Glory lover

We live glory. We love to see it, to give it, and, yes, to receive it. This is how we have been designed.

The problem comes in when the object of our glory is less than glorious or is glorified for something beyond the scope of its inherent glory.

Time and again I've discussed glory (twice last week). I struggle with glory--giving it and wanting it for myself. ButI see more clearly now that the glorying isn't the problem, though the object might be.

I can empathize with the Pharisees, both the ones that believed in Jesus and the ones that rejected him. Both groups had glory issues and object-of-glory issues.

John describes the unbelief of the people (and the Pharisees) in his gospel continually. In 12:36-43 he tells of Jesus' hiding himself for the people, likely because several sought to kill him as they had before (John 8:59 and 10:31ff). Many just can't believe and some are afraid to let it be know that they believe:

"Nevertheless, many even of the authorities believed in him, but for fear of the Pharisees they did not confess it, so that they would not be put out of the synagogue; for they loved the glory that comes from man more than the glory that comes from God." (John 12:42-43)

See where the glory is? In the whole of the passage, we know the glory is actually--really and truly--in Jesus. In the part I've quoted we see the glory and power the people and "even the authorities" fear: the Pharisees. They fear the leaders. They fear being kicked out of the formal company of people, that is, the synagogue. This is a legitimate concern, but if the object of synagogue worship is right there and is clearly glorious and a person is more concerned with the other so-called worshippers' opinion, there is a grave problem of heart and mind in these believers.

But I won't judge them to condemn; I'm merely judge to assert that I'm like them.

~~~*~~~
Today, I ask you: are you a glory lover? Can you admit it? Who's glory do you love and seek?

Jesus gives the stoners the slip

Time and again we see Jesus come under fire in the gospels. The Pharisees are continually trying to "bust him," as I say with not so much precision.

In John's gospel, Jesus carries on extended conversations with the Pharisees who would gladly kill him to be rid of his disruptive teaching to the "crowd that does not know the law." The Pharisees say the people are "accursed" (John 7:49)--probably because they believe what Jesus is saying.

Some time during the conversation, the Pharisees hold a sort of council, trying to figure out what to do with this man. They look for reasons he must be false: the Christ will not come from Galilee... the Christ will come from David, from Bethlehem. They clearly don't know that both of these things are true of Jesus. They continue: none of the "authorities or the Pharisees" have believed him. Then, as if they haven't quite finished their initial argument, they say no prophet arises from Galilee (they really don't think much if Galilee, do they?).

Later, these Pharisees bring the debate right to Jesus' face. They tell him he is bearing witness about himself, which, in their mind, means he's making things up. Jesus responds that the Father bears witness of him. They ask where his father is. He answers that they do not know because they don't know who he is. Jesus says he is going away; the Jews (and I assume Pharisees as well) wonder if he plans to kill himself.

And so the dialogue continues. The Jews and Pharisees ask questions or wonder among themselves, and Jesus answers them without stammering, without hesitation.

And while there is a wealth of theological insight demonstrated in the dialogue recorded over John 7-8, what strikes me most today is Jesus' attitude. His confidence is sure, yet without conceit; his answers are firm, yet humble. To us, he may sound a bit testy. We might perceive that he is excuse-making; he does answer at length, a common characteristic of a "tale-teller," i.e., "liar." But this is not the case. He speaks with surety but he is humble before his Father, confident in his Father, concerned with the glory of his Father.

We know that later Jesus will pray that his disciples see his glory (John 17), but for now he is not concerned with giving clear explanations. He does make a defense--give an apologetic--for what he's doing, but he's not defensive. He's not interested in tickling ears and pleasing people. He's interested in the truth, even if they misinterpret him--which they do.

The Pharisees are outraged at Jesus by the end of their conversation. "So they picked up stones to throw at him," John tells us.

But Jesus gives them the slip.

Jesus' explanations slipped right past all the Pharisees' reasoning and comprehension and understanding, but he doesn't see the need to stand and fight. It's not his way. Besides, he's in control of the entire situation, and, like I said, he's not trying to defensively vindicate himself. He's explaining the nuances of the plan and purpose of God the Father.

~~~*~~~
And what is your primary concern? You? What people think of you? How people understand or don't understand you? These are often my concerns and I'm not astute enough to remember the greater plan and purpose of God, I'm not discerning enough to know when it's best to give the crowd the slip.

Again, what is your primary interest or concern when confrontation comes? Can you keep calm and carry on (as the signs say), or is the defensive protest your way?

Sunbeam Runner

In an essay entitled "Meditation in a Toolshed," C. S. Lewis distinguishes between looking at a sunbeam and looking along a sunbeam. Both give two different views, both demonstrate two perspectives of how to look at life:

I was standing today in the dark toolshed. The sun was shining outside and through the crack at the top of the door there came a sunbeam. From where I stood that beam of light, with the specks of dust floating in it, was the most striking thing in the place. Everything else was almost pitch-black. I was seeing the beam, not seeing things by it.

Then I moved, so that the beam fell on my eyes. Instantly the whole previous picture vanished. I saw no toolshed, and (above all) no beam. Instead I saw, framed in the irregular cranny at the top of the door, green leaves moving on the branches of a tree outside and beyond that, ninety-odd million miles away, the sun. Looking along the beam, and looking at the beam are very different experiences.

Lewis's observation is astute--one that we could all stand to take to heart and contemplate. Do we look at the light itself, or the source? Which is more wondrous? Which more preeminent? Which more sublime? The light itself does allow us to see the world, and the world is a magnificent place. But the source? Well, clearly the source far exceeds the light itself.

If we take the analogy further, as Lewis does, we need to ask ourselves if we revel more in the world with all of its delights, its pleasures and treasures, than we do in the creator of this world. Do we take more delight in the gifts and blessings of God than we do in God himself?

It's a sobering question, one I realize I often answer incorrectly with small-eyed perception and self-centered attention.

God help us all to run the broad beam of God's blessings right back to God our Father himself.

~~~*~~~
If you get the opportunity and inclination, please let me know how you keep your heart and mind running up the beam, focused on God and not solely on his blessings.

Black Ink

Many poets have addressed the issue of overcoming time's relentless march, which leads us all to decay and ultimately death itself. Obviously the poet's method of overcoming time's clutch and death is different than the plastic surgeon's or the fitness guru's. Yes, all of these seek to somehow preserve beauty, yet the poet is after something more essential, more fundamental, more primal (?) than just a pretty face or physique. For the poet, beauty represents more.

The poet seeks to transcend and understand and articulate the language and experience of what is most excellent, good, and true--the fullness of love and beauty.

The poet tries--many of us try--but we don't quite make it, do we? We can't quite grasp or articulate what we somehow know is so.

This gets us back (somewhat) to what I discussed yesterday and the quest or desire we might have for greatness... for remembrance and something that will last and leave a mark on this world. The desire for greatness is akin to this desire to see and express that which is most original, most fundamental.

Shakespeare shows the plight, the struggle, in many of his poems. What follows is his Sonnet 65. Who or what can spoil time's march? Maybe nothing, save "black ink." If I recall correctly, God did speak the worlds into creation, but it's recorded for us in ink, right?

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wrackful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O, none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

~~~*~~~

What do you think? Can "black ink" reach back and express for us the language and sound of the creational, primal, foundational moments or reality?

Greatness

I struggle to see what I can do on this earth that will last. Paired with this, are other issues as well: Am I so audacious as to assume that something I do or say is worth lasting? or that, feeble as I am in word and deed, I am capable of saying or doing anything of lasting merit or import? Why do I even care if what I say or do lasts?

These are questions similar to some I used to wrestle over with one of my pastors, only the specific topic was greatness. Time and again I would bring up for discussion the ingredients of greatness. What makes a man great? Is it something in him? Is it time and location? Opportunity? All of the above combined? My pastor would ask me, "Why do you care? Why is it important?" I know he suspected that I wanted greatness, yet I would say I was just curious... but certainly it's true that there was--IS--something in me that aspires for greatness.

Or at least remembrance. Or significance. I want to be remembered and I most certainly want to be significant. In truth, I was sheepish about having to answer my pastor's questions. I know that I should desire King Jesus' greatness in and through my life. But what of me? What of my deeds and words?

Yes. Good question: What of them?

That's the point, right? So although something in me wants to be great, I don't necessarily strive much for greatness. I'm not great. I'm just... me. And I think I can accept and live with that.

~~~*~~~

In Shakespeare's Twelfth Night the nature of greatness comes up--in the context of a prank--but the analysis seems correct:

some are born great, some achieve greatness,

and some have greatness thrust upon 'em.

I'm not sure if any of these circumstances apply to me and my life, but I can take the admonition given before these words in the fictitious letter that the hapless--and aspiring for greatness--Malvolio finds: "be not afraid of greatness."

Ok. I can live with this. I ought not be afraid of greatness. Yet, as I said before, I'm not great. Should I fear not being great? What am I to do?

Well, I'll do what I've known to be true (and as I said earlier): I'll strive for Christ to be great in my words and deeds. I've found that living is much more personally satisfying when I'm not concerned with my own greatness, but with my duty, my identity in him, my growth in grace, the growth in grace and good of my fellow man.

So I don't seek the greatness itself, so much as the person and understanding what he said and did. I won't seek to elevate myself by elevating him. I'll simply seek to act as I've been declared, namely, as a child of God, in thought, word, and deed.

Most likely, I'll be forgotten soon after my children or grandchildren die (if God sees fit that I live long enough). But hopefully the deeds I've sought to do and to model for them, the words I've used to counsel and instruct them, will stick with them. And if the deeds and words themselves are forgot, hopefully the motivation and the man behind them will not be. Hopefully God and his son the King will not be forgot by him. 

That, I think, is greatness enough.

Identity: Child of God, part 2

I've been thinking further about this identity bit I started on Monday. (Bit? Ha! It's much more than a "bit," is it not?) I'm realizing that it is vital that we claim the identity that is given us or placed on us or that we've assumed--provided, of course, that this "identity" is legitimate, right, and true.

Before I continue, I grant that it is possible to be given a "bad" identity, or to assume one. People acquire a "rep" within various social circles, and sometimes this rep is a lie or is from reprehensible behavior. Sometimes our rep is true and needs to be transformed--however tedious, painful, or fought against--because it is a disgrace or hurts society or is damaging to the individual possessing the identity. I could go on, but to cover every example or instance (I now see) would literally fill a book.

Today I'm talking about the sorts of identity that come with our position or training or the declaration of God. For example, positionally I am a son, a husband, and a father by virtue of being born, getting married, and having children. I need to own or claim each of these identities. They are who I am because of what has happened to me (I couldn't help being born) or because of decisions I've made or actions I've taken (that is, getting married and having children). If I don't own up to or embrace these identities, I will fail within each and others will suffer, as will I.

To push it further into the social sphere, I have certain identities as a result of my training and occupation. I'm a teacher and, over time (and through learning, failing, and growing) I've become a department chair at a school. If I don't accept my identity as teacher and department chair, my students suffer, the school suffers, I suffer. If we consider how many students have taken my classes and how many teachers I've worked with over the years, as well as the number of people each of them have or will come into contact with, possibly "rubbing off" some of the poor teaching or leadership as a result of my lack of or denial of my identity, the number of affected souls is potentially exponential. In other words, even in such an occupation that isn't leading a company or a large team or a state, denying one's identity can have far-reaching effects.

Clearly, I am operating on the assumption that it is not okay or acceptable for me (or anyone) to cause others to suffer. This is especially true in terms of identity: it is in no way "fine" or "okay" or acceptable for a person to cause others to suffer or be made worse because I can't accept my identity.

So what must I do? What must all of us do? We must accept our identities. We must work to understand each nuance of our various identities, and embrace them, grow in them, live and move in them.

And finally, as a Christian person we must claim and live in that identity that God himself has given us through the person and work of Christ the King: we are children--HIS children, sons and daughters of the most high God. As Paul explains in Galatians four,

4 But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, 5 to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons.
6 And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, "Abba! Father!" 7 So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God.

This is a new identity indeed, free from slavery, free from sin. In this base or foundational identity, all our other identities make sense and we can grow into them, embrace them and learn in them and live well within them. As we do so, the people around us are made better, more complete, more whole. To be true, the entire world is made better, more complete, more whole.

And this, surely, is a picture of the Kingdom of God in earth.

Identity: Child of God

Ever heard a conversation like this:

"Oh. So you're a Christian?"

"Well, I'm trying to be. I'm not very good at it."

"Hmm... not very good at it?"

"Nah. I keep messing up all the time. I'm a pretty lousy Christian."

~~~*~~~

I suppose we could end the conversation with something like, "Is there any other kind?" However, I want to address the issue of many of us saying we're "trying to be" Christians. Is this possible? What do we mean by this?

When someone asks us if we're Christian, it's an identity sort of question. The simple answer is, We either are or we are not a Christian. There isn't really any middle ground.

Why? Because being a Christian is our identity, if we are in Christ. If we are in Christ, we are children of God. Period.

Take a look at what John says in his first letter:

See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is. (3:1-2) 

I'm not sure this could be any more plain. God the Father has given us his love. What does this love look like, how does it affect us? We are now called children of God. That is love. We were enemies of God, but he has sent his son to die in our stead--to face the punishment we deserved--so that we might have God, so that we might be his children. "And so we are," as John reiterates for emphasis.

No, what we will be isn't entirely clear, but we know that we will be like Christ. For now, during the time in-between redemption and his appearing? Well, we are called children. This is what--this is who--we are.

So, the next time someone asks if you are a Christian, you don't need to answer with a "maybe" or anything resembling a "I'm trying to be." If you are in Christ, the simple answer is "Yes." You can add, "I'm a child of God, a child of the King," if you want and/or for good measure.

~~~*~~~

So here is a reminder for you and for me today: In Christ, our identity is "child," and this is so whether we are good, bad, ugly--name it. Our identity doesn't become anything more or less based on our behavior. We are children of God. Amen.

Will & Whit

It's the end of a school year for me, so I thought I'd offer up a summer reading suggestion in the book, Will & Whit. This is a graphic novel by Laura Lee Gulledge, a writer and artist that I've come to respect and admire this past month (as I've finally broken down, listened to the reviews, and purchased her first book, Page by Paige before immediately pre-ordering and finally receiving Will & Whit).

Will & Whit is her second full-length book, and is about a teenage girl named Wilhelmina “Will” Huxstep. As the publisher's description says, Will "is a creative soul struggling to come to terms with a family tragedy. She crafts whimsical lamps, in part to deal with her fear of the dark. As she wraps up another summer in her mountain town, she longs for unplugged adventures with her fellow creative friends, Autumn, Noel, and Reese. Little does she know that she will get her wish in the form of an arts carnival and a blackout, courtesy of a hurricane named Whitney, which forces Will to face her fear of darkness."

Although this is a book of pictures and words and although the primary characters are teenagers, don't rule this book out for adults as well. It is a fine display of art complementing story, of true-to-life characters dealing with true-to-life circumstances--and young adults and adults alike could use a little infusion of art and reality into their lives.

The strengths of the graphic novel are the characters, the story, and the art. As I said, the characters are believable, but they are also likeable and relatable. They are portraits of real people living real life. Will and her aunt and her friends are people you'd like to meet, people with stories and interests and struggles that make them endearing and interesting. Their story is one of whimsy (a favorite word and idea of Gulledge), creativity, problem solving, surviving, growing. Gulledge's art complements and SHOWS all this with precision and imagination. Really, there is just so much life in this book, more life than I've found in most of the graphic novels I've read.

My only complaint is that, like all novels--graphic or otherwise--the story had to end. Although the story doesn't feel incomplete (not hurried or full of holes), my time with these characters does. This, of course, is not Gulledge's fault. Rather, it's just a sign that she created a world inhabited by characters worth getting to know and visit again.

So this isn't really a complaint about a book. It's just proof that I'm living in a world where experiences do come to an end and I need art to enliven and encourage me again. If you get the chance, check out both Will & Whit, as well as Laura Lee Gulledge's first book, Page by Paige. They're both worth your time and the expenditure of emotional and imaginational energy. If you have little of either to spare, then pick up either of Gulledge's books for an enjoyable summer read.

Jesus the hero, part 3

As I worked to demonstrate last week, Jesus is a hero. More than that, he is an epic hero. Through his life and work he brings to pass the epic movement in the life of Israel and in the life of the church.

According to Dr. Louise Cowan, there are four "essence" characteristics of epic, which I've simplified with the terms Space, Time, Balance, and Motion. Jesus' life and work exemplifies and embodies each of these essence characteristics. Today, I intend to focus only on how Jesus life and work exemplifies the epic essence of Space.

SPACE

The term Space refers to the space in which mankind lives. In epic, this space is opened up or broadened. The "veil," which separates the natural and supernatural, the material and immaterial realms, is torn or lifted, allowing the hero to see and/or directly interact with the divine. Thus a more intimate relation between the hero and the divine is experienced, and the hero (and mankind by way of the hero) is thus able to see and understand and experience more than his typical space or region of habitation within the created world. In other words, his perception is broadened. In seeing the heavenly realm, the hero (and his people through the hero) is better able to understand and interact within the events and happenings of the physical realm.

We see this breaking through of the veil between mankind and the divine time and again within the life of Jesus. Given the fact that Jesus is divine, this is obvious, but it is no less true in terms of his incarnation as a man as well.

The events leading up to and surrounding his birth and the first couple years of his life demonstrate this opening up of space conclusively. Time and again, angels--heavenly or supernatural beings--appear in dreams, orchestrating how the arrival of the infant hero should be interpreted and handled, as well as how this new-born baby's life ought to be preserved. First, Jesus' earthly "father," Joseph, dreams before the baby is even born: the angel of The Lord appears to him and says, "do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for that which is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins" (Matthew 1:20-22). Just in this brief interaction we hear divine intervention (the angel's message) and we see that there has been some sort of physical divine intervention as well, for Mary is a virgin yet she is with child by the work of God in the Holy Spirit.

Matthew, the narrator of these events, goes further in demonstrating that this is a unique rending of the barrier between God and mankind when he explains that this birth is a fulfillment of prophecy: "'Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,/and they shall call his name Immanuel' (which means, God is with us)" (Matthew 1:23). So this birth itself is a divine intervention, for in the form of this baby God himself is coming to dwell with mankind. The supernatural is going to be enfleshed in a natural body.

To ensure that this baby's significance is rightly understood and that he is allowed to live, more intervention is required. A star guides the wise men's way to this new-born king that is worthy of actual worship (Matthew 2:2). Herod, the current king, will have none of this, though he'll play along; he intends murder. To keep this from happening, angels appear in the wise men's dreams, indicating that they must not return to Herod. When Herod realizes he's been deceived by the wise me, he goes into a rage and kills all children under the age of two that have been born in the region where this new king has been born. Angels appear three times to Joseph in his dreams, first directing him to take the child and his mother to Egypt (Matthew 2:13-15), then directing him back to Israel (Matthew 2:19-21), then directing him to Galilee (Matthew 2:22-23).

So we see that without divine intervention and a breaking of the veil or barrier between the supernatural and the natural, Jesus' birth would not have happened, nor would his life have been preserved. So space is opened up, and people--Joseph and the wise men and Mary (if we remember that she, too, had dreams--see Luke 1:26-38)--are able to understand more fully what is happening here on the earthly plane because they've had direct contact with the supernatural or heavenly plane of existence.

And this divine interaction between God and man doesn't let up all through the life of Jesus. At Jesus' baptism, John the Baptist declares the coming work of the coming Messiah and then God the Father declares that this Jesus is that coming Messiah indeed (Matthew 3:1-17). Months later at what we call the transfiguration, Jesus will meet with God the father and Moses and Elijah (men who should be dead); God will again declare Jesus' identity (Matthew 17:1-13). Jesus himself will pray time and again, directly interacting with the divine (see Matthew 11:25-26; 26:36-44; John 11:41-42; 12:27-28; 17; etc.). His miracles show that he's connected to the divine--that he is divine. In Matthew 8-9 alone he shows he has control over sickness, the supernatural, the natural, sin, death, uncleanness, and physical deformities or birth defects. All these acts or miracles show that he has authority from beyond the pale of man. And let's not forget his death. The literal veil is torn when he dies (see Matthew 27:51-54), demonstrating this break in the barrier between God and man, the immaterial and the material realm. And, upon dying, Jesus goes to the "underworld," hades, surely a place mortals can't tread.

And then Jesus returns from Hades, from death, from the tomb. So not only does Jesus have a running communion with God the Father, not only does he speak and act with an authority given him from the supernatural (that is, God the Father), not only does he venture to the land of the dead, he actually returns. He is able to pass between the material and the physical, for all of space, all realms, are opened up to him.

All this demonstrates conclusively that the life and work of Jesus demonstrates the epic essence of Space. And, as we continue this study of how Jesus is epic, we'll see that his mission is to do the same for us: open up space, open up reality, open up understanding.

Jesus the hero

In the gospels we find Jesus, the epic hero.

No, he doesn't look anything like Achilles or Odysseus, Aeneas or Aragorn. He doesn't do physical slaying of his enemies, though we could argue that the Pharisees get a fair drubbing on many an occasion. He doesn't lead an army, though we could argue that he is building one--of a sort. He doesn't found or defend a city or nation in the sense that these other heroes do, though we could argue that founding and defending a city--the city of God--is exactly what he's doing.

So Jesus isn't a typical epic hero... but there can be no doubt that so much of what he does and works for is the very motivation, pursuit, and goal of the epic hero. But Jesus is no ordinary epic hero.

What I want to begin working through here are the four essence characteristics that Dr. Louse Cowan discusses in her essay "Epic as Cosmopoesis," and explain how the life and work of Jesus encapsulates each. Today I'll start with the first two.

First of all, in epic the "veil" or barrier between the divine and man, between the supernatural or immaterial realm and the natural or material realm, is opened up. Man is allowed a view of things and creatures that mere mortals are normally not privy to. In the case of Jesus, God the Father speaks to and of this man, his son. Time and again, Jesus and God the Father communicate in, and though we don't usually hear the voice of God the Father in the gospels (that is, his actual words aren't recorded), we know that Jesus is being heard, for his miracles demonstrate that he is heard (see the feeding of the 5,000 for example, Mark 6:30-44).

Secondly, in epic there is an awareness of all of time--past, present, and future. The hero himself lives at a time of utmost importance, a time when the culture of a people group faces possible structural annihilation. The hero is well aware of where his people have been and he knows the possible or prophesied future to where they head. He also often knows--and this is the great weight the hero bears--that he must act or execute a certain function or play a certain role in his present, or the destined or commanded future will not arrive. In many ways (all ways?), the potential future of his people rests on his shoulders.

Clearly this describes Jesus and the time and place when and where he arrives on the scene. He is the Jewish messiah, the promised coming king, who is to bring to fulfillment all that the Jewish people have longed and looked for. He is the climax of their story and the one who will renew God's people and institute a new way to live and move and have being in the Kingdom of God. And... we could say more. The point is, Jesus is all these things, BUT if he doesn't act then the hoped for renewed city and culture and kingdom won't come. All is lost unless God intervenes and his Son the hero carries out his mission.

~~~*~~~
So we're on our way to briefly explaining how Jesus is an epic hero. Later this week we'll explore how Jesus embodies the other two essence characteristics that Cowan describes in her essay.

For now, let me know what you think of this. Does it make sense? Is this a viable way to see and understand the person and work of Jesus?