In the Grip of God

Out of the blue came this perception of being "in the grip of God."  At first I was not sure what kind of image the words created.  The words seem to speak to me of God breaking into the mundane nature of our ordinary circumstances in such a way that ignoring His presence was not possible.  Not only did it speak of the inability of ignoring His presence, but it carried with it a compelling to need to act.  The more I wrestled with what it meant to be "in the grip of God," the more I realized that it was filled with a moment of facing with faith what might well seem to be improbable and impossible.

 

In my search for Biblical models, I thought of Abraham.  How could a man build an altar and prepare to offer his son if not in the "grip of God?"  And, then there is the story of Jonah.  Surely, the story makes us realize that such a moment confronts us with the choice of obedience or death.  Elijah is still another who knew what it was to be in "the grip of God."  Imagine what it must have been like for him to stand on a mountain and pray into a blue sky for a rain cloud.  Only a man who knew he had no other alternative would dare do such a thing.  In my search for Biblical models, one other came to mind.  Mary, the mother of Jesus, had to be such a person.  In that moment of being visited by an angel with an impossible word, she shows how "in the grip of God" people respond to God's call to embrace the impossible.

To be honest is to confess this word is something about which I am still working.  I have read about the Biblical folks and I have seen some ordinary folks jump and do what they never thought they would and which for them seemed to have no rational reason except the reason of obedience.  It was more like a moment when there was no choice but to act.  Perhaps, it is a more common place experience than it seemed in the beginning.  When God takes hold of us, it may be frightening, but turning back may be so much more frightening that only going forward is an option.

A Wall Thing

It was one of those wall things.  Everyone has seen them in gift stores.  Where people used to hang pictures on walls, they now hang a catchy collection of words conveying an inspirational or encouraging message.  What caught my attention in the store was the picture of a singular tree in a field.  Almost immediately I remembered the same wall thing hanging in the place where I live. Under the picture were a number of simple sentence thoughts written by Bonnie L. Mohr.  I confess to not having read them until that day in the store.  The very first sentence struck me powerfully.  It read, "Life is not a race--but indeed a journey."

As you might note from the name of this blog--JourneyNotes--the word "journey" has become an important word for me in the last ten years of my life.  I confess to having lived too much of my life as a race instead of a journey.  When life is lived as a race, nothing is more important than being first, getting ahead, receiving the blue ribbons, and basking in the "atta-boys" of the competitive self-seeking ego.  When life is lived as a race, a lot of important stuff gets missed because the stuff is always encountered or experienced in the twist and turns, the ups and downs of life.  The important stuff is not where the road brings us to a destination, but where it takes us as we move from one juncture of our life to another. 

However, the most difficult thing for this racer to swallow is that to live life as a race is to live a life that is all about me.  Ouch!  Even it was later than it should have been, I am grateful for the way the word "journey" has gotten firmly rooted in my life.  Truly, what is important in life is not found so much in the moment of getting there as it is in the going.  May God continue to grant us the grace needed to be content with the "being" instead of the "doing,"  with the "journeying" instead of the "racing."

Altars

While the United Methodist Church is a denomination with an "altar tradition," it is also true that they could get pulled up, thrown out, and no one would ever miss them.  Altars define and declare holy space, but were it not for Holy Communion, no one would be kneeling at them.  And, sadly enough, expediency has in many places robbed people of that final reason for kneeling in church.  I remember a lot of altars in my past.  I spent a lot of time there growing into my faith and still believe there is great spiritual value in regular visits to kneel before the Almighty.  Altars are meant to be used.  Preachers do the people entrusted to them a great spiritual disservice by not finding ways to invite folks to come and kneel for prayer.

 

Maybe it is true that folks today have outgrown such a need.  Maybe it is true that we have gotten too sophisticated to actually go up to the front of a filled sanctuary and kneel.  Maybe some folks think it lends itself to a kind of showy spirituality.  Maybe all of this is true.  Maybe today preachers simply do not think there is value in a congregation kneeling before God in such a public arena.  Maybe someone will get offended, or feel that prayer is too personal a matter to do around an altar filled with other squirming sinners.  Maybe this, too, is true.

 

It is just hard for this old preacher to understand why anyone would not want to use an altar.  It is one of the places I learned to pray.  It is one of the places where by the grace of God serious life changing soul work was done.  It is the only place left in our world where it is permissible to kneel before someone.  Maybe, it is not necessary to kneel before someone, but how about the Someone who is the Almighty God of the creation?   And, just maybe there is value in kneeling.  No, surely there is value in bowing ourselves at an altar before God.  There is no place like it in our culture.  There is no place where we can be encouraged to humble ourselves and look up knowing who we are and who it is to Whom we are kneeling and bowing.

A Turning Point

When I go outside to grill some hamburgers, I usually take a Bible with me to do some reading while the burgers are sizzling. So, the other day I was sitting out there reading the early pages of the book of Joshua.  It had been awhile since I had read that old story of the Battle of Jericho.  Preachers have a hard time reading the Bible without seeing sermons.  The more I read, the more sermons I saw which needed preaching.  At this point in life, I recognize that there will not be enough time to preach all the sermons.  But, then, maybe such has been true from the very beginning.

 

Before the burgers got done, I found myself thinking about the demise of Sunday night worship and Sunday night preaching.  When I started out preaching, most every preacher in these parts could count on preaching Sunday morning and Sunday night.  Being a preacher's kid I did not miss many of them!  When the church lost Sunday night worship, preachers lost an opportunity for preaching.  Sunday night television, the idea that Sunday was a family day, and preachers who acquiesced too easily to change cost the preacher this extra moment for preaching and the church an extra moment for hearing some of the great stories of the Bible being preached.  When the "hour a week" mentality gripped the church and took over, the church and its people were the real losers.

 

It is not that Sunday night worship can be the salvation of the church.  It will not cure all its ailments and correct all its flaws.  It is more about the road taken by the church and its leaders.  We took the road that led to less instead of more when our culture was needing more instead of less.  We took the road paved with the idea that culture had more to say to the church than the church to the culture.  Our choosing to be like the culture instead of a sacred spiritual community has been a costly one that will not be turned around by glitzy gimmicks designed to increase crowds and raise money.  The turn around point may actually be the moment of embracing the identity that we started forsaking back in the day when we decided it was no longer a good thing for the people of God to gather a second time on Sunday.

To Battle A Mockingbird

Last week I did battle with a mockingbird who decided that our plum tree full of ripening plums was the perfect place to build a nest.  Since there were no eggs in the nest when I found it and purple plums were being attacked, I tore out the nest thinking that would be the end of the story.  By the end of the day, the nest was back.  I tore it down again.  Last year there were no plums.  This year there were plenty and we were already tasting them.  By the middle of the next day, the mockingbird nest was back in place.  This went on several days.  I was beginning to wonder who would be the most persistent.  It seemed like there was no end to the bird's persistence.  Mine was faltering.  I thought about ending this game with the shotgun, but I remembered the words of Atticus who said, "It's a sin to kill a mockingbird."   About that time I went to the plum tree and found no nest.

An interesting thing was happening inside of me as I did battle with this mockingbird.  I found my myself actually be thankful for the persistence of this bird.  She reminded me of the parable Jesus taught in Luke 18.  We know that section of scripture as the Parable of the Widow and the Unjust Judge who persisted until her plea was granted.  Jesus used the parable to teach us not to lose heart in our praying.  Persistence is the word.  Persistent was the mockingbird.  I have often lacked that kind of attitude in my praying.  Too many times I have given up and moved on to other prayers.

The persistent mockingbird reminded me of how I approach prayer with our culture's instant gratification mindset.  It is a mindset which keeps me from seeking the will of God in particular matters.  It is the mindset which falsely comforts me with the illusion that I know what is best even when I am on my knees before the Almighty.  A persistent mindset might not get me what I think I need or what I want in the moment, but it might get me into the mind and heart of God enabling me to understand why it is that now is not the best moment.  And, what a blessing that would be!

Southern Homecomings

Church Homecoming Sundays are likely to become a thing of the past.  In our part of the country, it is an event peculiar to the small town or rural church.  In urban areas filled with people whose roots are elsewhere, it does not work.  My first appointment was in a rural area and two of the three churches had a certain Sunday each year designated as Homecoming Sunday.  In those places the Sunday of Homecoming also was the beginning of a Sunday to Friday evening revival which some of the old timers called a "protracted meeting."  Maybe Homecoming is also a Southern thing.  Having lived all my life in south Georgia, I cannot really speak with any sense of authority on that issue.  What I do know is that the Homecoming Sunday experience is still very much alive in these parts.

 

Yesterday my wife and I attended Homecoming at the Portal UMC.  It is the church in which she grew up, the one of our community, and the one in which we were married long decades ago.  Homecoming tends to bring back folks who are gone, but who have roots in a church.  There were a number of such folks present yesterday.  There was even the widow of a former pastor present.  The church was filled with home folks and folks who had come home for Homecoming.  The church had its best foot forward.  The grounds were immaculate as was the church.  Flowers lined the front porch.  The choir did a stirring rendition of something called, "The Old Country Church Medley" and the guest preacher was one who had deep roots in the church and the community.  A memorial service inside the worship moments brought to mind those who had died in the last year as well as others who had sat in those pews long years ago.  And, of course, there was a covered dish meal after the benediction.  Folks brought enough food from their kitchens to feed folks for several Homecomings.  

 

It was indeed a great moment of worship, remembrance, and fellowship.  As an event, it is celebrative and, yet, also reflective as the deceased members of the fellowship are remembered.  As an experience,  it points us to a heavenly homecoming.  It always strikes me as something nothing short of remarkable that the church is the one place where people can go, and still do, and be reminded of their mortality.  One of the underlying; yet, unspoken themes of Homecoming is that we are all going to die.  Surely, the reason the church can go to such is a place is the central truth upon which it is established and that is the resurrection of Jesus Christ.  As He died and yet lives, so shall those who trust in Him. Some say our home is heaven.  As surely as such is true, it will surely be a moment beyond any human comparisons, but just maybe, these Homecoming moments give us a small glimpse.

A Question

The first Psalm I memorized was the 23rd Psalm.  I did so out of that black Bible with the zipper running around it.  Inside were pictures of significant Biblical moments and red print on all the words which Jesus spoke.  It is the first Bible I remember and, somehow, it has managed to travel safely with me over this sixty years.  Every time I moved, it made the journey.  The Pierce Chapel Methodist Church out in the woods near Waycross, Ga. encouraged its children to memorize scripture  by giving us a moment at the Sunday evening worship service to recite memorized verses and a gold star on the wall chart when we did. 

 

So, I have not only carried that black Bible from my childhood with me through the years, but I have also carried the 23rd Psalm along as well.  Long ago it ceased being necessary to read it from the page since it was planted in my heart.  Most likely it has been the most read and most used chapter of scripture in my life and ministry.  With such a long history with these Words, the question which came out of a recent reading was a bit surprising.  Surprising because I cannot remember ever asking it.  Perhaps, I am asking it now because there is a thick green pasture growing just across the road from the front door.  Most every day I walk in it tending not sheep, but a few cows.  What is the question?  It comes from verse 2 as it says, "He makes me lie down in green pastures."   The question is: "Why should I have to be made to lie down in green pastures?"

 

Through the 23rd Psalm the Word of God is  telling me that God can be trusted to provide what I need for my life in a lush and abundant way.  Any, why should I be made to rest and live and be nurtured on ground made fertile for the sustenance of my soul?  Around these parts someone would say that anyone with one eye and half sense would know better.  I have two eyes and good sense.  But, still, there is me.  As hungry as I know my heart to sometimes be for God, I also know how stubbornly it can seek its own way.  Thankful am I for the pressure of God's love that holds me where my needy soul can be fed.