people, He felt compassion for them, because they were distressed and dispirited like sheep without a shepherd. Then He said to His disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Therefore beseech the Lord of the harvest to send out workers into His harvest.”
Instantly I see Jesus wearing his title as Designer of the solar system: every particle moves on its own course, on its own schedule, independently whirling around the same center and suddenly, like the planets aligning, times and seasons converge and it's time for a harvesting of souls! In this context I see the work of the Gospel as an apparent cacophony suddenly synchronizing into a perfect symphony: a great whole in which no individual instrument lies independent of another's story. To ask why Jesus never crossed the street to heal the hemorrhaging woman when He was a teenager, or why she never crossed the street to ask Him to, is like asking why a farmer doesn't scan his fields to harvest just one ripe grain of wheat: it wasn't time for the whole crop.
How Jesus must have struggled to restrain Himself from every possible gesture of love because He knew there would come a time and season when demonstrating His desire to forgive and heal would have its maximum effect. Or maybe He understood the principle of only helping those who were ready to be helped. Either way, the little community that raised the Messiah played a grand drama of suffering that was destined to end in miracles, and miracles that lay in wait for the opportunity of faith.
I know what it's like to feel distressed and dispirited and like a sheep with no shepherd. I understand what it feels like to call out to God in desperation for this thing or that or to be saved from the influence of so many "sinners" in my neighborhood, and feel like He doesn't hear. How foolish I've been, not to see that God plays such an elaborate game of chess against sin and suffering, and that in the right time, the right place, the right combination of movements will occur and His love and grace will always prevail! But not while mere pawns are in center stage. Not until the harvest is plenty and the workers report in. Not yet. But certainly.
_____________________________________________________________________
On an unrelated note, I've started an additional blog. Please read, participate, and enjoy! Happy New Year and God Bless!
As often happens, this time one particular phrase in the chapter completely changed the framework of the entire story for me, and it's in verse 1: "Getting into a boat, Jesus crossed over the sea and came to His own city."
Knowing as I do that at that time in history even the largest cities did not boast a population of 1 million, and knowing that Nazareth was by no means the booming metropolis of Roman-occupied Israel, I'm suddenly realizing that every single individual described in this chapter may very well have been a life-long acquaintance of every other single individual in this chapter. I suppose I could have been heart-warmed by the thought of these Nazarenes all sitting around complaining of their various ailments together and sharing their distaste for the town's tax-collector, Matthew, until their very own home-grown Messiah walks by and makes everything better. Instead, I found myself troubled by the seriousness of their conditions for having lived the past decade or three just a few blocks down from God incarnate.
We know that this story takes place nearer the beginning of Christ's ministry than the end. So, for instance, the woman who had a hemorrhage for twelve years would have been suffering since the Son of God down the street was eighteen years old. We don't know how long the paralytic had been paralyzed, but chances are his condition didn't start the day prior. The two blind men calling out for the Son of David had probably been blind for a little while too. We know that an entire entourage of "sinners" comes to have dinner with Jesus at (presumably) Matthew's house, implying that there was a large enough number of people in this small community for the righteous Jews to label "sinners": frauds, degenerates, thieves, irreligious, sexually promiscuous, unfaithful, lowlifes. Jesus grew up in a neighborhood filled to the brim with human suffering and corruption. Why on earth did He wait until He was thirty years old to do anything about it?
Another read-through of the chapter shows me that maybe I need to rethink the question. Let's take the synagogue official, for instance. This individual is a leader in the community, and the minute his daughter dies he knows exactly where to find Jesus. This indicates to me that Jesus was not some strange young man living on the fringe of an already tiny community. No, He was known by this point. No doubt the twelve year old boy who taught in the Temple that one Passover had done even more noticeable things about His Father's business as He grew up. The people of Nazareth might not believe, even in thirty years of knowing Him, that He was the Messiah, but they had to have known there was some greatness in Him. In Luke it says that He kept increasing in the favor of men as He grew up. He had a reputation.
So I suppose at this point the question is reversed: why did the woman wait twelve years to chase down her gal-pal Mary's little boy if she truly believed that merely touching the fringe of His cloak would cure her? Why did the paralytic finally agree to be carried to Jesus and ask forgiveness of sin? Why did the two blind men content themselves with a life of begging when a potential Messiah--whose reputation was that He had God's favor--lived just a short walk away? Why did the "sinners" keep on sinning when such an example of excellence lived next door? Possibly the most confounding question of all: why did everybody decide they needed Jesus to save them at the same time?
As soon as I have the question, Scripture has the answer at the end of the chapter:
Seeing the people, He felt compassion for them, because they were distressed and dispirited like sheep without a shepherd. Then He said to His disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Therefore beseech the Lord of the harvest to send out workers into His harvest.”
Instantly I see Jesus wearing his title as Designer of the solar system: every particle moves on its own course, on its own schedule, independently whirling around the same center and suddenly, like the planets aligning, times and seasons converge and it's time for a harvesting of souls! In this context I see the work of the Gospel as an apparent cacophony suddenly synchronizing into a perfect symphony: a great whole in which no individual instrument lies independent of another's story. To ask why Jesus never crossed the street to heal the hemorrhaging woman when He was a teenager, or why she never crossed the street to ask Him to, is like asking why a farmer doesn't scan his fields to harvest just one ripe grain of wheat: it wasn't time for the whole crop.
How Jesus must have struggled to restrain Himself from every possible gesture of love because He knew there would come a time and season when demonstrating His desire to forgive and heal would have its maximum effect. Or maybe He understood the principle of only helping those who were ready to be helped. Either way, the little community that raised the Messiah played a grand drama of suffering that was destined to end in miracles, and miracles that lay in wait for the opportunity of faith.
I know what it's like to feel distressed and dispirited and like a sheep with no shepherd. I understand what it feels like to call out to God in desperation for this thing or that or to be saved from the influence of so many "sinners" in my neighborhood, and feel like He doesn't hear. How foolish I've been, not to see that God plays such an elaborate game of chess against sin and suffering, and that in the right time, the right place, the right combination of movements will occur and His love and grace will always prevail! But not while mere pawns are in center stage. Not until the harvest is plenty and the workers report in. Not yet. But certainly.
_____________________________________________________________________
On an unrelated note, I've started an additional blog. Please read, participate, and enjoy! Happy New Year and God Bless!
23 October 2011
Out with the Old...
I am a little more than half-way through my Basic Officer Leader Course. Shannyn and Rowyn are staying with me in Virginia, we have just a few weeks left here before we finally return to Idaho to truly start off our life as a small family. As you've been reading (if you've read everything up to now) this has been a year of pretty extreme transitions. It's no longer merely certainty, but acknowledgement of the obvious to say that compared to our lives in January 2011, our lives in January 2012 will bear no resemblence. I am a newly confirmed Catholic, newly commissioned officer, no longer a college student, and my whole family has moved as far away on the continent as they possibly could have from where we have always lived, leaving me and one three-hundred-miles-distant sister to hold down the fort in Idaho. Shannyn also had to say goodbye to her father, gave birth to our daughter, and then followed me to Virginia for the longest time she has ever been away from home. Here in Virginia we are without a car, and since the people we usually ride with to church on Sundays are mostly non-Catholics, we no longer go to Mass. Any stability or pattern in our lives is a thing of the past.
We have never so keenly felt the uncertainty of our own future. But difficulty does not equate to despair. Beneath our feet, over our heads, and behind our backs the air trembles with the nearness of God. Vivid dreams, sudden convictions, and joyous surprises appear everywhere. Rowyn smiles in her crib, Shannyn finds some peace in my arms. I sense something is beginning here. This is a time of pruning, of cutting away the branches in our own lives--our very limbs and the fruit of our labors--but every snip carries with it the finality of divine purpose. There is a reason for all of this.
Last Sunday we went to Calvary Chapel in Richmond. I don't think I've been to a Calvary Chapel since I was 14 years old, and forgot how much I enjoyed the idea of going through the whole Bible, verse by verse, in every Sunday's sermon. When we visited their pastor was at the beginning of Exodus, when Moses was grown but before the burning bush. The pastor especially emphasized Moses' experiences as the single Israelite who had received the highest quality of education and renown for military exploits growing up in the pool of possible candidates for Pharoah's successor. How providence had positioned him for greatness! No wonder he had such a savior complex for the Israelites that drove him to murder. But when he finally drew blood in a revolutionary blow, not a single Israelite was ready to stand with him. It was not the divinely-appointed time. So Moses wandered in the desert, abandoned his Egyptian identity, and settled down in Midian. Only when he came to think of Egypt as a foreign land--not his home--was he ready to be used by God. It was as if God wanted him to forget the ways of the Egyptians (which were state-of-the-art) before allowing Moses to do what he was obviously born to do.
The sermon resonated strongly with me. Was God telling me that everything past was prologue? That all of my learning until now, all of what my experiences and trials have taught me, have to be laid aside if I'm to receive direction from him now? It wasn't until I got home that I saw the pamphlet handed out at the beginning of the sermon. On the back was printed this verse:
"Do not call to mind the former things, nor ponder things of the past. Behold, I will do something new, now it will spring forth, will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, rivers in the desert. Isaiah 43:18,19"
For those of you who didn't know, this verse has been a sort of road marker for my family for years. I remember since I was about 14 years old my parents would encounter this verse in a sermon, an internet article, or the most random place, whenever they encountered a crossroads or a moment of doubt. I remember that whenever they just didn't know, this verse seemed to indicate to them "You are right where I want you."
Uncanny. The only time I see it, it seems to indicate to me a similar message. I have to be willing to leave behind everything I thought I held if I'm going to see what "New Thing" is just around the corner.
We have never so keenly felt the uncertainty of our own future. But difficulty does not equate to despair. Beneath our feet, over our heads, and behind our backs the air trembles with the nearness of God. Vivid dreams, sudden convictions, and joyous surprises appear everywhere. Rowyn smiles in her crib, Shannyn finds some peace in my arms. I sense something is beginning here. This is a time of pruning, of cutting away the branches in our own lives--our very limbs and the fruit of our labors--but every snip carries with it the finality of divine purpose. There is a reason for all of this.
Last Sunday we went to Calvary Chapel in Richmond. I don't think I've been to a Calvary Chapel since I was 14 years old, and forgot how much I enjoyed the idea of going through the whole Bible, verse by verse, in every Sunday's sermon. When we visited their pastor was at the beginning of Exodus, when Moses was grown but before the burning bush. The pastor especially emphasized Moses' experiences as the single Israelite who had received the highest quality of education and renown for military exploits growing up in the pool of possible candidates for Pharoah's successor. How providence had positioned him for greatness! No wonder he had such a savior complex for the Israelites that drove him to murder. But when he finally drew blood in a revolutionary blow, not a single Israelite was ready to stand with him. It was not the divinely-appointed time. So Moses wandered in the desert, abandoned his Egyptian identity, and settled down in Midian. Only when he came to think of Egypt as a foreign land--not his home--was he ready to be used by God. It was as if God wanted him to forget the ways of the Egyptians (which were state-of-the-art) before allowing Moses to do what he was obviously born to do.
The sermon resonated strongly with me. Was God telling me that everything past was prologue? That all of my learning until now, all of what my experiences and trials have taught me, have to be laid aside if I'm to receive direction from him now? It wasn't until I got home that I saw the pamphlet handed out at the beginning of the sermon. On the back was printed this verse:
"Do not call to mind the former things, nor ponder things of the past. Behold, I will do something new, now it will spring forth, will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, rivers in the desert. Isaiah 43:18,19"
For those of you who didn't know, this verse has been a sort of road marker for my family for years. I remember since I was about 14 years old my parents would encounter this verse in a sermon, an internet article, or the most random place, whenever they encountered a crossroads or a moment of doubt. I remember that whenever they just didn't know, this verse seemed to indicate to them "You are right where I want you."
Uncanny. The only time I see it, it seems to indicate to me a similar message. I have to be willing to leave behind everything I thought I held if I'm going to see what "New Thing" is just around the corner.
14 August 2011
Fatherhood
Sorry for the big lull. It's been a busy few months.
I did indeed get Confirmed into the Catholic Church and now joyfully partake in the Eucharist every Sunday I'm not away on Army business. I graduated college, commissioned as an Officer, and soon I'll be away to my Basic Course. Things are moving right along.
But without a doubt the highlight of my summer was this last month. My wife and I got to welcome our daughter Rowyn into the world at 1610 on 10 July. So far that was definitely the proudest moment of my life. The few days that immediately followed consisted of waking up 4-8 times a night to help my wife nurse or to change a diaper or just to calm a crying baby. The first two nights home proved especially difficult. Now, I've participated in live-fire training in the Army, jumped out of airplanes, stared down bullies, and even proposed to a woman I consider to be out of my league--but our first night home with the baby was the first time in my life I was truly terrified. What if I don't have what it takes? What if the way I swaddle her constricts her breathing or her clothes make her too warm, or not warm enough? What if Shannyn doesn't get enough sleep? What if something, anything, the most random thing, goes terribly wrong?
Funny how God has a way of training you for your own life. Exactly one week before Rowyn's birth, at Mass, the priest spoke about the unique relationship Christians share with God--specifically that Jesus instructed His followers to refer to the Almighty as "Abba", and that even though "Abba" can be loosely translated as "Father", it can more accurately be translated as "Daddy". The idea here is that God Himself wants to convey that His relationship to us is as a loving Father to a happily helpless, dependent child. This idea is not meant to devalue our dignity but to show that His ability and desire to care for and provide for our every need is as great to us as a father to his infant child. After seeing Rowyn for the first time a verse came to my mind:
“Can a woman forget her nursing child
And have no compassion on the son of her womb?
Even these may forget, but I will not forget you."
I'm looking forward to learning all there is to learn about being a father from the One who is the Father of all life. His nearness in this new time in my life is undeniable, and brings back to me just how helpless I really am without Him, how secure I am in Him. That is something I cannot wait to learn to provide for my own child now.
And here she is for the world to see: Rowyn Riley Paula Hedges, born 10 July 2011, 7lbs 7oz and beautiful!
I did indeed get Confirmed into the Catholic Church and now joyfully partake in the Eucharist every Sunday I'm not away on Army business. I graduated college, commissioned as an Officer, and soon I'll be away to my Basic Course. Things are moving right along.
But without a doubt the highlight of my summer was this last month. My wife and I got to welcome our daughter Rowyn into the world at 1610 on 10 July. So far that was definitely the proudest moment of my life. The few days that immediately followed consisted of waking up 4-8 times a night to help my wife nurse or to change a diaper or just to calm a crying baby. The first two nights home proved especially difficult. Now, I've participated in live-fire training in the Army, jumped out of airplanes, stared down bullies, and even proposed to a woman I consider to be out of my league--but our first night home with the baby was the first time in my life I was truly terrified. What if I don't have what it takes? What if the way I swaddle her constricts her breathing or her clothes make her too warm, or not warm enough? What if Shannyn doesn't get enough sleep? What if something, anything, the most random thing, goes terribly wrong?
Funny how God has a way of training you for your own life. Exactly one week before Rowyn's birth, at Mass, the priest spoke about the unique relationship Christians share with God--specifically that Jesus instructed His followers to refer to the Almighty as "Abba", and that even though "Abba" can be loosely translated as "Father", it can more accurately be translated as "Daddy". The idea here is that God Himself wants to convey that His relationship to us is as a loving Father to a happily helpless, dependent child. This idea is not meant to devalue our dignity but to show that His ability and desire to care for and provide for our every need is as great to us as a father to his infant child. After seeing Rowyn for the first time a verse came to my mind:
“Can a woman forget her nursing child
And have no compassion on the son of her womb?
Even these may forget, but I will not forget you."
I'm looking forward to learning all there is to learn about being a father from the One who is the Father of all life. His nearness in this new time in my life is undeniable, and brings back to me just how helpless I really am without Him, how secure I am in Him. That is something I cannot wait to learn to provide for my own child now.
And here she is for the world to see: Rowyn Riley Paula Hedges, born 10 July 2011, 7lbs 7oz and beautiful!
22 April 2011
This Lenten Season: Part IV--Good Friday
Tomorrow Lent ends in a fantastic celebration at the Easter Vigil. Today, however, is Good Friday. Today we commemorate Christ's passion and death.
I could reflect on the saddest part of the Good News by giving my thoughts on the stations of the cross, the meaning of Calvary, or even the film by Mel Gibson. But I won't.
___________________
When I was fifteen years old, a classmate of mine was killed in a car accident. His was the first funeral I went to, and the beginning of my experience with death. A year later, my Grampa passed away. This was, for me, the beginning of saying goodbye to those close to me. Another year later my Gramma, his wife, followed him to heaven, and they were both closely followed by Jim Flanagan and Roy Johannson--older men who had taken me on as an employee and made a point to take me under their wing and mentor me, encouraging me to grow up into a hard-working and common-sense man of God. More recently my Dad's mom passed away as well and now Shannyn's dad. By this point grief had mounted on grief, and I would readily admit that I had an inborn hatred of death in and of itself. I ultimately came to believe that death itself embodied the truest enemy of God; whereas Satan was a created being that could be limited, death was the infinite separation from the eternal live inherent in God's nature. I refused to believe that there was anything natural about it. If it were natural, I believed, Christ would never have had to come.
__________________
Roughly 1980 years ago, the streets of Roman-occupied Jerusalem stirred with a sickening sort of commotion: people jeering, weeping, cursing. Soldiers shouted, women mourned, children peeked out curiously as a procession followed the Criminal. Jesus of Nazareth carried the instrument of His own death upon His shoulders, slowly making His way to the edge of the city and up to the place of Skull. He was bloodied and bruised, His blood flowed down together with His own sweat and others' saliva. He had promised eternal life from God, healed the sick, made the lame walk, the blind see, and even brought people back from the dead. Now He was trudging along, barely strong enough to carry His own cross, and He would certainly be dead by the end of the day. Just hours ago, He had stated that nobody could take His life away from Him, but that He would lay it down willingly. Willingly He would break His body, pour His blood; He instituted a ritual for His followers to repeat for ages to come. He embraced His death as to own it, as to change it however He saw fit, and finally one day to undo it. When He finally gave up His spirit, His consciousness and presence together went to the prisons of souls that had passed on to proclaim that death's power was being unravelled. His resurrection verified the success of His conquest.
_____________________
Perchance yesterday I picked up my copy of the Catechism of the Catholic Church and turned randomly to this paragraph:
1009 Death is transformed by Christ. Jesus, the Son of God, also himself suffered the death that is part of the human condition. Yet, despite his anguish as he faced death, he accepted it in an act of complete and free submission to his Father's will. The obedience of Jesus has transformed the curse of death into a blessing.
1010 Because of Christ, Christian death has a positive meaning: "For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain." "The saying is sure: if we have died with him, we will also live with him." What is essentially new about Christian death is this: through Baptism, the Christian has already "died with Christ" sacramentally, in order to live a new life; and if we die in Christ's grace, physical death completes this "dying with Christ" and so completes our incorporation into him in his redeeming act:
It is better for me to die in (eis) Christ Jesus than to reign over the ends of the earth. Him it is I seek - who died for us. Him it is I desire - who rose for us. I am on the point of giving birth. . . . Let me receive pure light; when I shall have arrived there, then shall I be a man.
And,
1016: By death the soul is separated from the body, but in the resurrection God will give incorruptible life to our body, transformed by reunion with our soul. Just as Christ is risen and lives for ever, so all of us will rise at the last day.
___________________
In Christ the sting of death is gone, and when it comes time for me to face my own, I know that in a strange way it will be a blessing. Death will be undone one day, but dying in Christ, to be with Christ, guarantees now that even as surely as Christ rose victorious over death itself, I will too. This is the reality of those who went on before covered by the Grace of God. I know that I'll see them again one day.
Praise God!
___________________
Rest in God's Peace:
Stephen Wybenga
Bill Durrett
Loraine Durrett
Jim Flanagan
Roy Johannson
Mary Hedges
Barney Brown
I could reflect on the saddest part of the Good News by giving my thoughts on the stations of the cross, the meaning of Calvary, or even the film by Mel Gibson. But I won't.
___________________
When I was fifteen years old, a classmate of mine was killed in a car accident. His was the first funeral I went to, and the beginning of my experience with death. A year later, my Grampa passed away. This was, for me, the beginning of saying goodbye to those close to me. Another year later my Gramma, his wife, followed him to heaven, and they were both closely followed by Jim Flanagan and Roy Johannson--older men who had taken me on as an employee and made a point to take me under their wing and mentor me, encouraging me to grow up into a hard-working and common-sense man of God. More recently my Dad's mom passed away as well and now Shannyn's dad. By this point grief had mounted on grief, and I would readily admit that I had an inborn hatred of death in and of itself. I ultimately came to believe that death itself embodied the truest enemy of God; whereas Satan was a created being that could be limited, death was the infinite separation from the eternal live inherent in God's nature. I refused to believe that there was anything natural about it. If it were natural, I believed, Christ would never have had to come.
__________________
Roughly 1980 years ago, the streets of Roman-occupied Jerusalem stirred with a sickening sort of commotion: people jeering, weeping, cursing. Soldiers shouted, women mourned, children peeked out curiously as a procession followed the Criminal. Jesus of Nazareth carried the instrument of His own death upon His shoulders, slowly making His way to the edge of the city and up to the place of Skull. He was bloodied and bruised, His blood flowed down together with His own sweat and others' saliva. He had promised eternal life from God, healed the sick, made the lame walk, the blind see, and even brought people back from the dead. Now He was trudging along, barely strong enough to carry His own cross, and He would certainly be dead by the end of the day. Just hours ago, He had stated that nobody could take His life away from Him, but that He would lay it down willingly. Willingly He would break His body, pour His blood; He instituted a ritual for His followers to repeat for ages to come. He embraced His death as to own it, as to change it however He saw fit, and finally one day to undo it. When He finally gave up His spirit, His consciousness and presence together went to the prisons of souls that had passed on to proclaim that death's power was being unravelled. His resurrection verified the success of His conquest.
_____________________
Perchance yesterday I picked up my copy of the Catechism of the Catholic Church and turned randomly to this paragraph:
1009 Death is transformed by Christ. Jesus, the Son of God, also himself suffered the death that is part of the human condition. Yet, despite his anguish as he faced death, he accepted it in an act of complete and free submission to his Father's will. The obedience of Jesus has transformed the curse of death into a blessing.
1010 Because of Christ, Christian death has a positive meaning: "For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain." "The saying is sure: if we have died with him, we will also live with him." What is essentially new about Christian death is this: through Baptism, the Christian has already "died with Christ" sacramentally, in order to live a new life; and if we die in Christ's grace, physical death completes this "dying with Christ" and so completes our incorporation into him in his redeeming act:
It is better for me to die in (eis) Christ Jesus than to reign over the ends of the earth. Him it is I seek - who died for us. Him it is I desire - who rose for us. I am on the point of giving birth. . . . Let me receive pure light; when I shall have arrived there, then shall I be a man.
And,
1016: By death the soul is separated from the body, but in the resurrection God will give incorruptible life to our body, transformed by reunion with our soul. Just as Christ is risen and lives for ever, so all of us will rise at the last day.
___________________
In Christ the sting of death is gone, and when it comes time for me to face my own, I know that in a strange way it will be a blessing. Death will be undone one day, but dying in Christ, to be with Christ, guarantees now that even as surely as Christ rose victorious over death itself, I will too. This is the reality of those who went on before covered by the Grace of God. I know that I'll see them again one day.
Praise God!
___________________
Rest in God's Peace:
Stephen Wybenga
Bill Durrett
Loraine Durrett
Jim Flanagan
Roy Johannson
Mary Hedges
Barney Brown
19 April 2011
Bronze Wall
There comes a time in the life of many Christians I have met when a particular verse of Scripture seems to pop right out of the Bible, plant itself insolubly within that person's life, and take root as the growing seed of their self-perception. In contemporary evangelicalism this experience is called finding one's "life-verse".
There are times throughout history when God chooses to give someone their new identity by changing their name in the course of their relationship. Abram becomes Abraham. Saul of Tarsus becomes Paul, Simon becomes Peter. In each instance the new name is chosen because its meaning enhances the aspect of their personality that God wants them to forever be known for: Abraham "Father of a Multitude", Paul "Humbled", Peter "the Rock".
For a very long time I felt my "life-verse" to be Joshua 1:9: "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go." In the past few years, however, there has been another verse that I cannot shake from my mind (even if I tried to), and I think this verse is God's way of renaming me.
While in Fort Knox training to become a Cavalry Scout, I randomly turned to this verse once during a chapel service. It spoke to me clearly then and still reverberates in my consciousness now:
Jeremiah 15:19-20
Therefore thus says the LORD:
"If you return, I will restore you,
And you shall stand before me.
If you utter what is precious, and not
What is worthless,
You shall be as my mouth.
They shall turn to you,
But you shall not turn to them.
And I will make you to this people
A fortified wall of bronze;
They will fight against you
But they shall not prevail over you,
For I am with you
To save you and deliver you,
Says the Lord."
There are five things that stood out to me immediately and now reading this:
-Restoration of who I was created to be will happen when I give myself fully to God.
-Sound speech will be my trademark if I learn to utter what is valuable and refrain from the rest.
-I will have people's attention, so I have to be firm in who I am and not compromise for them.
-There will certainly be people or circumstances that try to stop me from being who I am. They will fail, not by my merits, but because God is for me.
-By myself I am "Hedges", signifying a tangly obstacle that can be cut or burned. In God I can become a "Bronze Wall", immovable, unbreakable, and infinitely more preferrable to a hedge when protecting those within my borders.
_________________________________
On a side note, it's now a little over three weeks until I commission as a Second Lieutenant. I don't suppose I can still call my blog "Charlie In-Transit" if I'm no longer going to be a "Charlie". Time will vindicate whether God does make me a Bronze Wall or not. I can't change my own name. But I can change the name of my blog. That is one circumstance I do have control over.
There are times throughout history when God chooses to give someone their new identity by changing their name in the course of their relationship. Abram becomes Abraham. Saul of Tarsus becomes Paul, Simon becomes Peter. In each instance the new name is chosen because its meaning enhances the aspect of their personality that God wants them to forever be known for: Abraham "Father of a Multitude", Paul "Humbled", Peter "the Rock".
For a very long time I felt my "life-verse" to be Joshua 1:9: "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go." In the past few years, however, there has been another verse that I cannot shake from my mind (even if I tried to), and I think this verse is God's way of renaming me.
While in Fort Knox training to become a Cavalry Scout, I randomly turned to this verse once during a chapel service. It spoke to me clearly then and still reverberates in my consciousness now:
Jeremiah 15:19-20
Therefore thus says the LORD:
"If you return, I will restore you,
And you shall stand before me.
If you utter what is precious, and not
What is worthless,
You shall be as my mouth.
They shall turn to you,
But you shall not turn to them.
And I will make you to this people
A fortified wall of bronze;
They will fight against you
But they shall not prevail over you,
For I am with you
To save you and deliver you,
Says the Lord."
There are five things that stood out to me immediately and now reading this:
-Restoration of who I was created to be will happen when I give myself fully to God.
-Sound speech will be my trademark if I learn to utter what is valuable and refrain from the rest.
-I will have people's attention, so I have to be firm in who I am and not compromise for them.
-There will certainly be people or circumstances that try to stop me from being who I am. They will fail, not by my merits, but because God is for me.
-By myself I am "Hedges", signifying a tangly obstacle that can be cut or burned. In God I can become a "Bronze Wall", immovable, unbreakable, and infinitely more preferrable to a hedge when protecting those within my borders.
_________________________________
On a side note, it's now a little over three weeks until I commission as a Second Lieutenant. I don't suppose I can still call my blog "Charlie In-Transit" if I'm no longer going to be a "Charlie". Time will vindicate whether God does make me a Bronze Wall or not. I can't change my own name. But I can change the name of my blog. That is one circumstance I do have control over.
18 April 2011
This Lenten Season: Part III--Confessing the Essential Vice
One week left of Lent. Easter is on the horizon, which for me means Confirmation into the Catholic Church, participating fully in the Eucharist for the first time, preparing to say goodbye to my parents and sisters, and hopefully seeing all the darkness of the past 40 days suddenly flee before the echoing dawn of Christ's resurrection. But first, this one more week. This week for me began with participating in the sacrament of Reconciliation for the first time. Most people erroneously refer to this experience as "Confession".
Not that there weren't confessions involved, but to call the whole experience confession would be like calling the construction of a house "drafting". I found that confession is only the preparatory phase of Reconciliation. But now I'm getting distracted from what I really wanted to write.
Confession--in preparation for Reconciliation--turned out to be more difficult than I expected. I have always been under the impression that the greatest accuser of me is me. It turns out, when I try to call myself out for the sinner I am, I am a lot more lenient on myself than I thought I would be, and infinitely more lenient on myself than I am on the faults of others. C.S. Lewis (or, St. Clive, as some have called him)referred to this as "The Essential Vice", the root from which all other individual faults derive: Pride, and not a justifiable pride that could be described as satisfaction with the good results of one's work. No, this is the sort of Pride which is constantly in a state of war against anyone or any thing that may have more glory than itself. This is conceit on a competitive level, never content unless it is--not *has*, but *is*--the most. Most important, most honor-worthy, most beautiful, most to be feared or respected, most listened to, most agreed with, etc. This is Eustace's dragon-skin, glorious and magnificent and forever only external, though impossible to strip yourself of, rendering you both great and pathetic in the eyes of all. This Pride is the inability to keep good humor when insulted, snubbed, or mocked. This Pride is what I came to terms with in myself as there, confessing for the first time that I was starting to implode with the weight of my self-confidence that was not supported inwardly by Christ, I had ceased to acknowledge that a loving God had always been hearing my prayers. A heart that looks down on everything and everyone around it cannot see what is infinitely and immeasurably above it.
Not that there weren't confessions involved, but to call the whole experience confession would be like calling the construction of a house "drafting". I found that confession is only the preparatory phase of Reconciliation. But now I'm getting distracted from what I really wanted to write.
Confession--in preparation for Reconciliation--turned out to be more difficult than I expected. I have always been under the impression that the greatest accuser of me is me. It turns out, when I try to call myself out for the sinner I am, I am a lot more lenient on myself than I thought I would be, and infinitely more lenient on myself than I am on the faults of others. C.S. Lewis (or, St. Clive, as some have called him)referred to this as "The Essential Vice", the root from which all other individual faults derive: Pride, and not a justifiable pride that could be described as satisfaction with the good results of one's work. No, this is the sort of Pride which is constantly in a state of war against anyone or any thing that may have more glory than itself. This is conceit on a competitive level, never content unless it is--not *has*, but *is*--the most. Most important, most honor-worthy, most beautiful, most to be feared or respected, most listened to, most agreed with, etc. This is Eustace's dragon-skin, glorious and magnificent and forever only external, though impossible to strip yourself of, rendering you both great and pathetic in the eyes of all. This Pride is the inability to keep good humor when insulted, snubbed, or mocked. This Pride is what I came to terms with in myself as there, confessing for the first time that I was starting to implode with the weight of my self-confidence that was not supported inwardly by Christ, I had ceased to acknowledge that a loving God had always been hearing my prayers. A heart that looks down on everything and everyone around it cannot see what is infinitely and immeasurably above it.
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