"Jesus said to him, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you had known me, you would have known my Father also." John 14
It's time. Time to call out the lies. Time to drag the monsters out from under the bed and into the Light of Truth. We have languished here too long; it has festered; it is time to pull the splinter. Scooby Doo and those meddling kids have yanked the polite, smiling hypocrisy off the Christian Fatalist and uncovered the bitter heart of the cynic pumping vitriol beneath. We have two choices when God calls us out, there is still time, we are still only on the road, only on our way to the Judge, we can agree with our accuser, confession is just that, it is agreeing with what Jesus says about us. Now mind you, it's going to be hard, it's going to hurt, this is heart surgery, not Bactine and a band-aid, but if you're ready to really, truly start changing, start healing, if you really want to know the Father, this is the only Way there is...
"But turning around and seeing his disciples, he rebuked [you] and said, "Get behind me, Satan, because you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but the things of people!" Mark 8
Whoa now! Whoa! Satan? i mean, i got a little anger management problem yeah but Satan? That's hyperbole! That's totally out of line! Me? Satan?
Yeah. Jesus don't play. i told you, this was serious. This is foundational. You can keep confessing your fatalism or your cynicism or your anger if you want, you can keep treating symptoms all your life, your self-medicating, your dissipation, your porn problem, your fantasy life, your drinking, your time wasting, fine. Do it. It certainly won't hurt and you may see some improvement. But if you want to live and not just live but live abundantly, live on purpose, live on mission, have a real, honest-to-God reason for living, you're going to have to take Jesus' hand with a spike hole in it and follow him where you may not want to go. And how are you going to do that if you don't even believe what he says?
"Why do you not understand my way of speaking? Because you are not able to listen to my message. You are of your father the devil, and you want to do the desires of your father! That one was a murderer from the beginning, and does not stand firm in the truth, because the truth is not in him. Whenever he speaks the lie, he speaks from his own nature, because he is a liar and the father of lies. But because I am telling the truth, you do not believe me." John 8
Cynicism is founded on two very fundamental lies which the cynic has most likely not thought out loud but has said in oh so many ways and built their lives upon:
1. God is not God
2. I am.
Even before we discuss how the cynic expresses them, can you not see how Jesus immediately recognizes his creation, Lucifer, Satan, the Serpent, the fallen angel in them? Obdurate, outrageous pride! How are we like that?
How are we not? When we hoped for what we saw: the desire of the flesh, the desire of the eyes and the arrogance of material possessions; what we coveted, what we envied of the world around us and we asked God for it, whatever it was and we could make endless lists, God either steadfastly refused to give it to us or gave it to us for a season and then took it away or worse: gave us suffering we never asked for nor did it come into our minds to. Then we got angry, we got hurt, we got upset and why? Because we. Deserved. Better! That is what our anger says. That is what our self-pity says. "I deserve better than this!" "Why me?" Oh, maybe at first we slapped the Christian platitudes on it, "God has a plan." "God will never give you more than you can handle." "Everything works for good for those who serve him." But after a while... after five years, ten, twenty, do i hear forty?
The platitudes become parry and buckler and rote. The smile a thin rigid mask. The heart a stone. Because if i deserved better, if i'm too good for this then God is either not good, not loving or not able to help. And since God says he is all of those things then God would also have to be a liar. God, therefore, couldn't possibly be the God he says he is. The foundational lie: God is not God. I am. We have said with Sheba ben Bichri, "There is no share for us in David, and there is no inheritance for us in the son of Jesse...!"
Are your fists still clenched? Are your teeth yet grinding? Are your lips still tightly bound over a tongue which coils and rages to whip forth venom and cursing? Do you stare daggers into the back of this Jesus who dares to name you, to judge you(!) as he turns from you toward Jerusalem? Toward the Passover? Toward betrayal? Toward the Creator being tried by the creation? Toward a beating? A scourge? A flail? A cross? If you do, then i have nothing for you but my pity, which i doubt you want.
But if it breaks you, if you're heart can still cry with the Spirit planted within you, "Abba Father! Have mercy on me a sinner!" If you can still cry at all, if you truly, deeply want to change no matter what it costs, then the next time we talk, we will speak of Good News!
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Friday, May 18, 2018
Monday, October 22, 2007
Filth and excrement
Seasons and cycles.
Such is life. And as you may have noticed, "you" being the one reader i have, i have been going through a season of drought. The muse has not struck with anything heavier than a tack hammer in some time. And i can take a few whacks with a tack hammer before i take to the digital thermometer of my soul. But when the wee little beastie starts digging through the tool shed for larger mallets then i know it's time to 'boy up, drop your drawers and grab your ankles. Time to plunge the depths and see what's down in the deep, dark recessess of my abscessed soul...other than disgusting metaphors.
My season of contentment, my drought of distraction is coming to a close and i heard it's death knell clearly yesterday. The pastor pointed out that Jesus when approaching an invalid who had been so for thirty-eight years actually asked the guy if he wanted to be well before healing him. Now, this seems a bit overly polite for a pre-litigation crazy society, "excuse me, i couldn't help but notice you there lying in what appears to be thirty-eight years of your own filth and excrement and apparently unable to move by your own volition and was wondering if you'd perhaps, like to be healed?" I mean really. How long did the guy have to deliberate? "Yeah, lemme think about that one. Are you coming by tomorrow? Could I sleep on it?" Duh!
But wait. Let's give this a bit more thought that in merits. Thirty-eight years. Being a beggar was all this guy knew by this point. He had no friends, the text says so. We can assume he was homeless. If he was suddenly whole and healthy, where was he supposed to go? What was he going to eat? He was going to have to get a job. He was going to have to reenter society. Infinitely better choices than he had yesterday but how often do we wallow in our own filth even when offered a way out because we're too afraid to make the changes, accept the help, do the things that will alter our conditions because we're afraid? Afraid of the unknown, afraid of being "on our own?" Afraid of what new responsabilities we will have to face? If i quit being a hired hammer for someone else and strike out for real on a writing career, how will i make money? How will i support my wife and children? That would require research and stuff and what if i can't sell anything? What if nobody likes the crap i write, i mean, have you read it? i make rectal thermometer metaphors for cryin' out loud! Whoa! What if i have to spend my sunday's writing instead of watching football?
It's actually not that hard to see why we might tell Jesus, "nah, you know, just lying here hoping someone will drop a quarter or a crust of bread ain't that bad a gig. i think i'd rather stay down here on the bottom rung, folk don't expect that much from me here." It's a heck of a lot easier to just get up and go to the mill where all the decisions are made for me, or at least i've gotten used to the ones they expect me to make.
"Do you want to be well?"
i dunno. I think i want to want to be well.
Such is life. And as you may have noticed, "you" being the one reader i have, i have been going through a season of drought. The muse has not struck with anything heavier than a tack hammer in some time. And i can take a few whacks with a tack hammer before i take to the digital thermometer of my soul. But when the wee little beastie starts digging through the tool shed for larger mallets then i know it's time to 'boy up, drop your drawers and grab your ankles. Time to plunge the depths and see what's down in the deep, dark recessess of my abscessed soul...other than disgusting metaphors.
My season of contentment, my drought of distraction is coming to a close and i heard it's death knell clearly yesterday. The pastor pointed out that Jesus when approaching an invalid who had been so for thirty-eight years actually asked the guy if he wanted to be well before healing him. Now, this seems a bit overly polite for a pre-litigation crazy society, "excuse me, i couldn't help but notice you there lying in what appears to be thirty-eight years of your own filth and excrement and apparently unable to move by your own volition and was wondering if you'd perhaps, like to be healed?" I mean really. How long did the guy have to deliberate? "Yeah, lemme think about that one. Are you coming by tomorrow? Could I sleep on it?" Duh!
But wait. Let's give this a bit more thought that in merits. Thirty-eight years. Being a beggar was all this guy knew by this point. He had no friends, the text says so. We can assume he was homeless. If he was suddenly whole and healthy, where was he supposed to go? What was he going to eat? He was going to have to get a job. He was going to have to reenter society. Infinitely better choices than he had yesterday but how often do we wallow in our own filth even when offered a way out because we're too afraid to make the changes, accept the help, do the things that will alter our conditions because we're afraid? Afraid of the unknown, afraid of being "on our own?" Afraid of what new responsabilities we will have to face? If i quit being a hired hammer for someone else and strike out for real on a writing career, how will i make money? How will i support my wife and children? That would require research and stuff and what if i can't sell anything? What if nobody likes the crap i write, i mean, have you read it? i make rectal thermometer metaphors for cryin' out loud! Whoa! What if i have to spend my sunday's writing instead of watching football?
It's actually not that hard to see why we might tell Jesus, "nah, you know, just lying here hoping someone will drop a quarter or a crust of bread ain't that bad a gig. i think i'd rather stay down here on the bottom rung, folk don't expect that much from me here." It's a heck of a lot easier to just get up and go to the mill where all the decisions are made for me, or at least i've gotten used to the ones they expect me to make.
"Do you want to be well?"
i dunno. I think i want to want to be well.
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