During this Lenten season I have been reading and studying nothing but 1 Peter. If the first chapter was an opera, verses 22-23 would be the aria. The pinnacle of maturity as a follower of Christ is love. We find here the secret for the context and content of love, as God would have us express it to our brethren in the world. I wrote the following during a train ride into Manhattan after meditating on what it meant when Peter said, "Having purified your souls by your obedience to the truth for a sincere brotherly love, love one another earnestly from a pure heart."
“The degree of love I exhibit is directly related to how well I obey truth as God reveals it. The refining process of obedience distills my character to the essence of the seed of salvation—the seed of love, which the husk of service encases. When I trust God to obey Him, He will lead me into unfamiliar, unkind, unresponsive and unrefined places and people, to whom I am called to love. What I don’t often realize is that the first ministry is love—the SEED! The husk of service blinds me to God’s ultimate desire and destination. We can fall into the trap of saying our ministry is our expression of love, but this is only the husk! If I stumble this way on the husk, I miss the purpose for His leading me in the first place—to love earnestly from the heart—to activate the seed of God’s love.”
Friday, March 20, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
The Porch--when Silence Rests Between Us
While journaling, I remember writing, “front porch—that place where silence can sit between friends.” What could be more life giving than feeling understood, knowing that that person sharing space with you can wait indefinitely in your presence without needing to fill the air with words. This is especially true during times of intense pressure, or severe hardship, a trial that has no end in sight, or a loss that has left the world without answers, and God a million miles away.
The presence of friendship without the trappings of words fuses two hearts together, and quite literally, though no science could prove it, let them walk together bonded, and sustained by the united sense of resolve they silently share. In the same way, when we sit in silence with God, we first of all are saying that we trust Him. Often it’s our words when we feel either anger, fear or anxiety that gushes senseless musings. It makes us feel better, thinking we are praying, but it’s hardly that. It’s a cathartic riot act pointed at God, demanding relief. Of course, there’s a place for this kind of banter. We need look no further than David, in a host of psalms that reassure us that we can vent, and feel safe doing it. But a better, more redemptive interchange happens when we can meditate upon the truths of God , and let our hearts rest from the emotions that swell our heads with possibilities, at least during the time we are in each others space. In the silence that hangs heavy between us, it can be maddening to imagine all sorts of falsities, exaggerated wondering and forgone conclusions. But if silence can be at home in the space you share with Him, then through a disciplined act of faith, we can clear even our minds of the clutter that dissipates faith, and enhances fear. When words are few, God sees a heart trusting in the unseen, and desiring Him above understanding, above the machinations that clamor for supremacy, and beyond the reach of any mortal touch to console. It was the woman caught in adultery that had exhausted her defenses, or rationale who could do nothing but lie in a heap before perfect love. It was Job who could do nothing else but wait in silence, with friends at hand. When our hearts become content to wait, then our entire posture changes from one of arbitrator to one of humble suppliant. Our options lie strewn in the wind, and we cling to the belief in a God who has judged and found us wanting, but whose heart gushes compassion.
The Porch is the place where friends sit quietly on rockers, and watch the coming dusk. It’s the place promises are given, and failures are forgotten. The Porch opens it’s sequestered arms to the scents of a dying day, and brings to our senses the robust energy pulsing from it’s pores like a silent sentry. If we could imagine this as we rest quietly before our heavenly father, we could capture one of the secrets of gaining strength and finishing well. Our often knee jerk reaction to circumstances which threaten our equalibrium exerts our will upon God through intercession, instead of asking for patience to wait. We learn to trust in the silence, as a child will lie exhausted in the arms of her father, after a sudden loss, or a perplexing hurtful experience. We don’t know why we feel buoyed, but it’s affect changes how we see God’s part in our daily affairs. Instead of wrestling with uncertainty, we find the grace of a living God, not an idol. Our silence demonstrates that God is alive in our affairs. Only silence presupposes a living fire, an infinite strength that holds out to our tired attempts at peace, a garland dipped in blood. To remain silent before god means that He is more than wood, stone or precious gems. We are building strength in our belief that when He decides, He will act, speak, and bring us forward, and out of the dilemna for which we cry inwardly for help. The events of the cross assure our heart that sitting with us is Someone who has tasted death, and in doing so, has showed us how to live. He offers a hand to hold, while nothing is said, so that you know beyond nuance, intuition or premonition that His presence has a tangible affect upon our stubborn independence. Where else can we be reminded how our hiding may end in loneliness, and eventual hell.
The porch creeks under the weight of our rocking. The settled dusk brings a finality to the all the activities of the day, whether fragmented or focused, all is behind us. Nothing else can be done, but quietly ruminate on the choices and decisions made in the cauldron of spiritual affairs, and very mundane routines. There are no words, because our heart understands that everything has passed the grade with Him, nothing fallen outside of His perfect purposes, and little left for morbid review. Silence tells Him, you are content to receive the good, and no so good; the brilliant moments, and the perplexing washouts. What rests between God and man is palpable, because when words are absent, faith fills the void. His faith in us has been constant, without tarnish, or degradation. Our faith in Him, though waffling through the days journey, has settled for the moment, upon a certainty that He is pleased, and poised to renew and rejuvenate our tired souls. “Come.” The invitation has been heeded without hearing it. It’s the universal and timeless urging of a God who hurts in the stomach for his children to return to Him, and receive all comfort and grace.
It must have been a porch where angels and incense came together, so that God could deliver His message to the earth (Rev 8). Heaven was completely silent for half an hour, but not idle. Here an angel received an abundance of incense to mix with the prayers of God’s holy people, and lifted it before the golden altar of God as an offering. When the incense holder emptied, God filled it with fire, which upon the blasts of trumpets, he sent to the earth with devastating affect. All this was done with no words spoken. Our fragrance as holy people breathes the prayer God uses to send fire upon the earth, the fire of revival. It’s no mistake that silence encased this scene, because when prayer and silence wed, faith rests between God and man. The depth of this union glorifies God beyond anything that man can manufacture. True worship is waiting in silence for Holy God to speak. The porch invites us all to sit with Him, wait and enjoy the coming dusk. Together we will find strength and hope to press forward under the coming night. While we wait, God enjoins angels to our hearts desire in order for His Kingdom to come.
The presence of friendship without the trappings of words fuses two hearts together, and quite literally, though no science could prove it, let them walk together bonded, and sustained by the united sense of resolve they silently share. In the same way, when we sit in silence with God, we first of all are saying that we trust Him. Often it’s our words when we feel either anger, fear or anxiety that gushes senseless musings. It makes us feel better, thinking we are praying, but it’s hardly that. It’s a cathartic riot act pointed at God, demanding relief. Of course, there’s a place for this kind of banter. We need look no further than David, in a host of psalms that reassure us that we can vent, and feel safe doing it. But a better, more redemptive interchange happens when we can meditate upon the truths of God , and let our hearts rest from the emotions that swell our heads with possibilities, at least during the time we are in each others space. In the silence that hangs heavy between us, it can be maddening to imagine all sorts of falsities, exaggerated wondering and forgone conclusions. But if silence can be at home in the space you share with Him, then through a disciplined act of faith, we can clear even our minds of the clutter that dissipates faith, and enhances fear. When words are few, God sees a heart trusting in the unseen, and desiring Him above understanding, above the machinations that clamor for supremacy, and beyond the reach of any mortal touch to console. It was the woman caught in adultery that had exhausted her defenses, or rationale who could do nothing but lie in a heap before perfect love. It was Job who could do nothing else but wait in silence, with friends at hand. When our hearts become content to wait, then our entire posture changes from one of arbitrator to one of humble suppliant. Our options lie strewn in the wind, and we cling to the belief in a God who has judged and found us wanting, but whose heart gushes compassion.
The Porch is the place where friends sit quietly on rockers, and watch the coming dusk. It’s the place promises are given, and failures are forgotten. The Porch opens it’s sequestered arms to the scents of a dying day, and brings to our senses the robust energy pulsing from it’s pores like a silent sentry. If we could imagine this as we rest quietly before our heavenly father, we could capture one of the secrets of gaining strength and finishing well. Our often knee jerk reaction to circumstances which threaten our equalibrium exerts our will upon God through intercession, instead of asking for patience to wait. We learn to trust in the silence, as a child will lie exhausted in the arms of her father, after a sudden loss, or a perplexing hurtful experience. We don’t know why we feel buoyed, but it’s affect changes how we see God’s part in our daily affairs. Instead of wrestling with uncertainty, we find the grace of a living God, not an idol. Our silence demonstrates that God is alive in our affairs. Only silence presupposes a living fire, an infinite strength that holds out to our tired attempts at peace, a garland dipped in blood. To remain silent before god means that He is more than wood, stone or precious gems. We are building strength in our belief that when He decides, He will act, speak, and bring us forward, and out of the dilemna for which we cry inwardly for help. The events of the cross assure our heart that sitting with us is Someone who has tasted death, and in doing so, has showed us how to live. He offers a hand to hold, while nothing is said, so that you know beyond nuance, intuition or premonition that His presence has a tangible affect upon our stubborn independence. Where else can we be reminded how our hiding may end in loneliness, and eventual hell.
The porch creeks under the weight of our rocking. The settled dusk brings a finality to the all the activities of the day, whether fragmented or focused, all is behind us. Nothing else can be done, but quietly ruminate on the choices and decisions made in the cauldron of spiritual affairs, and very mundane routines. There are no words, because our heart understands that everything has passed the grade with Him, nothing fallen outside of His perfect purposes, and little left for morbid review. Silence tells Him, you are content to receive the good, and no so good; the brilliant moments, and the perplexing washouts. What rests between God and man is palpable, because when words are absent, faith fills the void. His faith in us has been constant, without tarnish, or degradation. Our faith in Him, though waffling through the days journey, has settled for the moment, upon a certainty that He is pleased, and poised to renew and rejuvenate our tired souls. “Come.” The invitation has been heeded without hearing it. It’s the universal and timeless urging of a God who hurts in the stomach for his children to return to Him, and receive all comfort and grace.
It must have been a porch where angels and incense came together, so that God could deliver His message to the earth (Rev 8). Heaven was completely silent for half an hour, but not idle. Here an angel received an abundance of incense to mix with the prayers of God’s holy people, and lifted it before the golden altar of God as an offering. When the incense holder emptied, God filled it with fire, which upon the blasts of trumpets, he sent to the earth with devastating affect. All this was done with no words spoken. Our fragrance as holy people breathes the prayer God uses to send fire upon the earth, the fire of revival. It’s no mistake that silence encased this scene, because when prayer and silence wed, faith rests between God and man. The depth of this union glorifies God beyond anything that man can manufacture. True worship is waiting in silence for Holy God to speak. The porch invites us all to sit with Him, wait and enjoy the coming dusk. Together we will find strength and hope to press forward under the coming night. While we wait, God enjoins angels to our hearts desire in order for His Kingdom to come.
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