The Rosary?!

Over the past year I've taken a look into a few spiritual practices to enhance my time with the LORD.  Well, technically all of our life is in the LORD.  Funny how we try to separate it out in American Christianity.  If there is a downfall in modern Fundamentalist Evangelical Christianity it certainly is the lack of discipling/mentoring.  I've complained before that it's a very arms length faith where you pray "The Sinner's Prayer" you get patted on the head, handed a gift Bible and told, "Good luck!".  When you ask what the next steps are the powers that be shrug and tell you, "Uh...pray and read your Bible every day."  Well great, thanks.  

If you're like me that leads to a sort of choice paralysis.  How do I pray? What do I pray? And how is the best way to study this thing called "the Bible"?  Furthermore, as a young FEC, you find out that the one major guideline is "As long as it isn't Catholic it's good.  If it even hints at something Catholic it needs to be burned and purged from all existence within the life of the believer.  You're safe as long as you just pray and read your Bible.  Now, run along and quit asking so many questions."

For an inquiring mind, such as mine, none of this is sufficient.  Yes, I believe Luther was correct in all 95 thesis that he posted on the door.  Yes, I believe that the Catholic church got things wrong.  However, this "purge and reject in totality" mental state of FEC has done far more damage than good.  I was talking about our church's use of an advent wreath and the reflections of advent with someone recently and they gave me this weird side glance and leaned away from me.  They asked, "Why is your church doing that?  That's a Catholic thing.   Advent wreaths aren't in the Bible."  Well, neither are Christmas trees, exchanging presents or Santa Claus but they swallow that wholesale.  As I write this I notice that they seem quite content to embrace some catholic things embraced by the world and not others...but that's another rant for another time.  

The Catholicism-phobia has been to the universal church's detriment in many ways but particularly in the spiritual disciplines.  There are many practices that get derided as mysticism...but I'm fairly comfortable with a few of them.  "Here's how you do this," is a much more manageable and adaptable system than "Pray whenever you want and read the Bible...if you get around to it.  Your name is down in the Book of Life so I wouldn't worry about it too much" and it produces far more reliable results. Now is where I get to the uncomfortable bit on which I'm certain I will be challenged or at least looked at sideways and leaned back away from.

A long time ago I went to the oldest church in the New World, a small Catholic outpost in Puerto Rico that holds the remains of Ponce De Leon.  I literally almost bumped into De Leon's remains because I was amazed by this place.  One of my interesting attributes is a get a literal high from encountering history in the flesh, as it were, and this was no exception.  I knew that I had to get something to commemorate the occasion, so I purchased a wooden rosary that was supposedly fashioned from wood culled from the Holy Land itself.  I don't necessarily believe that nor do I believe such wood confers any special powers upon it.  

It's been over a decade since that day and this year I was researching different Catholic spiritual practices and naturally praying the rosary came up.  I rolled my eyes a bit at first.  Praying to Mary has never been a practice that I could get my mind around.  I mean, why pray to her when Jesus is our high priest and we have a direct line?  And using it to reduce my sins?  Sola Fide!  But then I was thinking about Luther and how he was Catholic.  My mind connected that to the idea that he likely used a rosary and then to wondering if he used the ritual but re-purposed it.  

As it turns out, whether he re-purposed it himself or not, there is a Lutheran way to pray the rosary and it has been quite a benefit to me.  Now, I understand that this may offend my Catholic friends out there.  I love you.  I am sorry to offend.  But if it glorifies God and brings me closer to Him then isn't that a good thing?  Also, I understand this may seriously offend my FEC friends out there.  I love you.  I am sorry to offend.  But if it glorifies God and brings me closer to Him then isn't that a good thing?  It's not like I'm re-purposing Yoga here.  

Essentially the Lutheran rosary is prayed like this:  First, you clutch the cross and speak the Apostle's Creed.  The first big bead you come to you pray the "Our Father".  For each little bead you pray, "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner."  The next big bead you pray the "Gloria Patri".  "Glory be to the Father, to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost.  As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.  Amen."  So, on the big beads you alternate the "Our Father" and the "Gloria Patri" with the "Jesus Prayer" in between.  You all the way around, come back to the cross and pray "The Magnificat".  I know that "Magnificat" is a big scary Catholic sounding word, but it is simply the prayer Mary prayed upon hearing from the angel that she would bear the Christ child.  Deep breath; it's going to be OK.  In fact I fall more and more in love with that prayer.  It declares so much of who God is, His nature and intent, that it blows me away.  But, I digress...surprise...

All of this can be found in this handy online guide HERE.

So, what has been the effect of this "Catholic thingy"?  A much deeper sense of my place in things and God's place in all of history and creation.  

Naturally my Protestant brain recoiled at the repetition of prayers which many of my folk consider "vain" and prohibited.  The point for me is not that I think these prayers earn me any sort of favors with God.  I don't believe that the effort of doing what I should already be doing, praying, is working off my sins (Sola Fide after all).  What I discovered is that as I pray the same prayer again and again it starts to resonate; I start to think and feel the words rather than rattling them off my lips the same way I tell someone my address or cell number.  It's easy to be flippant with prayers and forget what we said like so much verbal mist.  

Repeating a prayer takes you to another level of understanding and meaning.  I can't pray, "...have mercy on me, a sinner" without reflecting on the fact that I desperately need mercy and that I am, in fact, a sinner.  (Some FEC would want to say here that Jesus took on all our sin so we don't need to think, talk about, or reflect on our sinful state and I say, "Woah, there, Scooter.  Might want to dig into that Bible a little more before you minimize a thing that big.")  I can't pray the "Our Father" over and over again without reflecting on how my entire existence and well-being hangs on who He is and what He has done.  How can I pray "and forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us" repeatedly and not have it impressed on me that there is a connection between how much I forgive and how much is forgiven me?  That my daily bread comes not from my effort but from His generosity?  That I must surrender MY will, that it is HIS will that should be done?  And I cannot get over every time I pray the "Gloria Patri" that I am exalting the LORD in unison with the angels in heaven.  Me, this little lowly, sin riddled, thing of mud and dust is singing to Him the same praise no matter what circumstances I'm going through.  In trial and in comfort it is the same words coming out of my mouth straight to Him, "Glory be..."  

How could anyone not benefit from this repetition?  When I look at it in it's basic parts, the rosary is a tool for praying scripture; for praying prayers that are actually in the Bible.  If we get over our Protestant snobbery (and I'm convicting myself in that more than anyone else) I don't think we can say that in and of itself it's a useless or terrible thing.  We learn scripture, memorize by repeating, so that we may "hide it in my heart so that I might not sin against You".  And, if we're being honest, most of us train our children to do that, but we leave off ourselves because we are "too busy".  But, another digression...surprise...

In the end I think it's important to remember that Luther did not want to split off from the Catholic church.  He saw much good there.  He simply wanted to reform certain parts like the selling and buying of plenary indulgences.  Successive generations of Protestants have treated all things Catholic like the plague...liturgy is even shunned by many which boggles my mind.  Speaking out, in unison, the words of scripture?  I even met a man who got offended that the congregation was called upon to speak the words of the Apostle's Creed in unison because "that's a Catholic thing to do".  There are things I disagree with in Catholic practices as well, but throwing the baby out with the bath water is ridiculous.  We can take the time to judge rightly with scripture as our guide.  Many of us are sensible people.  

So, to sum up (Which I have tried to do for a few paragraphs now but...squirrel!), I would encourage people to try praying the Lutheran rosary.  It has been of significant benefit to myself...even if it may send Calvin spinning in his grave. ;)

Pax,

W

The Deification of George Washington

Like many of my posts on here, I am uncomfortable with what I'm about to write.  I believe that's actually part of the nature of whatever it is I do.  I'm thinking, I'm questioning, I'm grabbing something and holding it up to the Lord and saying, "So, about this..." and I don't really seem to care if it's something beautiful or ugly.  But then there are those days where I show something to Him that I think is benign and He says, "Uh, actually...we need to have a serious conversation about that.  It's uglier than you think."  And so I bring it here and share with you all for the purposes of conversation and iron sharpening iron.  Today is likely to piss off some people whom I love, but that is not my intent AT ALL.  So, without further ado...

Standard Disclaimer:  I use this blog to express thoughts and ideas.  I am not now nor am I ever trying to use it as a massive soapbox where I am all wise and you need to listen to me because you can't figure it out yourself.  I often get things wrong, and I don't mind being proven wrong.  I question everything including my questions.  I am a growing, evolving being and in 5 minutes or 5 years I may think differently.

Now, with that out of the way, what's up with the title?

I was watching a video on Youtube the other day (I couldn't tell you which one to even link it here, I go down so many rabbit trails) and this guy was talking about how on the ceiling of the rotunda of the United States Capitol Building there is this painting called "The Apotheosis of Washington".  It is a spectacular looking piece calling back to Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel.  Such rich colors and symbolism, all the good stuff you think of in great paintings.  The thing of it is that there is George Washington seated in the clouds surrounded by these angelic and symbolic beings, and that's fine until you realize what "apotheosis" means.  It means "the elevation of someone to divine status; deification" (hence my title).  The other day it was simply an oddity and a "huh...why would someone of a Christian nation in 1865 make something to represent that?"  So, I'll get back to this so hold it in your mind, or bookmark it, or whatever works.

My recent growth spurt in things pertaining to the Spirit started less than a year ago with the impressing of the Lord on me to get alone.  I did.  I worked through some issues, forgave people I didn't even realize I needed to forgive, and He gave me a directive; to learn what it means to walk in the Spirit.  Now, I'm not a master of that, but I'm getting a handle on what it means.  This morning He gave me another directive; to learn what it means to be of the Kingdom.

"Kingdom" is a word i keep hearing bandied about by would be prophets, televangelists even some dietitians (there seriously is a Christian "Kingdom Diet") and so I have spent a lot of time believing it to be the new Christianese buzzword.  I've had my fill of them in my nearly 40 years and just shrug them off.  So, when the Lord laid it on me this morning I went, "Uh...oh...kay..." and began to think about it.  I consulted my spiritual mentor and she gave me the sort of things I wasn't looking for but needed to start on my journey.  It would be really nice if it all came nicely bundled up in one book with a flashy cover so I could pour over it and nod sagely will drinking my coffee, saying things like, "Oh, yes.  I see now.  My how foolish I've been.  I am so much wiser for having read this."  And that does happen from time to time.  C. S. Lewis gets me in the sagely nodding mode.  But, today, my first step into understanding the Kingdom wasn't "Oh, yes.  I see", it was "Oh, crap.  Woe is me."

When I think about Kingdoms I think about Kings.  I think about rulers.  I think about who belongs to a King.  I think about how a King owns all that he surveys from the land to the people and how the identity of people is often bound up in who is ruling over them.  Their actions, reactions, purchases, holidays, celebrations, stuff around their house often reflects their monarch.  We can see this in a negative light in North Korea with the near deification of their "blessed leader" and to more nostalgic effect with the Queen of England.  The royal family is still given much regard even to the point that Her Majesty is sometimes sported on tea cozies and commemorative china plates.

So, as I was making the bed, folding the laundry, and trying to avoid scrubbing the toilets (because really, who jumps into that chore with gusto?) the question was raised in my head;

"So, whose Kingdom do you belong to?"
"Well, yours Lord.  Naturally."

And there was a still pause there.  It was the kind of pause your parents used to employ when they knew better than you about who you are and how you act and what they asked was to get you to realize that same thing too.

I looked in my heart and what I found there was a terrible thing.  I almost didn't want to pull it out and look at it.  My reflex of finding a thing and talking to the Lord about it was thankfully ingrained in me enough that I did it automatically.

One can't be born and raised in the United States of America and not encounter the American Myth.  By that I mean the whole explanation of where we came from, what we are meant to be, and, in many evangelical circles, they even go so far as to believe that we are the "New Chosen People" now that Israel is somehow out of favor.  Don't ask me how it makes sense.  I don't get it, but I was suffused, even baptized in a way, into the belief in the greatness of America, how we were destined to be God's shining city on a hill, His light in the darkness.  And these men, Washington, Jefferson, Adams, Franklin, and all the rest were the greatest men of the age, men to emulate and try to live up to.

Here is my confession.  I give it to you feeling a lump in my stomach and a hesitating flutter in my chest.  Are you ready?

When God asked me whose Kingdom I belonged to I had to be honest and admit that I belonged not wholly to His Kingdom, but to the Kingdom of the Myth of America.

And how do I know?  Because my passions, my excitement, my identity, my love, my desires are all wrapped up in the flag.

I realized in an instant that, as a Protestant, in the absence of saints I accepted Washington, Jefferson, Adams, and Franklin.  I get more of a thrill, more guidance, more of my integrity, and my character from studying those men than I do when I study my Bible.  Good me, exceptional men, to be sure, but I find that if I'm looking to them rather than Jesus...what am I doing?

I have believed, not consciously mind you, that the United States of America is "Jesus Inc." that we are somehow His new chosen people so of course we're fine, golden, and good.  Just by being Americans we've got a spiritual leg up.  Sure, other countries "have Jesus" but come on!  We're the head office, the HQ, the Corporate Flagship.  Those other guys are basically franchises.  I mean that's why we have missionaries go out there, right?

I've swallowed hook, line, and sinker that we are right because of who we are as a nation.  I mean, I know, I question all the time what we are doing in other places, I don't trust the government and that sort of thing, but there is this emotion in me, this switch that automatically goes "Yeah, but it's our flag so God is going to bless it."

When, on top of all this, the words of the Founders and the Constitution come more readily to my mind and direct more of my life than Scripture then, God forgive me, I have deified my own country.  I treat those Founders as better and with even more regard (honest) even than Peter, John, Paul, Thomas, and yes, even Jesus.  As great men as the Founders may have been for their age I have felt a fire for them that I haven't for the ones in the second half of the Book.  As a Christian...that is messed up and I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm not alone.

What I believe God is calling me to, and I wouldn't be surprised if there were others, is a people for Himself; a people who find no identity in the world apart from Him.  Because once we come to Christ all those labels are supposed to fall away ("therefore there is no...Greek, Jew, slave, free) and become as dust, all previous political or social affections are to be snuffed out, and we turn our affections to one and only one.  Given the long scope of our God's focus and vision this doesn't seem too far fetched.  To Him, in the span of time, our nation, though it may be made "Great Again" is dust, it's vapor, it's gone in an instant.  And yet I want to cling, I want to put my affections on those symbols, on this country, on those historical figures.

Is the American Myth better than most other myths out there?  Absolutely.  Can believing in the American Myth make you a better Man or Woman?  I believe so.  But what I want to tell you is that it's a competing myth that steers our affections toward something and away from something else.

I want to emphasize that nobody told me to have this issue that I have.  Nobody sat down and taught me to turn my affections toward something other that Jesus.  The Greeks had Hercules and people thought it would be better for me to read about someone who actually existed and was an American.  I don't fault anyone but myself in this.

I worry that we, as a whole, are like the Israelites, who knew they were special to God and believed in that to save them from the wrath, and so they worshiped other gods, other heroes, other deities in high places rather than the One to whom they belonged.  I worry that we think we are so special that hearing preaching on "sin" grates on our ears even as Christians.  I worry that I've become so desensitized to the Bible through familiarity that I've cast my affections elsewhere because those new things are more tangible, relatable as quasi-politic-religious icons, and I cast my faith on the System and that politics will save us rather than His might, His power.

One of the most disturbing images I've ever seen has been whenever I see a Cross or Bible draped in a flag.  I never knew why it bothered me so much, but now I have an inkling.  It's been a long time since I've said the "Pledge of Allegiance" because it is swearing allegiance to a flag, an inanimate object.  Again, I wasn't sure why it bothered me so much, but now...

Pax,

W

My Struggle (On Political Rebellion)

Today I posted something on Facebook to help me deal with the part of scripture that I struggle with the most, Romans 13:1-7.

There are a LOT of scriptures that are difficult for me; things that call me towards Christ likeness yet cause my flesh to throw temper tantrums.  There are things that I recognize as true about the world that I don't want to be true.  And then there's Romans 13:1-7.

Deep in my heart there is a wall I've drawn around my principles and values.  Many of them are immovable as a result.  I will not budge on X, Y, or Z because I know these things to be true and if I violate them then I violate my soul.  There's a traitor in their midst.  I recognize the sovereignty of God and His scripture, his very words to us.  And so I have troubles.

Here it is:
Romans 13:1-5

Let everyone be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established.  The authorities that exist have been established by God.  Consequently, whoever rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgement on themselves.  For rulers hold no terror for those who do right, but for those who do wrong.  Do you want to be free from the fear of the one in authority?  Then do what is right and you will be commended.  For the one in authority is God's servant for your good.  But if you do wrong, be afraid, for rulers do not bear the sword for no reason.  They are God's servants, agents of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer.  Therefore it is necessary to submit to the authorities, not only because of punishment but also as a matter of conscience.

(6 and 7 are on taxes and what is owed people)

What does this mean to those under a cruel and oppressive government?  At what point are we, as Christians, allowed or permitted to rebel...violently?

The more I read of the Bible, the more I think that the Amish and Quakers may have the right of it.  In the face of abuse, intolerance, oppression, war, you do the good works that God has told you to do.  You do not respond with rebellion.  You give honor, respect, and anything asked of you even to a tyrant.

It grates against me.  I don't like it.  Even now as I write this there is rebellion in my heart to the concept.  It hurts, but I know that feeling for what it is.  It's a dark root that I have yet to pull out.

Look, I'm not telling you what to believe.  I don't necessarily have any answers.  I just coined on Facebook a saying I'm sure to repeat til my dying day.  "I don't have answers unless it's to questions regarding the random trivia in my head.  Other than that I have questions.  Lots of questions."  I would love for someone to come along and tell me why I'm wrong on this.

As I look at the scriptures, however, I don't see a single place (yet) that endorses rebellion against any form of government, tyrannical or not.  I think of the Old Testament where the Children of Israel are in bondage to Egypt.  I'm sure there were bloody uprisings every now and then because...well...they were humans.  Was a bloody uprising what freed them?  No.  It was in God's timing and God's way.  We've got the Medes, the Persians, the Babylonians who all come and dominate Israel.  God even has a prophet who tells the people, "Just accept it!  This is God's judgement!".  Were their bloody uprisings?  I'm sure there were..because...humans.  But, again, was that that what freed them?  Never.  It was in God's timing and God's way.

My mind naturally turns next to the Revolutionary War and, given Romans 13:1-7, were the revolutionaries right in overthrowing the British empire?  By God's standard, available for all to read, was it right?  The British King was in authority and they rebelled against that authority.  They rebelled against the authority God had established, because God establishes all authorities.  And I recognize that I'm taking the tack of many Loyalists at the time who felt that it was exactly that.  I value our American heritage and history more than most people realize.  Franklin, Jefferson, Washington, Henry, Hancock, Adams, so many of them are basically protestant versions of saints in my head, but I have to question this.  Are we better off?  Sure.  However, were we right biblically?

Jesus never preached rebellion and the Romans were significant oppressors at the time.  Within 20 years after his death, if I remember correctly, they destroyed the temple.  Constantly we are told to just do good, help the weak, the poor, the stranger, and the widow but never called to take up the sword.  Turn the other cheek, walk the extra mile, give a man who demands your cloak your outer garment as well, do as the Samaritan; all of these are references to doing good to an oppressor.  We are called to pray for and bless those in authority.  The Bible instructs us, if we are slaves, to not try to escape but work all the more diligently for our master as we would the Lord himself.

I'm conflicted and need opinions on this, especially those which are grounded in scripture.  It's easy to get off on "Well, surely God doesn't expect us to submit to THIS" and not deal with the call to submission itself.

I'm teachable.  I'm willing to hear even that which disagrees with me, in fact I welcome it.

Pax,

W

Full Belly, Lazy Heart

I have been in a funk lately, all full of discontent and disquiet.  Nothing has been making me happy and most of my mental moments have been self-centered whining and complaining.  I am sure I'm not the only one who encounters this, my relentless mental criticism of everyday things for a season.  I was quite suddenly aware that God didn't seem to be very close or making anything better in my life.

Last night was a particularly difficult struggle.  I slept for fifteen minutes and woke up fully aware and ready to go as if I'd slept eight hours.  For the next three hours I was tossing and turning, praying and complaining to God, wondering why He wasn't apparently available to ease my struggles.  No matter how much I kept telling myself the truth of the situations I was pissy about, no matter how many scriptures I brought to mind, no matter how much I begged and pleaded for Him to make everything better again, nothing worked.  I was in chaos, weakly fending off the volley of lies from the enemy.  Briefly I had the thought when things were at their worst that I should catch up on all the devotions i had been neglecting all week because of our family vacation.  Grumpily, and in Eeyore's unmistakable voice, I brushed the thought aside saying, "Well...if prayer isn't going to work I don't see why reading the Bible will change anything..."

This morning I woke up in very much the same mood.  Everything felt wrong.  I was without joy.  It didn't take much for mine Kinder to grate on what was apparently my last nerve like they had every day for the last week.  There was a huge list of things to do just to keep the apartment in a status that didn't invite vermin or disease.  Why was I bothering anyway?  Nobody appreciates it.  If I happened to disappear the kids would only notice because a snack or meal was late, and my wife would likely only notice because she didn't come home to "Guess what your (insert child) did today?  We've got to do something about him/her".  When was the last time I was happy?  When was the last time I felt appreciated?  And LORD why aren't you doing something about it?!?!

I sucked it up, manned up, bit the bullet, fed and washed the kids, loaded them up into the car, dropped the boy off at pre-school and begrudgingly agreed to take my daughter to our favorite cafe to do home school.  I didn't want to.  I couldn't think of a single reason why I should "reward" her with that.  Apparently that's what my parenting had boiled down to lately...transaction based.

She got her Italian Cream soda, I got my Hazelnut latte, and we broke out the books.  To my chagrin I noticed that we were not two days behind, but three days instead.  She started her Language sections and I opened my Bible.

I am convinced that there is this moment of anticipation that occurs, perhaps experienced by the Lord or perhaps the angels, when you've had a bad time and you finally reach for that Bible.  You open the cover, flip through the pages, maybe begrudgingly, maybe out of duty.

Today it was John 6, a familiar passage that I was almost petulantly skimming over.  I mean, it's the Feeding of the Five Thousand.  I have read it a bajillion times, seen the cartoon, had a t-shirt.  I stopped and forced myself to remember that it is the word of God so maybe I should give it the respect of actually reading each sentence.  I was mildly amused that there is a bit of a hidden miracle after the feeding and after Jesus walking on water.  Verse 21 says "Then they willingly received Him into the boat, and immediately the boat was at the land where they were going."  Yeah.  Not enough to feed 5k people and walk on water, He teleports the boat.

I read through how the 5k follow him to Capernaum already wanting to make Him a king the day before.  They find Him and oddly ask Him when He came there.  His response rang like a gong in my soul, in my situation.

"Most assuredly, I say to you, you seek Me, not because you saw the signs, but because you ate of the loaves and were filled."

I hurt.  I crumpled.  I repented.

So many times I want to believe I'm better and smarter than many of the people in the Bible.  I chuckle at Peter, shake my head at the Pharisees and yet each of them is a reflection of my own heart.  It is no less true of me and the 5k.

I want Him to be king because of the good stuff I'm going to get.  I am going to my stomach filled, my days full of lollipops and sunshine, and if I don't it is His fault.  I will go my own way, rate my sins on a scale so that I don't feel too guilty about the ones I enjoy, read his New Testament commands an decide whether I feel like it or not, do my devotions based on whether it's interesting or convenient and then act surprised when my mind is full of chaos and I can't seem to hear or feel the presence of the Lord.

In Nordic culture, in the time of Beowulf, the man who became king was the man who gave treasure away.  He was only beloved by his people so long as he kept giving them things.  If the gravy train ever stopped the people would find a new king.  I have to wonder if that is not an apt metaphor for how we in America tend to think of God.  It is clearly a trap I fall into.

Do I love the King or do I love the peace He gives me?  Do I love the King or do I love the joy?  Do I love the King or the fact that He answers my prayers?  Do I love the King because of what He has blessed me with or because of who He is?

Personally I would have to say that my reaction to adversity (Where's God?  Why hasn't He fixed this?) proclaims my oh so palsied heart.  With very many in my faith, I'm sure, I want to do whatever I have to in order to get the effect rather than falling in love with the cause.

As always, "I believe!  Lord, help my unbelief."

Pax,

W

Thomas, known as The Doubter...

Over the Easter holiday one of my greatest spiritual pet peeves came to the forefront.  Amidst all of the "He has risen"s and reflexive "He is risen indeed!"s, while Christians spoke of the joys of the resurrected life, and how wondrous the actual event must be, there was, as always, the maligning of a particular disciple of Jesus.

Thomas.  Thomas the doubter.  Doubting Thomas.

I mean, look at him over there, sulking in a corner, testy whenever anyone brings up the rumored resurrection.  Silly Thomas.  Puny in Faith Thomas.  What kind of disciple is he going to grow up to be if he can't even believe in the resurrection after the crucifixion.  If he'd just get that big brain out of the way he could experience so much joy.  Why was he one of the Twelve again if he wasn't going to believe in miraculous things?  I may not be a spiritual giant, but I'm sure no Doubting Thomas, amiright?

If you've spent some time with me over the course of this blog then you know that I have more than a little respect for Thomas the Apostle.  Though I am of a protestant bent, I claim him as my "patron saint".  Traditionally he is the patron saint of architects and an eastern country that we'll name in a bit.  He died on December 21st, in the year 72.

In my original version of this post I went down a list of the three times Thomas speaks up in the Gospel of John.  It was actually quite an academic approach...which is probably why I scrapped it.  I'm not much for the academic form and process.  I'm a story teller.  So lets skip the bits that set up my point that Thomas was the one guy in the room who was going to say what everyone was thinking.  You can find them.  Let's skip the bits that establish my point that of all the apostles he was probably the most intellectually honest.  You can do your own homework.  You're smart enough.  Let's skip that and get to the bit of the story that actually earned Thomas the title and made it an insult or at least a disparaging term among both Christians and non-Christians alike.

The week had been a big one so far.  From the triumphal entry, to the Last Supper, to the garden arrest, to the crucifixion, it was a lot to take in and process.  Imagine walking into Jerusalem, the Holy City where God met with the High Priest in the Holy Temple, with the crowds cheering for your teacher.  You couldn't help but get excited about what might be coming next.  The largest city in all of Israel, the capital, and you suddenly realize that your teacher and your fellow disciples apparently have the will of the people on your side.  Everyone is shouting for joy to God...well, everyone but the pharisees and saducees but you're not sure the last time you actually saw any of them do anything but scowl and murmur together trying to cook up some sort of trick question for your teacher.  The atmosphere would have been electric.  Anything could happen, even the overthrow of the pagan Roman occupiers.

Jesus routs the money changers and merchants from out of the temple.  Now the Roman's aren't the only ones who are going to get it in the new kingdom, so to is the corrupted Jewish system.  A full cleansing of Israel seems eminent.

The upper room is filled with candle light, Your teacher disrobes, grabs a towel and a basin, and begins to watch each of his student's feet.  It is a crazy juxtaposition, a upside down sense of duty and honor, so much so that it is not surprising that Peter initially refuses to allow it.  The master is above the servant, the teacher worthy of more honor above the student.  To Jesus it is the foundation of His Kingdom, He says, just how things are and work.  Later Jesus describes the inevitability of His death.  He has been on about his death for ages, but many of his students disregard it as crazy talk.  How can a King establish a Kingdom by dying?  It must be somewhere later down the road, or perhaps it's a symbolic death.  Kingdoms are upturned, and thrones usurped by a King's death, not established.

Then Judas is called out as a betrayer.  The teacher doesn't even act angry about the fact of his betrayal.  He even bids the man to go and do it rather than stop him.  But the meal continues.

In the garden is where the dream begins to die.  Heavily armed guards arrest the teacher, they take Him to where He is beaten and fraudulently accused of things He never did.  Fist shaped bruises blossom on His cheek, a white pair to teeth lay on the floor, their roots crimson against the dirt.  From there the teacher is taken from official to official, beaten by one, mocked by another, and that's when you begin to feel a creeping sense of dread.  First it was shock, now it has turned sour in your stomach.  The air is thick with it.  Days ago your ears shuddered at the sound of praises, more thunderously the people cry their curses.  The people are shouting for the innocent teacher's life to be sacrificed on the cross in the place of a murderous man.  It was a shock to hear that Peter denied the teacher, but now denial seems to be an option as your survival instinct kicks in, as the crowd turn uglier than you've ever seen it.  He is condemned to death.  In the minds of the people it is for insurrection and/or blasphemy.  It never fares much better for known associates of the condemned when it comes to insurrection, and you would be marked for life for blasphemy.

At the foot of the cross you hear the people mock Him.  They question why, if He is so holy and the Son of God, He doesn't just pull Himself off the cross.  You can't help but wonder that as well as you mourn what you are seeing.  You put all your proverbial chips on this number.  You saw miracles, healings, exorcisms, and now this?  Why wouldn't He be able to.  He dies, gives up His last breath.  The sky goes dark, a great earthquake hits and you thank God for the confusion as fear gives way to panic and you slip away.

They mourned for days, all together in one place.  Thomas wasn't immune to it.  The dream was over, whatever dream each disciple had in their hearts.  They were afraid, confused, and each of them questioning God I have no doubt.  They were being hunted by the Romans already, the rumor being that they wanted to make sure the Disciples didn't try and rob the grave.  The land was in a full blown panic over the teacher's death and the following signs.  The temple veil was torn as if by an invisible hand.  People walked out of their graves full of life again.  What did it all mean?  The temple veil was particularly troubling.  Rumors of all kinds flew.  Every hour someone brought them news.  In the morning was when the women returned to them telling them the tomb was empty, and there was an angel.  John and Peter took off like a shot to the tomb while the rest remained fretting and wondering what it could mean.  Was it the Romans?  The Temple Guard under the orders of the High Priest to cast shame and suspicion upon them?  John and Peter return with the same story.  The stone was rolled away, the cloths folded neatly.  One by one they begin to assume.  But not Thomas.

He wants it to be true, but no.  He wishes it could be true.  Jesus had raised the dead before, but...

"Thomas, come on, He said it Himself.  In three days He would rebuild,"

"I know what He said.  I was there.  He said the Temple."

"Then you know it's possible.  The body is a temple."

"There are a hundred things that are possible.  We don't know what happened.  The women didn't see, Peter and John didn't see what happened.  We don't know."

"Why won't you entertain it at least?"

"I do!  In my heart I want it to be true, but I can't say that it is true when I don't know it to be true."

"Come on, Thomas.  Just believe.  You're just sore because we saw Him and you didn't."

"No!" he chokes on his tears.  "I won't.  I won't believe until I touch the holes in his hands and put my hand in his side."

What picture do you have when you read the scene as Jesus appears in the room and invites Thomas to touch, and put his hand in the Lord's side?  Does Thomas just walk up dispassionately, objectively, and examines the wounds?  Does he ashamedly just ascent intellectually with a nod toward Jesus?

In my mind he is filled with holy fear as every possibility and impossibility coalesces into one reality for him.  His hear leaps into his throat as Jesus stands open armed welcoming his examination.  Jesus nods for him to go ahead and shaking Thomas makes the the rounds from hand, to hand, to His side.

A remarkable thing happens to Thomas.  Peter declared that Jesus was the Son of God.  Thomas, however, dropped to his knees and said, "My Lord and my God".  That's huge.  A Jewish man declared that Jesus was Lord and God...one and the same...the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob there before him.  It is easy to assume that he was "late to the party" with this realization, but there is no indication that anyone else had made that connection.

Further remarkable things happen to Thomas.  This "lesser disciple", as some treat him, went farther with the Gospel than any other.  This doubter took the largest leap of faith, leaving behind culture, language, civilization, and every point of familiarity to follow the spirit's leading to India where he established at least 15 churches and what would become "the Oriental Orthodox Church".  I can only imagine the shock it must have been for the English missionaries to come and find people who already knew the Gospel as a result of already being "Saint Thomas Christians".

In my mind Thomas was a man who was extremely honest about himself and what he believed.  I think his "doubt" was very much that of a grieving man who wanted to believe, but whose heart was broken.  He wasn't going to admit what he had not seen and experienced.  Perhaps it is a bit of pride in me, but I believe he and I would get along very well, kindred spirits cut from the same cloth, constantly assessing, reassessing, and questioning what we think we know in order to be sure we are grounded in the Truth.  There is no shame in that, not character flaw to be mocked.  Perhaps others are more blessed because they believe immediately.  Peter may have been the "Rock", but given how far Thomas went and what he achieved I'd say he was certainly "sure footed".

Pax,

P

End of Lent Reflections

Why do Lent?  Why fast from anything for any amount of time?  What does it mean?  What's the point?

In modern times fasting is fairly unique and extremely so as a form of worship.  Even after completing these 40 days of Lent I find myself still somewhat confused about what fasting is and why we do it. What I do know for sure is that in this modern world where the distance between desire and satisfaction is minuscule, doing without what you want for an extended period of time is almost a revolutionary act.

I haven't had any need to justify fasting to anyone by virtue of my stay-at-home-husband status.  Basically the only explanation needed was to my candy and dessert obsessed daughter.  I can imagine how it would be in public however.  People notice things and would certainly notice my rejecting sodas and sweets.  I have often wondered how I would react if questioned.  Mostly I see myself shrugging and declaring it a religious thing with some measure of resignation.  I wouldn't have a real answer.  Experience has taught me that in giving up what I desire, what has been an addiction, something that on some level has controlled me, brings me not closer to God so much as it gives me more of my self to turn over to his control.

One of the things I've discovered as a result of this process that happens to be entirely non spiritual is that sugar had been affecting my health.  Well, duh, the health conscious among my audience are probably saying.  I can practically hear the forehead slaps and semi patronizing good for you even now as this is in the first draft.

I have lived with pretty much daily acid reflux/indigestion, or whatever people call it, for years.  It was only through Lent that I realized it wasn't caused by coffee or spicy food but, instead, sugar.  At this realization I did a very small experimentation.  Processed sugar was right out.  Even in very small amounts it caused the acid.  Sugar in the raw at the same amount caused the same reaction but it took much, much longer to hit.  The only safe thing was honey.  Zero reaction.  This will bring quite the change for my life.  I'm fairly certain PepsiCo stock will fall, so if you are invested...brace yourself.

It is easy to look at things as having an inescapable hold on us.  I spent years thinking that giving up Facebook was too big; bigger even than when I quit smoking cold turkey.  So many people have told me how they just can't do it, that somehow my success is a super human anomaly.  It really isn't.  It feels that way, to be sure, but it doesn't take a super human will.

I've learned a few principles that are so fundamental to human existence that I feel embarrassingly late to the party.  Mainly I've learned that nothing has real power over me that I haven't willingly given that power to.  I can make decades of excuses about how helpless I am, and without Jesus I'm sure it is true.  I give away power with my choices.  This has rung true so completely in me that I'm actually looking forward to next year when I'm likely to give up digital media of all sorts for 40 days.

I know, right?  Nothing.  No Netflix.  No Playstation.  No movies.  No T.V. Shows.  Just me and a lot of time spent doing analog things.  Giving up Facebook earlier in the year has created so much peace within me...I'm kind of wondering how much more of that there is to be had.  How much do these distractions affect us?  Would I be better off that way?  It is only because of this Lent that it could be possible for me to even consider attempting.

Pax,

W

On Lent: Ungrateful on Good Friday

One of the amazing things about the Bible is that if you read it long enough, eventually you will see yourself.  It's not like the "Iliad" or the "Odyssey" where you will see great heroes you want to be like, a goal to aspire to.  No.  In the Bible you'll see yourself warts and all.

Maybe you recognize yourself in Peter's bull in a china closet sort of brash loyalty and good intentions.  Perhaps it is in Thomas' doubt.  For some, and I feel echoes of this in my soul as well, it is in the father's desperate cry for his child to be healed where he declares, "I believe!" and then follows it up with equally desperate honest with, "Help my unbelief".  I wish that I saw myself in Lazarus' sister Mary who happily sits at the master's feet.

Unfortunately I most clearly find myself in the parable of the ungrateful servant.  I reference it regularly in both real life and blog posts.  Man owes the king say $500,000.  He begs and pleads for forgiveness.  King wipes the debt clean.  Man sees a fellow servant who owes him $10 and he drags him to court to get him thrown into prison.  King takes the first man, condemns him for not being grateful and showing the same kind of forgiveness the king showed him to someone who owed way less, weeping, gnashing of teeth, etc ensues.  As a result, in my personal Lent reflections I've been focused on gratitude.

I'm not one of those people who was saved from a life of prostitution, drugs, etc.  I am an average joe who grew up in the church, fell away for a bit but nothing major, and came back.  I'm kind of a super minor prodigal son.  So many people are impressed by those testimonies of being saved from massive darkness, they praise God and rejoice that someone was once saved from so much.  I remember many times, hearing those testimonies and actually feeling somehow inadequate.  Of course, that comes from a basic misunderstanding of the situation.  If you asked those individuals with the Super Testimonies (tm) they'd be the first to tell you that they wish they had my testimony rather than walk through a personal hell.

I've mentioned it before, but the most massive revelation of the past year in my spiritual walk has been from Dr. Charles Stanley, who once said that God didn't send Jesus to save us from what we've done, the sins we've committed.  God sent Jesus to save us from what we are.

We'd like to believe that we need Jesus because we at one or many points in time committed this sin, that sin, and violated the laws of God.  Those sins are just the symptom, and a good physician never just treats the symptom.  At our core, because of Adam and Eve's transgression in the Garden, we were fundamentally altered.  That act made it so that we weren't just capable of sin, but we would inevitably sin.  It is in our heart, our nature, our spiritual DNA.  It doesn't excuse us, of course, but that is why we need God, need Jesus, need His Holy Spirit, because we are incapable.  To say that the sins we commit are the problem is like saying that someone riddled with cancer's problem is the dramatic weight loss, hair falling out, blood in the stool, and lack of appetite.  No.  It's the faulty cells inside the body that are replicating the DNA incorrectly.  If it was just our actions then we wouldn't need to be conformed to the image/mind of Jesus.  We'd just need to be conformed to His actions, and the Pharisees, as much crap as we tend to talk about them, were already doing that.  Their externals were white, the internals full of rotting flesh and dead men's bones.

That is where I find myself struggling most of the time.  It isn't my externals that need altering, although there are things that are beneficial to do and not do.  The issue is now and forever my internals...and that, without Jesus, is impossible to alter.  I say I struggle, but really it has lately been more surrender.  "I believe; Help my unbelief" resounds through my soul at the same frequent desperation as Brother Lawrence's "If You do not change me, how can I do otherwise?".

It is a hard fact that you can do nothing about it.  It is a hard fact that you can do nothing about it.

I was watching my kids the other day.  My daughter has been having a rough time of it lately.  She's at some sort of snotty "tween" stage that just grates on my nerves.  It's too early for her to be acting like I'm as much of an idiot as she thinks I am.  If any other adult tells her something it is like some enlightened revelation, but if I tell her she scoffs and does it her own way.  She isn't showing much respect for me or her mother and I refuse to let her treat us like that.

The thing that keeps grinding my gears is how ungrateful she is.  I mean, honestly, never mind that we gave her life, but there is the food, lodging, clothing, tv, computer, education, vacations, etc.  We give her so much and she snots me off?  Treats me like I'm an idiot when I show her how to do something?  Tell her how best to go about her life?  I mean, I'm only 38 and she's 9.  How much more life experience do I have?  Psht...

And that's when I heard some sort of deep, bass level, spiritual bell ding in my soul.  Jesus is so faithful at ringing that thing.  My perspective shifted.  I heard Him clear His throat and I saw my own inconsistency, my own lack of gratitude, my own insistence that God is an idiot (though I never phrase it that way when I'm about to do the thing), my own snottiness.

I felt guilty.  I felt condemnation.  I felt gutted by my own behavior.

Normally I would have wallowed in all of that, slipped into a spiritual depression (it's comfy there...), and been all "Woe is me", for a few days.  I stepped a toe in there and then felt something different than my usual penitent slump.  It was so weird.  I felt loved.  It was like He came up behind me, turned my face away from my actions and just hugged me, loved on me for a while.  I didn't have to feel horrible.  And the reason why is hard to explain, but I'll try through the medium of my parent child relationship.

My daughter we always be ungrateful on some level, because she can't know all that we have done for her.  She can't know how Papa has struggled to teach her, how much Papa has prayed, and cried, and changed himself to be better for her.  She can't know how much time and Papa has spent just doing the laundry, dishes, bathroom scrubbing, floor scrubbing, cooking, etc all for her.  There is no way for her to comprehend how much her Mama works and struggles to provide good things for her.  Even when she has her own children and does the same for them she will only have an inkling of an idea because we'll be 20 years ahead.

We are ungrateful and always be ungrateful on some level because of the magnitude of what Jesus has done for us, for what the Father has done for us, and what the Holy Spirit has done for us.  He has spent many thousands of years from the foundation of the Earth and untold years before the foundation of the Earth doing for us.  When I think of that I get the same feeling I imagine I would have scuba diving and a blue whale swam up next to me.  Fear.  Not a fear for my life, but that natural fear and respect for something so massive we barely register on it's scale.  It is just so huge.  We can't comprehend it now and I doubt we'll be able to comprehend it on the other side, not fully.

He deserves so much more gratitude, so much more praise, so much more of my life because of what He has done.  And every time I meditate on that I feel something like Him replying with a smile, "I know.  Hey, let's go for a walk."

From the Garden, to Enoch, to us...His desire hasn't much changed, has it?

Pax,

W

On Lent: Palm Sunday

It has been an interesting past few days here, going though Lent.  In many ways I feel like this is the week I've been waiting for, and not because Resurrection Sunday comes and I'll be able to have sugar.  On the contrary, in these final few days the personal spiritual revelations have started coming that I expected.  There is a certain maturity that comes in giving up something you hold dear, something that controls you or at least moves you.  One or two weeks without that thing is a fad or a lark.  The third week tests your resolve.  The fourth week tests your reasons, and if you get beyond that there really is quite something to be learned about yourself.

I'm starting to see the Sunday School haze fall away from my eyes more rapidly.  Like many I grew up attending Sunday School in the morning and then Children's Church after worship service.  Now, I respect the people who do such things and make those programs available.  I don't mean to criticize them, but things get lost in the translation.  Whether it was my wholly owned ignorance that is being exposed to the light of day or their desire to make good "behavioral lessons" out of common Bible tales I'm not certain.

For instance, it just occurred to me today that Luke, the doctor and gospel writer, wasn't one of the 12 Disciples.  For that matter fellow gospel writer Mark wasn't either.  Luke was likely Greek, never met the Lord in person and began as a pupil of Paul.  Odds are he was a gentile.  Mark, it is believed, was one of the outer disciples and tradition holds that he was one who departed when Jesus declared that in order to follow Him one had to drink of his blood and eat of his flesh.  Superficial, some of the most learned among my readership might suppose, but it alters how one sees the things in front of him.  The words and impact of their gospels are still the same, there's just a little something different in the perception.

This last week I was reading in Luke where Jesus tells about the wise man who built his house upon the rock an the foolish man who built his house upon the sand (Luke 6:48).  And the rains came down, and the floods came up, (you may be singing along now...) and the foolish man's house went SPLAT!  When we were little we knew that song was about Christians and Non-Christians.  Oh, look at those foolish non-Christians building there lives on hedonism, humanism, evolution.  It's only on the rock of Jesus and his principals, doing things his way, that we can expect to live stable, secure lives.

I grew up, went to college, started a family and for a long time it was very rare that I ever felt stable and secure.  Heck, I didn't even know anyone who said they felt stable and secure.  So, the old wise man foolish man parable must be wrong, right?  I'm a Christian, this shouldn't be how I feel, right?  I said the prayer, I did the getting dunked in water thing.  So how can I feel this way?

There are whole sections in Christian book stores about how to feel good about yourself, how you're a winner and an overcomer, how you should just change your perception and you'll have self esteem just because you did the prayer and the water dunky thingy.  I've always had a natural aversion to those sort of books because they feel...sickeningly sweet, like drinking soda syrup straight.  (What?  Oh, like I'm the only one who has ever...OK...maybe I am...snorted pixie sticks?  Anyone?)  I can't take the perma-grins of the authors on the cover, their wide mouthed, way too reassuring smiles highlighted with unnaturally white teeth. (If you hear laughter as you read that part it's probably my sister.  She knows exactly who I'm talking about there).  The whole thing of "think positive, that's all you need" has always seemed counter-intuitive to the gospel...and now I know why...well...OK...I have a better understanding.

The wise man and foolish man of Luke's 6th chapter has nothing to do with non-believers, but rather everything to do with believers.  Look at verse 46 : "Why do you call Me, 'Lord, Lord," and do not do what I say?..." and then He launches in to the parable.  It is those who call Him, "Lord, Lord,", those who proclaim Him as their teacher or, more appropriately, Master (according to the Greek) and yet don't do what He says to do.  That would be like me learning under chef's in culinary school, telling everyone how proud I am to be learning under them, attending daily classes, then decide I know better than them how to make a souffle, and just start guessing at what goes in it.  What's going to happen?  It might be barely edible but it's not a souffle.  Why call him Lord, Lord if you aren't going to do things as he says to do them?  Why waste the time if you aren't going to follow him and make up your own life recipe?

Now, I can't and won't judge you, but I'm more than happy to judge myself.

Until about a year ago I was doing the same thing.  Well, that's not completely accurate.  It is probably best to say that I have spent the past six years going through a process that has gradually brought me more in line with Jesus as my true Master that became very obvious within the past year or so.

In the past year I've gone on a self induced/guided journey through the New Testament chapter by chapter wondering what the "commandments" of the New Testament are.  I know the word "commandments" freaks us people of God's Grace out a bit, but they are actually there.  "Do this.  Don't do this," can be found in every book of the New Testament and yet we ignore them.  Let's just take this classic, "Let there be no divisions among you," from twice in 1 Corinthians.  In our modern times many people find identity in their divisions with other denominations.  "But, come on, that's Paul.  That's his opinion."  Jesus' words are even harder, "Be anxious for nothing,".  That's it.  Don't do it.  What is the antidote?  Prayer.  Making your requests known to God.

So, long story short, I started to do the things Jesus and the Apostles said to do.  Then, and only then, was when I started to feel peace and stability.  When I reject divisions among the Body of Christ then it follows that chaos within my life at church will be minimized.  When I squash pride and foolish talk (yes, the last one is an eternal work in progress) then my relationships are protected and enhanced.  When I refuse to be anxious about something and instead give it to the Lord and leave it there, naturally I will have peace.  When I choose to study His word and be in regular contact through prayer then, surprise, I feel not only stability but His presence.

This morning I got all dressed up to attend my church's Palm Sunday service.  It was a little bittersweet in a few ways.  I wore one of my Hawaiian style button up shirts to the service because that's about as dressy as I get.  The church doesn't quite feel like home yet.  I was reminded of this because I know if I was at my home church more than one, at the VERY least the pastor, would have commented on how appropriate my shirt was because..ya know...Palm Sunday, palm trees on the shirt.

For the entire season of Lent the question that the Reverend has been asking as our theme is: "What does it mean to be a faithful follower of Jesus Christ?"  I find that I'm not alone in my preference of over-intellectualizing that question.  When it comes down to it, it is not calling Him "Lord, Lord".  It is all to do with doing the things He tells us to do...even if it means loving your enemies...which...I'm glad I get along with a lot of people because that one's rough.

Pax,

W

On Lent: An Update

The sugar addiction fog has cleared a bit, praise Jesus.  Literally.  I have.  

It is amazing how we cling to things.  I have marveled at my own inability to let go.  When Paul talks about beating his flesh into submission in 1 Corinthians 9, he ain't joking.  It is insanely difficult to just give up sugar let alone the pet sins in our lives.  

I find that Lent can be a master class in letting these things go.  You get to the end of yourself and have to rely on God because there is no more of yourself to rely on.  If it was up to me I'd have that maple bar.  I'd dig deep into that creme brulee or indulge in my greatest temptation...Pepsi.  

I had a really big moment in my Lenten journey.  It might sound like I am making an excuse or being a bit of a hypocrite, and I considered that.  But something changed in me.  I was at my favorite coffee shop (seriously, the best latte I've ever had and it was without a flavored syrup) and the owner recognized me from a Google review I put online.  Without a word he came over and put a personal sized (not full slice) blackberry cheesecake in front of me.  I said, "Wow" and thanked him.  It sat there for a few minutes while I kept writing my new novel.  I looked from my laptop screen to the cheesecake and I realized that there was a complete absence of compulsion.  My mouth didn't salivate.  I didn't feel any longing or like if I pushed it away, said no thank you or something, that I would have missed out.  It was just a thing.  Just a piece of food.  And if you've seen me, I'm 291 pounds (down from 298 on Ash Wednesday, woohoo).  I'm a man who has eaten his fair share of cheese cake, cheese, and cake.  Not feeling anything was kind of a big deal.  

The man, I knew from overhearing a conversation from last time, is an artisan.  He makes 98% of the menu on site.  "Everything but the coffee beans, and we don't churn the butter," he said with a laugh.  I'm not an artisan, but I am a professionally trained cook and when I present somebody with something I've worked on, and am proud of and they refuse it hurts.  A lot.  He takes great pride in his work, and I realized (again, as much of an excuse as it sounds like) that it was about doing something to not offend.  Paul, of course, talks about this in being a Jew to the Jewish, Greek to the Greek, etc.  Was it a sin to partake during Lent?  If I was Catholic enough I might say that, but I'm not.  Grace is extreme and I wasn't violating the actual purpose of Lent in my heart.  Had it been earlier when I was really struggling I might have said something, but no.  Had I eaten the cheesecake and then felt horrible about it then maybe I would have written a different post.  And this is where the analogy of our little addictions being the same as sins breaks down.  It's instructive, illustrative in fact, but not equal to.  It was enough that during the first two weeks of Lent the Lord broke a major stronghold and after ingesting the artisan, hand crafted, blackberry cheesecake the craving was still not there.  At least not in the sanity clawing, soul shredding intensity it was before.

On the interesting but not necessarily spiritually relevant side, I have spent years suffering from acid reflux type symptoms.  For ages it did not matter if I ate acidic stuff or not, I would be popping the antacids.  At first it was kind of a "Huh...I wonder if sugar is responsible..." and then I ate the cheesecake.  The evening and all the next morning I had such acid attacks.  I am pretty certain I will not going back to sugar anymore after Lent is finished.  It will mean no diabetes, which I'm sure has been a concern of a few family and close friends.  

Pax,

W

On Lent: The Greatest Commandments

If Lent is a season in which we are called to consider "What is it mean to be a faithful disciple of Jesus" then we must consider, at some point, the Greatest Commandment.

1. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength.

According to Jesus, in multiple Gospels though I'm in Mark 12 for this one, the second is like it.

2. Love your neighbor as yourself.

Anyone with a Sunday School grade level can recite that from rote memory, but when it comes to understanding it...at least in my case, not so much.

How in the world is loving my neighbor in the same manner as I love myself anywhere CLOSE to loving God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength?  It's something that I take on Faith (with a capital F, please note, which indicates the concept is too large for me to get a grapple on at the moment) because I don't understand it.  Feel free to comment down below and help me wrestle with it.

Taking it on Faith I tackle the more manageable second one.  And I've been crap at it.  I used to suffer from a fairly significant Social Anxiety.  I wouldn't dare call it "severe" merely because I have no basis for comparison.  It wasn't Anxiety in the way I think most people feel anxiety, which is a physical response with no corresponding logic to it.  Again, I haven't studied anxiety, so if I'm incorrect feel free to correct me in the comments below.  I've always had fairly logical reasons for my anxiety, or so I've believed.

When I meet a person I always have a certain amount of awkwardness because I recognize that I'm nothing to whoever I meet.  I'm a face without a name until I'm introduced, and who the heck am I to assume anything let alone that I have a right to their time let alone their consideration?  Sometimes I feel the same way about my blogs, but I figure you can just close them if you don't want them and be on your merry way.  I tend to feel that I don't even have a right to introduce myself to someone, and when others have introduced me I have felt like that was some sort of an imposition.  But, usually once a conversation begins even then I'm at a loss.  I'm not a very small talk type person.  I've never been able to pull off the "Oh...so, uh...are you originally from here?" type conversation.  It's awkward, I sound awkward, and it feels like I'm really not interested, struggling for something so the other person who started talking to me doesn't feel rejected.  And it sounds like that because I really feel that way.  If I could skip the awkward "getting to know you" bit and launch into the in depth struggling with our human and spiritual selves philosophical sort of conversation I would.  That's the territory I feel the most at home in.  But this, "Oh gee...that Nor'easter we got the other day...what did ya think of that?" is painful.  Then you search around trying to find something in common and people always go to Sports.  I know why they go to sports...but I am not a sports guy.  Even in my favorite sport of Soccer I don't much like talking about it.  And that's why I wear Fandom shirts.

Fandom shirts (currently wearing my Doctor Who shirt with the glow-in-the-dark Weeping Angels) let me bypass all of that...generally.  One of the Small Group studies I went to I spent 8 agonizing weeks going wearing a different shirt and got no bites.  It was a couples thing with the guys but me were all swollen armed "Guys Guys", talking manliness, outdoors, trucks, and the like.  I wore Doctor Who shirts, Sherlock shirts, video game shirts, and in a last ditch (and perennially futile effort) I wore an Edgar Allen Poe shirt with a quote from "The Murders of the Rue Morgue" and one of the ladies there said the quote sounded romantic.

I'm just not a "reacher-out-er".  I figure that if we are meant to be friends then it's going to happen, and even THEN I have anxiety.  My past is a long history of thinking that each friendship is actually more important to the other person than it actually ends up being.  And that hurts.  I was friends for two years with someone and our wives were good friends.  It's such a trite story where the friend holds a party...I didn't get an invite...then one of the other friends casually remarks that "Yeah, it was a great party.  All his friends were there." and I realize that I've been just an acquaintance all this time and I thought I was a friend.  It has happened in more instances than I can actually count on my hands, fingers and toes.  And it hurts.  It hurts a lot.  It doesn't just cut, it shreds.  That shredding makes a person more than a little gun shy when it comes to forging friendships and putting yourself out there.  I've been fortunate to have one person in my life who is such a good friend that when we meet up it's like we never parted (even when it was ten years apart) or I would give up on the whole "having friends thing".

All that to say that I have anxiety because I've been damaged, not some chemical imbalance...which would be far worse I agree.

And, all that to get back to what I realized about our second greatest commandment.

"Oh well...get out there anyway."

Satori is a Zen concept that indicates a sudden realization that feels like getting smacked upside the head with a brick spiritually.  I had that.

Loving your neighbor is about loving whoever happens to be next to you at the time.  Loving him/her as yourself means treating them precisely how you would want to be treated.  For me, that means getting over my anxiety so that I can welcome them into my life as warmly and completely as I would actually want to be on the receiving end of.  I need to be treating whoever I meet with precisely the same love and care as my one completely steadfast friend did when they met me.  Yes, I've been hurt.  Yes, I have anxiety to deal with.  However, I'm in danger of turning into exactly what hurt me.  If I hold my hurt I'll make it awkward for others, I'll love at a distance, I'll not invite someone, etc.  The only way to not become what hurt me to someone else is to let go, rely on Jesus to do what He has commanded, and love with His love.  It's scary, but I'm pretty sure He can accomplish it in me when He has already commanded it of me.

It may seem a little thing now that I've pushed it outside of myself for you to see, but I'm a bit bigger on the inside for the realization.

Pax,

W

On Lent : Plucking out an eye...

I remember the first time I heard someone explain the very colorful passage where Jesus declares that if your eye offends/causes you to sin then gouge it out (Matt 5:29 and then again in Matt 18:9.  My father had a friend from work over to dinner and he knew we were Christians.  The man was "Christ Curious" and asked my dad what the passage meant.  Was Jesus serious?  If so, my dad's friend related, he'd be a blind, mute, paraplegic before the week was through.   I laughed heartily, but it stuck with me.  It is such a vivid image.  My father went on to explain it was, naturally, Jesus being hyperbolic to establish how seriously God takes sin and, by extension, how seriously we should treat sin.

This Saturday (Hurrah for Saturday Evening church) our Pastor's homily/sermon (Is it "homily" in Presbyterian circles?  I know it can be for Catholics...bah...) was on the basics of what Lent is all about.  He said, "Lent forces us to ask the question, 'What does it mean to be a disciple of Jesus Christ?'".  The text was from Mark 8 where Jesus declares his own impending death.  Peter takes Jesus aside and rebukes him for saying he's going to die.  (Seriously...Peter rebuking Jesus...whew...) Jesus turns around and rebukes Peter by calling him Satan.  Seriously.  He calls him Satan.  And then he makes a statement that, because of the multi-millenia distance, sounds innocuous to us.

"Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me."

Let that sink in.  Let that REALLY sink in.  Forget that we wear crosses as jewelry.  Forget every time you've seen them in the sanctuary of your local church.  Forget that you know the end of each gospel.  What is a cross?  What was a cross to them?

It was a horribly unclean implement of torture used upon criminals originated in its use by an oppressive gentile regime.

Pick up my cross?  Really Jesus?  What the heck are you talking about?  I'm not condemned to die.  I'm not an unclean law breaker.  Did you eat some bad Matzo or something?  You're talking crazy, dude.  Maybe you should take a nap and we'll clarify that later.  Let's get you out of the sun there, Mister Messiah, OK?

If they could see us from then to now and saw the representation of the cross in our churches, around our necks, tattooed on our arms, on our Bibles, as decals on our vehicles, I'm fairly certain they would throw up in their mouths a little.  It was that repulsive to them.  We're talking on the order of when Jesus declared that if they wanted to be saved then they needed to eat his flesh and drink his blood.  It cost him a lot of disciples.

This was, of course, Jesus speaking outside of time already knowing what was to come.  But what is the cross we are called to carry?

It is not the things we give up for Lent.  As difficult as that is, and the sugar cravings are pretty darn bad over here, it is not our "cross".  Difficulties, disease, pain, problematic relationships, etc...I don't think that these are "the cross we have to bear".  Sure, they are less than pleasant to go through, but I think there is a bigger meaning here.

I like how The Voice puts it, "If any of you wants to follow Me, you will have to give yourself up to God's plan..."

HIS plan no matter what it is, the cost, or what might happen as a result.  Can you trust God's plan to death?  I find it to be pretty easy to say, "Yes.  In a renounce Jesus or die situation I would choose death."  It is harder when you add torture to the mix.  If you add public humiliation and shaming to it then I'm even less likely to be OK with the divine plan.  How about working for no visible result and still putting in the time day after day?  I often ask people, "What if God's "great and mighty" plan for you is to be a janitor?  Or a stay at home parent?  What if it's to work your 9-5 with no recognition?  Would you deny yourself and give your all for His will?"  I'm always surprised how many people discount that possibility.  They brush it aside with some personal assurance that whatever God has for them is FAR more glorious than something so petty or humble...forgetting, of course, that the least will be greatest and the last first in Jesus' upside down rule that declares us all to be servants and subservient to one another.

A cross, at least in my eyes, matches Jesus' path.  "I really would rather not have to suffer living through to this plan you have set before me...but, nevertheless, Your will be done."

The things we give up for Lent, I'm realizing, has more to do with the eye-gouging.  What I give up offends me, is bad for me, is going to ultimately kill me or my relationship to God.  I'm startlingly aware of why Jesus refers to these things in our life that offend as "body parts".  We love them like they are.  We take our sins or other negative behaviors and we clutch them to our chest, both disgusted by them yet very unwilling to give them up.  I'm shocked at how much giving up something as simple and relatively innocent as sugar is quite like losing a limb.  It becomes something of a metaphor for my "innocent" sins.  Jesus is calling saying, "Cut it off.  It's bad for you.  Trust me.  Pluck it out.  You don't need it.  It can only weigh you down.  Make the clean break."  Usually I find myself begging, "I only just want to keep it a little longer.  Just a LITTLE bit longer.  The littlest bit.  Come on.  Please?"  It's a self serving lie, of course.  He does know best.

I say to myself more than anyone else, "Let go.  Give it up.  Trust Him.  The Father knows best."

Pax,

W

Ash Wednesday

My family has recently begun attending the local Presbyterian "Mega Church" as I call it.  (Seriously, it's the biggest Presbyterian church I've ever seen.  It doesn't seat thousands but it does have three services).  The church we had been attending decided to move twenty minutes away so we'd been churchless for a while.  The Presbyterian church is where we've sent our kids to AWANA so we had a pretty good feel of the people or at least the place so social anxiety was minimal.  I had some other qualifications I felt I needed in a church (I can't remember if I've written about that.  I'll have to look.  That was an...interesting...process...) and the Presby satisfied them all.  We started attending the Saturday evening service which, let me tell you, is a great thing for a church to have.

Anyway, the point is that, as my wife states, Presby is kind of like Catholic light...all the ritual without the Latin, the guilt, and they let the leaders be married.  I'm not sure that's an official description, but suffice to say they celebrate things like Ash Wednesday.

I'd never been to an Ash Wednesday service before given that I had the typical FEC sensibilities of "It ain't in the Bible, so we ain't doin' it".  Maybe it's my age creeping up on me and sentimentality creeping in, but I felt like I really wanted to go and experience it.  I'd done Lent before and was committed to doing it again this year by giving up sugar.  Well, sugar in overt forms.  I know bread has some sugar in it as do fruits but I'm not giving them up.  The sugar in my coffee, cookies, candy, soda, etc. however are verboten.  It's the indulgences I'm limiting.  (Day two is going on right now for me and...the withdrawals are pretty bad right now.  My body is less than happy with me.)

There was a soup and bread meal before the service that we also attended in order that we might get to know the congregation a little better.  I say "might" because I'm a little strange when it comes to meeting people.  My wife is the more daring one when it comes to conversation.  I'm always busy thinking, double thinking, and triple thinking what I'm going to say, how it will be received, how they might respond, and by the time that process is over I start wondering if the length of time I've spent thinking it through has been too long so as to make it not just awkward but super awkward.  It's a vicious cycle.

The time came and we all filed into the sizeable sanctuary which filled up very quickly.  That was probably my first shock.  At all the churches I've been a part of before it was hit or miss that even a quarter of the congregation showed up for an event that wasn't on Sunday morning.

My nine year old daughter nudged me a bit and asked me where the ashes were and if they actually were the burned palm branches from last palm Sunday.  My little nerdling had researched it before we left the house.  I replied that I didn't know and that wasn't necessarily a for sure thing.  She then asked what it was all about.  Apparently the things she retained from her research were more along the lines of interesting trivia.
I explained about ashes as a symbol of mourning and how we come to Lent as a recognition of our sins; that our sins have offended God, that we are from dust and to dust we will return.

She asked if she had to get that stuff on her forehead if she went up and I assured her that it's only for the will, completely voluntary.  My daughter gave a confession of faith in Jesus last year and still hadn't even gone forward for her first communion so I didn't expect that she would even entertain the idea

One of the things people in FEC circles get hung up on connected to Ash Wednesday and, by extension, Lent is the focus on the "sin" component.  I was struck by this when my sister had called me earlier in the day to relate her experience attending the event at a Catholic church.  The priest apparently went on about our sin, how sinful we are, how it offends God, and so on until she had to leave.  Naturally my Smart Ass (tm) reply was, "Did you check the denomination before you went through the door" and she said yes, of course but...what about Grace?  Naturally my brain kicked into overdrive and started obsessing on the differences.  I came to a few conclusions and notions.

It was best said by the pastor at the Presby service that night.  He said that we cannot understand the full value of that grace until we understand the depths of our depravity and the offensiveness of our sin.

Jesus' sacrifice has little value to those who don't think they did much of anything wrong in the first place.  Amazing Grace is only such a sweet song when we realize we are a wretch.  I look reflect and find that I can easily live my life thinking that my sins are minor things because I'm keeping the Big Ten with little to no problem.  I'm really not bowing down at idols, disrespecting my parents in word or deed, haven't come close to murdering, and I can't even remember the last time I coveted my neighbor's donkey.  But God says my heart is corrupt and full of deceit.  I sin.  I sin all the time.  Not a day goes by that I do not sin.  It's a modern numbing that tells me "Oh, well, ya know He's going to forgive you so shrug it off and don't give it a second thought."  Just because I know that the Judge with find me innocent doesn't mean that I should feel nothing when finding that I've committed a crime.  Should I feel condemned?  No.  However, should I feel nothing?  Sin is a cancer and there's not a cancer patient in this world that hears the diagnosis and goes, "Oh, sure.  Ok, Doc.  Thanks," with a casual air like I can tend to do with my sins.

After an invocation prayer they had someone play and sing Phil Wickham's song Mercy and I nearly wept in my pew.  We forget that we need mercy.  It's so easy to fall prey to Behavioral Christianity that believes Grace covers everything so don't think on it or let it prick your conscience.  We become quite happily numb to our wretchedness.  I'm not at all saying that we should consider, as I was told as a child, that every sin we commit is another thorn in the brow or a twist of the nail in Jesus' hand.  But it does us well to remember on occasion lest we become like the Ungrateful Servant.

Ash Wednesday is a reminder that our sins have offended God.  Lent is all about giving up our little idols, our comforts, and mourning that we tend to lavish them with more adoration and attention than we do the Jesus who saved us.  In the end we are our own idols, as it turns out.  The things we give up seem to make room for us to hold on to more of the LORD.

I had prepped for the occasion.  I wasn't about to be caught off guard again by the Non-FEC style communion where they actually say things to you. "This is the body of Christ broken for you." "Uh....thank you?" (Direct quote from our first visit).  I wondered if they would go with the oh so Catholic, "Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return." or the slightly more modernly palatable, "Repent and believe the gospel."

The pastor looked into my eyes and said, "Dust you are and to dust you shall return.  Repent, believe the gospel and follow after Jesus."

For the second time that evening I nearly lost it.

I don't believe that there is a power inherent in the rituals themselves.  It would be easy to confuse the issue there.  I had always seen the rituals as empty expressions without power and meaning.  I was likely half right.  They are without power.  However I do believe that when we use them to draw nigh unto the LORD he is faithful to show up and draw night unto us.  Just going through the motions without a fully engage heart is not enough.  Believe that the ritual has any power in and of itself is not enough.  It's such a fine hair's breadth line that it can be difficult to put into language.

God showed up for me there, that is for sure, just like He has faithfully shown up in my "ritual" of praying three times a day, and reading my Bible first thing in the morning.

Something snagged my attention out of the corner of my eye.  The pastor was rising from a bent position and I wondered why since I believed that it was my wife right behind me and she's short but not that short.  A familiar bashful and half afraid face appeared belonging to my daughter as the pastor moved out of the way to put an ash cross on my wife's forehead.  I could not help but beam at my daughter.  I had wondered if she would ever take the next step in her faith walk by taking communion, and here she was participating in Ash Wednesday.  She followed me through the communion elements accidentally grabbing the crust of the loaf she was presented with and had an adorable little tug of war with the deacon who held it.  Dipping it in the cup of wine she walked faster to catch up with me and ask in a loud whisper, "Do I eat it now or do I wait 'til we're in our seats?".  I smiled and told her either was OK, but I eat it right away because it can drip on your hands.

We walked back to our seats, sang a hymn, received the Benediction, and were asked to exit in silence.

Exiting in silence was one of the strangest experiences of my life.  It was unsettling, and that was the point.  Ash Wednesday is not about rejoicing.  The rejoicing comes at the end, on Easter Sunday.  We were to feel unsettled, as if something was wrong, because something is wrong.  Sin broke the world.  Again, I like to think of it as a minor inconvenience, but sin is a terrible, horrible thing that has shattered lives, destroyed man's relationship with God and I wonder how many times I look at my sinning brother and I shrug in the same way I do with it in my life.  I couldn't help but think of my previous pastor and the Solemn Assembly he holds every year in October as an "Ash Wednesday" for another season of fasting.  I think we could stand to take sin seriously more than once a year.

Pax,

W

Prayer

Prayer and I have had a bit of a rocky relationship for quite a while.  It's a frustrating nebulous thing no one really talks about how you should go about it.  It's just something you DO.  You talk to the "man up in the sky" for a few minutes, tell him what you want and then move on with your life until you need to do it again.  Pastors use the "prayer time" seemingly to wrap up their sermon by providing a closed eye summary of bullet points.  The time when prayer has always felt the least odd or awkward for most people is when in dire need.  That's easy.  You've reached the end of yourself, everything is spinning out of control, and you have no power over outcomes, of course you toss up a prayer.

My position on prayer in the past has been one of, "Well, He knows what I need and he's either going to give it to me or he isn't" or "How in the world is multiple prayers and long hours on my knees going to help?  Honestly.  He knows my heart, is it really going to sway Him if I bow, scrap, grovel, and wail until my knees bleed and my vocal cords shred?"

When we look into the prayer lives of those in the Bible you see characters more open than others and with some, if you were to take it at face value, they don't seem to have prayed at all.  A fault of not recording every detail.  I was always oddly comforted that the disciples fell asleep while Jesus asks them to pray with him.  I know I'd be spouting all kinds of excuses.  "Look, rabbi, come on.  We just had a meal, had some wine, and it's getting late.  Never mind that we walked all day to get you that donkey and foal you wanted.  I close my eyes for two seconds and I'm gonna pass out."  They surely didn't need a devil to force them to sleep.  My personal schedule is enough to make it so that I can't close my eyes for long without sawing logs wherever I happen to be.  My sister-in-law can attest to this.  Ten minutes at her house and I'm on her couch in an unconscious state.

I've admired those of other faiths and their various "prayer" activities.  Buddhist meditation, the Muslim dedication to praying five times a day no matter the circumstances, and Kabbalist (Jewish Mystic) prayer/meditation.

It's not secret that I favor the Kabbalists in many respects.  Sure, they got a little wacky with their Books of Splendor and were really bad at picking who the Messiah is but there was a discipline born out joy that was their prayer life.  For them it was about communion with the LORD, that sure heaven was something to look forward to but a glimpse could be experienced here and now.  It was coming into his presence and singing praises right along with the angels surrounding the throne.  There was a direct experiential component there.  It was rarely about asking for things or giving a litany of ailments and discontent about our lives.  No Kabbalist would ever presume to tell the LORD how things should be, or how he needed to provide this way, or give him this kind of car now.  Although the Lord's Prayer was a Christian document the Kabbalist heart was more often than not, "Not my will be done, but YOUR will be done".

During my early years in FEC (Fundamentalist Evangelical Christianity) I can't remember a single pastor, deacon, or elder who was in love with the LORD.  I grant you that perhaps they kept it 'til their personal devotional time, or maybe they were on their way to being in love with the Lord.  There were men who TRIED to love the LORD and went to pains to make it seem that way.  There were men who wrestled with the LORD sometimes in the very pulpit as they preached.  There were men who put on every appearance of being "in good with God".  There were men who clearly felt obligated to preach and pastor because of what the LORD had done.  And these men formed my notions of why to pray.  Namely, "God says do it, so you do it."  Prayer was a box to check off the list right up there with "made sure I turned off the oven".  It was a regulation.  I've had people tell me all my life that this whole "experiencing God" things is just a scam.  You do what the book says, you come on Sunday, you put money in the plate, and if you get a little thrill during "How Great Thou Art" when the people harmonize a little then that's fine, but it's NOT the Holy Spirit.  Somehow, it's MEANT to be bland all the time.

Once I entered into my thirties and wasn't so angry with those who had taught me, I started taking notice that the teachers in my life were suddenly people who had been broken.  They'd had divorces they didn't plan on, children having children out of wedlock, scandals, or even things they'd never mention but you could see the brokenness somewhere about the eyes.  They were often quiet and gentle.  When they spoke with authority it was rare but bedrock solid.  And when it came to prayer it was like a soothing breeze to a weary soul.  If you brought up Jesus then there it was, a new look in their eyes.  Like they couldn't wait to talk about Him and hoped you just stand back and say "Ok...3...2...1...GO!" and they'd tell you everything the good Lord had done for them, ever, up until 5 seconds before you asked.  It was always their prayers that stuck out to me.  You can tell when a prayer is from the heart or manufactured, tested, focused grouped, etc.  That sincere prayer is born out of brokenness and a love for Him to whom we pray.

All of that to say...(a common phrase here at the Oubliette) I've reclaimed some of the baby from the bathwater I talked about last time.

I did some research online as to different prayer times and I now am praying (as regularly as capable) three times a day.  Of course there's a bajillion opinions on what to pray when and inevitably they all disagree with each other.  I pray at 9:30am, 12:30pm, and at 7pm every day.  Traditionally it's meant to be 9am, 12pm, and 3pm (as I understand it) but life gets in the way.  They were monks who set this up and not stay at home husbands who have a child to homeschool, a house to clean, and (biggest differentiation) a wife to look after.
Over the past three to four weeks that I have been praying three times a day I've noticed that my life has taken on some fairly serious changes.  When I do pray all three times I've noticed that I am calmer, and react more in line with the "fruit of the Spirit" than when I do not.  Sin is not constantly crouching at my door like it once was.  I am thinking about the LORD more throughout my day making decisions and choices based on His word in the Bible.  Remarkably I have more of a sensation of His presence throughout the day.  That presence is something I've wanted for a very long time.  I once asked someone why it was that I only feel His presence at church.  If God is everywhere shouldn't I feel His presence everywhere?  They shrugged and said something along the lines of how if we felt Him everywhere then we wouldn't need faith.  I still disagree with that.  It's like saying we worship a God who wants to be known but doesn't want us to know Him; or a God who reaches out but doesn't want us to take hold; a God who gives us communion but wants it to be only about the bread and wine.

It's easy to look at rituals or ritualized anything and say that the power is in the act.  As Christians we know that isn't true.  The reason that I will live my Christian walk partly through "ritualized" prayer is because it creates a rhythm in my life that has me regularly orbiting my the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  It has more to do with the promise that if I draw near to Him then He will draw near to me.

I confront myself regularly with the question from my youth, "Why pray to a God who already knows my needs before I as?"  Every time I respond that, "I don't know why...but the God who fashioned the universe (literally one song) out of His words, who sent His Son to die for me, this God who greatly loves these specks of dust on a blue dot in space....ASKS me to."  He shoves the fact of omnipotence, omniscience, and all the other OMNI that is integral to His being aside and wants to hear about my day, my struggles, how He can help, my joys and praises to Him, etc.

When I pick up my son in my arms at day's end and ask him how his day went, even when he's been home all day, he doesn't hesitate.  He doesn't say, "You know, Papa.  You were there with me all day."  No.  He screws up his face, puts a thoughtful finger to his chin and says, "Wehw..." (That's "well" for those who don't speak his language) and begins to tell me everything.

I thank God that every day my children reminds me of what He means when He says that we must all come to him like little children.

Pax,

Will