stars.

How could such a King

shine His light on me

and make everything beautiful?

I want to shine.

I want to be light.

I want to tell you it'll be alright.

'Cause I've got nothing on my own to give to you.

But this light that shines on me, shines on you.

And makes everything beautiful again.

Have I mentioned that I like David Crowder?

don't even reply.

Globalization is a fascinating thing.

In this age, the internet provides us with infinite possibilities. The world is at our fingertips (...or about to bust through our window).

While it certainly has some downsides, I've been in awe of the way in which it connects the world. Since I've entered college, it's been fun to see how kids all around the country are familiar with the very same YouTube videos, SNL skits, and funny websites that are popular in my circles of friends.

One such website I frequent is called "dontevenreply.com."

Some of my favorite entries include: Free Couch, Vegan Housemate, and Kons for Kids.

I apologize for the rather frequent use of profanity. But you have to admit, the concept and execution is genius.

Way to go, Mike. Way to go.

the glory of it all.

I hate Christmas music. My most legitimate reason is simply that I don't enjoy it.

So during the Christmas season, I keep listening to every-other-time-of-the-year music. I find myself reaching way back into the archives of my iTunes library and being surprised at how much I still enjoy old favorites.

Here's one that tickles my fancy. I find it quite appropriate for this season as well.

At the start

He was there, he was there

In the end

He’ll be there, he’ll be there
And after all our hands have wrought
He forgives

Oh, the glory of it all is
He came here
For the rescue of us all
That we may live
For the glory of it all
Oh, the glory of it all

All is lost
Find him there, find him there
After night
Dawn is there, dawn is there
After all falls apart
He repairs, he repairs

Oh, the glory of it all is
He came here
For the rescue of us all
That we may live
For the glory of it all

Oh, he is here
With redemption from the fall
That we may live
For the glory of it all
Oh, the glory of it all
The glory of it all
Oh, the glory of it all

After night, comes a light
Dawn is here, dawn is here
It’s a new day, a new day
Everything will change

Things will never be the same
We will never be the same

We will never be the same
We will never be the same
We will never be the same

-"The Glory of It All" (David Crowder* Band)

Side note: I know the picture doesn't have much to do with Christmas, "the glory of it all", or "never being the same" but I still like it.

tanzania: soccer with nameni.

I miss this.

(Nameni is the precious young girl whom my grandparents sponsor through Compassion International.)

poverty.

I'm re-reading one of my favorite books, The Irresistible Revolution. Despite the fact that I'm in the middle of reading several other books, despite the fact that final exams begin in two days, and despite the fact that one of my professors suggested that it's best we not think about "big picture" stuff during these next few days, I'm convinced this is necessary.

I need a good reminder. I need a new perspective. I need my outlook on the world refreshed.

I just finished the chapter in which Shane (yes, we're on a first-name basis) talks about visiting Mother Teresa's Missionaries of Charity home in Calcutta. (I'd forgotten that he spends a whole chapter discussing his time there.) After I read it, I looked over at my journal and flipped to July 3, 2009 - the day I visited the Missionaries of Charity in Huruma, Kenya. It was a cool moment. I realized that this time, I can actually share in some of Shane's experiences.

Here's what I wrote that day:

So we did end up going to Mother Teresa's Missionaries of Charity hospital-place. I sort of knew what I was getting myself into and sort of didn't...We entered the compound, and I immediately noticed how tidy it was. As compared to the slum of Huruma, which was just feet outside the gate, the charity was clean and well-kept. It was like the world was raging on outside, and then we entered, and it just seemed like all that stopped.

We first stopped in the disabled children's ward. As we walked to the door, I looked through the windows at the crippled children lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Tears welled up in my eyes as the nun went on to explain that nearly all of these children had been abandoned because of their disabilities. It was sad, but hopeful at the same time. Because, despite their disabilities, these children now had a chance at life. They stretched out their hands to greet us and climbed all over us as we bent down to touch them. They were just so precious. And to think that their family literally abandoned them is heart-wrenching.

Next, we visited the disabled women's ward. In this area, women with mental disabilities are cared for. To be honest, I always feel a little nervous when I'm around mentally handicapped people. I think I've adopted that tendency from the sick societal stigma/fear of mentally disabled people. But as I walked around and shook their hands and watched their faces light up, I knew my fears were not only ridiculous, but were the very reason these women were here: other people had been too scared to take care of them.

The last ward we went into was the children's ward. Unfortunately, most of the children were already asleep, but a few were up and came running to greet us. They had so much joy and so much love. How cool is it that these orphans get to enjoy a rather happy, peaceful existence?! That was the thing that kept striking me over and over again: in this place filled with people who have experienced so much sorrow, there was totally a sense of joy. Clearly, that joy can only be from God. It's that genuine holistic change/love/care that really restores and sustains people, I guess.

That was my experience. And this is Shane's:

I fell in love with the Home for the Destitute and Dying and spent most days there. I helped folks eat, massaged muscles, gave baths, and basically tried to spoil people who really deserved it. Each day, folks would die, and each day, we would go out onto the streets and bring in new people. The goal was not to keep people alive (we had very few supplies for doing that) but to allow people to die with dignity, someone loving them, singing, laughing, so they were not alone.

And later on:

I had no idea how hard the transition would be. When I walked into the atrium [of Willow Creek Community Church] where they have a food court on the megachurch "campus," I knew I was a long way from the leper colony in India. The worlds of poverty and wealth collided, and I guess I felt a little dose of what the experts call culture shock.

Though our experiences were quite different (he went to Calcutta, I went to Huruma; he met Mother Teresa, I did not; etc) I understand what he's talking about. I get how powerful and beautiful the revolutionary mission of the charity is. I understand how hard the transition back to life in America is. I understand the grief of having to return to your "life" after feeling like you just experienced true life.

I understand what it feels like to see and witness true mercy and pure love and to wonder how to replicate it elsewhere.

Now, nearly five months after my experience abroad, I still don't feel like I've been able to adjust comfortably to my life back here. And I don't know if I ever will. I'm still struggling with how to live in this world, fully knowing what's going on in the other world. I'm still wondering what I'm called to do here, when my heart is elsewhere.

But as I was reading last night, I found a little comfort in Shane's paraphrase of Mother Teresa's words:

"It is among the wealthy that we can find the most terrible poverty of all - loneliness."

Perhaps that's the poverty I'm supposed to address here: poverty of the spirit. This poverty strips people of comfort and identity in an entirely different way than economic poverty. But it's just as sad, and it's just as in need of attention.

I feel like my posts don't always make complete sense. And I feel like this one is a very messy regurgitation of a bunch of stuff that's swimming in my head. But there you have it. Take it or leave it.

awkward much?

Have I ever mentioned my favorite website, awkwardfamilyphotos.com? Please visit it as soon as possible.

this is our god.

O Thou, the greatest and the best, mightiest, almighty, most merciful and most just, utterly hidden and utterly present, most beautiful and most strong, abiding yet mysterious, suffering no change and changing all things: never new, never old, making all things new, bringing age upon the proud and they know it not; ever in action, ever at rest, gathering all things to Thee and needing none; sustaining and fulfilling and protecting, creating and nourishing and making perfect; ever seeking though lacking nothing.

Thou lovest without subjection to passion, Thou art jealous but not with fear; Thou canst know repentance but not sorrow, be angry yet unperturbed by anger. Thou canst change the works Thou hast made but Thy mind stands changeless. Thou dost find and receive back what Thou didst never lose; art never in need but dost rejoice in Thy gains, art not greedy but dost exact interest manifold. Men pay Thee more than is of obligation to win return from Thee, yet who has anything that is not already Thine? Thou owest nothing yet dost pay as if in debt to Thy creature, forgivest what is owed to Thee yet dost not lose thereby.

And with all this, what have I said, my God and my Life and my sacred Delight? What can anyone say when he speaks of Thee? Yet woe to them that speak not of Thee at all, since those who say most are but dumb.

-Saint Augustine's Confessions

a revolutionary revelation.

The magnitude of the incarnation of the divine through the person of Jesus Christ is lost in the Gospels’ translation from Greek to English. These inspired accounts of Jesus’ life and ministry speak uniquely to the first-century Jew and Gentile. As such, our understanding of the Gospels is made more complete when we look at the person of Christ from the worldviews and perspectives that dominated the culture of that day.

The ideas and philosophies of great thinkers like Plato provided the intellectual backdrop of this first-century world. Particularly, his allegory of the cave would have been the lens through which many people perceived and understood the world. And it’s through this very lens that I would like to consider the message and quite revolutionary meaning of John 1.

The unique thing about the Gospels, and particularly this chapter in the Gospel of John, is that they enter into a conversation that already exists in the ancient world. In both the Republic and Timaeus (my incorporation of and comments regarding the latter may not be entirely accurate seeing as I have yet to read this Platonic work; my knowledge and commentary regarding it are based on one single lecture from the great Dr. Jeffrey), there is an underlying craving to understand the world, how it came to be, why it has gone so terribly awry, and how to bring it back to completeness. And John brings answers to these questions.

Plato, in both his works, recognizes that the notion of goodness and justice is transcendent. There is something higher, something intangible that is guiding all things. In Timaeus, he identifies this being as the demiurgos: that which has brought all things into being. In the Republic, his allegory of the cave (which is my new favorite topic of discussion) is a metaphor for the world and all things that were created through this demiurgos.

Consider the illustration above. The cave is a place of darkness, of shadows, and of half-truths. It deals with the tangible, the becoming, the changing. Objects, facts, and things of the literal realm define life down here. As I discussed in a previous post, and as Plato indicates, all of humanity is in this cave. We live in a world where the things we see and experience are merely shadows and incomplete imitations of the truth.

But above this cave, above this darkness is a world full of light. It deals with the intelligible, the being, the eternal. Subjects, forms, and things of the spiritual or figurative realm define life up here. This is a world of truth. This is the place we try (but fail) to imitate.

Side note: C.S. Lewis’ The Great Divorce is enfused with these Platonic ideas. The Valley of the Shadow of Death (filled with gray shadows) and the Valley of the Shadow of Life (filled with bright, solid objects) are closely based on this idea of the cave.

In the Republic, Plato (well, technically, Socrates seeing as he is the speaker) mentions that some people will journey from the cave into the light. But it’s a select few: only the best and brightest, the philosophers, and those who possess a predisposition for understanding the world of forms travel above. Thus, the opportunity to know the truth and to experience true life is only for a privileged few. The rest of us are, basically, without hope of ever knowing the intelligible, perceiving the eternal, or stepping into the light. Our lives are restricted to the world of shadows, our comprehension limited to simple, finite objects and facts.

The Gospel of John addresses this philosophy. It enters into this conversation. The author plays on Plato's ideas by turning them on their heads:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made.” (John 1:1-3)

Here, John is suggesting that the Word has created all things. (Later, he’ll go on to establish that the Word is Jesus, God incarnate.) In Greek, the term for “word” is logos. Logos, however, can also mean the “reason,” “argument,” “speech,” “story,” and “verb.” (Remember this. I’ll bring it up later.) So John is replacing the demiurgos, which Plato has suggested to be the creator of all things, with Jesus, the Word, and logos.

The revolution comes when John writes, “In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it…And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” (John 1:4-5, 14)

Light has penetrated the darkness. Jesus, being truth, came down. He descended the throne to dwell among us, the people in the cave.

Here, in the person of Jesus, the world above, the intelligible, the being collides with the world below, the tangible, the becoming. Where formerly the Greeks considered all things either tangible or intelligible, John points out that Jesus is both! The Creator of the Universe, the logos, the reason, the story, and the verb connects the object with the subject. (Get it? subject + verb + object? It’s like a sentence; it’s completion and fullness. Once again, Dr. Jeffrey’s insight.)

So the Platonic way of thinking has been reversed:

We do not have to go up to receive truth. The truth is no longer unable to be grasped. The truth is not for the select few anymore. It’s not just for the smart people. It’s not just for the people who have it all together.

Rather, it’s accessible because it has come down to us.

It’s for everyone.

Do you get it? Do you see? This is crazy! Jesus changes everything! Just as he does Jewish law, he turns Greek philosophy upside-down. He’s the fulfillment of the promise, and he’s the truth among us. Because of him, there is hope in our darkness. Because of him, we can reach the light.

So there you have it, the revolutionary revelation. It’s there. Actually, it’s always been there. It’s in the words. It’s in the significance behind the words. But sometimes we miss it because we don’t know the context or because we lose it in the translation. So we must keep looking back. We must understand the context to understand the message because this is too big to miss.

Because this is revolutionary.

understanding divinity.

This is an essay I very recently turned in for my favorite class, Literary Bible. It's long, I know, but I wanted to share it with you.

Francis Petrarch once posed the question, “What is theology, if not poetry about God?” His inquiry suggests a connection between poetry and “the science of things divine,” as The Oxford English Dictionary defines “theology.” This supposition that divine knowledge may be acquired best in the figurative sense aligns with a statement made by Thomas Aquinas:

Poetic knowledge is of things which, on account of a defect of truth, cannot be grasped by reason, and that is why reason must be seduced by a certain likeness; theology, however, concerns things which are above reason. The symbolic mode is common to them both, therefore, because neither is precisely proportional to reason.

Both of these statements share the idea that basic modes of reason are insufficient means of attaining knowledge of the heavenly realm. These men recognize that the finite minds of humans are unable to comprehend things divine in nature. Reason alone does not, cannot, and will not produce full knowledge. Thus, figurative language becomes a necessary means to acquire an understanding of that which is beyond our literal world. As Jesus demonstrates in Mark 4 however, symbolic discourse does not always usher in a complete understanding of the divine. Rather, his explanation of his parables reveals an underlying supposition that our knowledge of God is not under our control; these parables and figurative stories lay truth in the hearts of men, but the Spirit brings final revelation to our limited perception.

In this sense, poetry only acts as a partial bridge between the end of our ability to know and the beginning of divine truth. As defined by The Oxford English Dictionary, “poetry is the expression or embodiment of beautiful or elevated thought, imagination, or feeling in language adapted to stir the imagination and emotions.” It arouses within readers an emotional response. Its imagery illuminates truth. It speaks to the deepest part of the soul. It is “the art by which the poet projects feeling and experience onto an imaginative plane, in rhythmical words” (Funk and Wagnall’s Standard Dictionary: International Edition). As a result, poetry has the potential to reveal the qualities and character of the poet as they are projected into verse. But often its ability to do so is incomplete, as Jesus’ parables demonstrate.

When Jesus descended the throne and entered humanity, his main mode of discourse was allegorical. He, both divine and human, recognized our inability to comprehend by reason alone so he taught using parables. Though not exactly metrical verse, these culturally relevant metaphors infused with moral lessons were very similar to poetry. Their symbolism spoke to the heart and stirred emotion using figurative language. In this way, wisdom of the heart, chokmah, was nurtured, and knowledge of the divine was then fostered. In essence, he seduced reason into that “certain likeness,” of which Aquinas spoke. At the same time however, few people understood the meaning of these metaphors. So although figurative language brings us closer to comprehension of the truth, as Petrarch and Aquinas assert, we are still reliant on another to usher in complete revelation; Someone must reveal the truth to us.

Just after telling a large crowd the parable of the sower, Jesus opposes the notion that symbolic language divulges understanding. Concerned that his parables cause more confusion and unrest than necessary, the twelve disciples question Jesus. In response, he says to them, “To you has been given the secret of the kingdom of God, but for those outside everything is in parables, so that they may indeed see but not perceive, and may indeed hear but not understand, lest they should turn and be forgiven” (Mark 4:11-12). In saying this, Jesus refutes that figurative language makes things easier to understand. Rather, he confesses that some will not understand the parables, and those who do not understand the parables will not understand the truth. It is here that the beginnings of the notion of an incomplete comprehension of the divine manifests. For even the disciples, who have been given the secret, are unable to grasp the truth. And if those closest to him cannot understand him, others might not either. As a result, the chasm between own human finitude and God’s incalculable nature is made obvious.

Jesus further expounds on this concept of knowing by explaining the parable of the sower to his disciples. He first establishes that the seed being sown is the word. This word is the Gospel, the good news, the truth. In Greek, it may be translated as logos, or the reason and the argument. In Hebrew, it may be translated as dabar, or the word and the action. Regardless, this word is that through which revelation is revealed, and this word is sown. Here, an emphasis falls on the idea that truth comes to believers; believers do not reach the truth by their own means. The division between God and us is far too wide for us to cross on our own. Thus, the idea that Something or Someone intercedes for us offers hope that the truth can be grasped.

Jesus continues to discuss the understanding of parables as he proceeds to assert that the different types of soil in this parable are representative of the different types of people. The effects of the environment surrounding the individual and the state of their heart affect the way they receive the word. In most people, the word is choked or does not last. But in some it is sustained: “those that were sown on the good soil are the ones who hear the word and accept it and bear fruit, thirtyfold, and sixtyfold, and a hundredfold” (Mark 4:20). In some people, the word does mean something. Because their hearts have received the word, they now have wisdom of the heart, or chokmah. In these people, the word produces radical results. Yet it is not by any work of these individuals. Rather, it is the work of the Lord. Later on, Jesus explains this, “The kingdom of God is as if a man should scatter seed on the ground. He sleeps and rises night and day, and the seed sprouts and grows; he knows not how” (Mark 4:20-21). Regardless of the man’s actions, the seed sprouts, and he is dumbfounded. The mystery of a seed’s growth is reiterated in the following parable:

With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable shall we use for it? It is like a grain of mustard seed, which, when sown on the ground, is the smallest of all seeds on earth, yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes larger than all the garden plants and puts out large branches. (Mark 4:30-32)

So what by nature appears to be small and insignificant, God makes larger than imaginable.[1] Like the seed, our understanding of truth grows. As these two parables indicate, however, a seed’s growth is not by our own works. The truth manifests itself in us not on our own terms, but rather, on the terms of another Being who sustains its growth. So ultimately, our understanding comes from God.[2] As a result, we are dependant on him for knowledge. So while the figurative brings us closer to revelation, we ultimately find ourselves reliant on God for complete comprehension.

Though hard for our finite minds to apprehend, these parables reveal to us God’s nature. His complexities, like the parables, are not easily discernible; he remains shrouded in mystery. But in the same way that our understanding of Jesus’ teaching is on God’s terms, so is our understanding of God himself. The author of Mark notes that after receiving Jesus’ words and witnessing the calming of the storm, “they were filled with fear and said to one another, ‘Who then is this, that even the wind and sea obey him?’” (Mark 4:41). Though not necessarily a concrete revelation of who God is, this question is representative of the disciples’ journey to discover their rabbi’s identity. We can be sure of this because fear of the Lord ushers in wisdom.[3] This place of fear is humbling; it reminds us of our place in life, the chasm between God and ourselves, and thus our own insufficiency. Yet in this place, we acquire wisdom as God’s Spirit reveals him to us in his timing. We will begin to see that he is strong—strong enough to cause the small to become great, strong enough to calm storms on the sea. We will see that he is love—for what other reason would someone choose to cherish the broken. In the end, our revelation of the nature of God is concluded because the Spirit inclines himself to us, completing what the figurative introduced.

As Petrarch and Aquinas stated, reason alone cannot usher in understanding of the heavenly realm. Their conclusion, however, that the symbolic mode brings full comprehension is not sufficient either. As Jesus demonstrates to his disciples in Mark 4, what is figurative is more often puzzling than enlightening. And though his parables are not poems, they are figurative in their symbolism. Mostly, they illustrate that while the parabolic does bring us closer to understanding the truth than does reason, it is still incomplete. For, as the parable of the sower exemplifies, full knowledge is not a result of our keen perception. Rather, it is a consequence of the grace bestowed us by an all-powerful God, who plants truth within us and is the cause of its growth. Our understanding of the “science of things divine” is contingent on that Divinity’s descent and offer of revelation to us.

---

[1] This mirrors Paul’s assertion in 1 Corinthians: “God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are” (1:27).

[2] Paul calls this wisdom from the Spirit: “what no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him—these things God has revealed to us through the Spirit” (1 Corinthians 2:9-10).

[3] Proverbs 1:7 states, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge.”

a call to justice and costly grace.

Tonight, I was reminded of the injustice in our world. Tonight, I find myself a little frustrated, a little unsatisfied. But rather than take the time I do not have to write out how I feel, I'll leave you with several quotes...

"I hate all your show and pretense - the hypocrisy of your religious festivals and solemn assemblies. I will not accept your burnt offerings and grain offerings. I won't even notice all your choice peace offerings. Away with your noisy hymns of praise! I will not listen to the music of your harps. Instead, I want to see a mighty flood of justice, an endless river of righteous living."

-Amos 5:21-24

"Is this not the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter - when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth like the dawn..."

-Isaiah 58:6-8

"When you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!"

-Matthew 25:40

"We know what real love is because Jesus gave up his life for us. So we also ought to give up our lives for our brothers and sisters...Dear children, let us not merely say that we love each other; let us show the truth by our actions."

-1 John 3:16, 18

"The essence of grace, we suppose, is that the account has been paid in advance; and, because it has been paid, everything can be had for nothing...Cheap grace means the justification of the sin without the justification of the sinner. Grace alone does everything, they say, and so everything can remain as it was before.

"Costly grace is the treasure hidden in the field; for the sake of it a man will gladly go and sell all that he has...It is the call of Jesus Christ at which any disciple leaves his nets and follows him...Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow, and it grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ."

-The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer

My challenge to you is this:

Don't reduce your faith to a schedule of religious activities through which you feel justified to live unbothered by the brokenness, injustice, and suffering in our world. Let the love and grace you've freely received cost you something.

we're all in this together.

Someone put my heart into a documentary:

"When we ignore the prostituted child, we actually lend our hand to their abuse. When we ignore the widow and the orphan in their distress, we actually add to their pain. When we ignore the slave who remains, it's us who's entrapping them. When we forget the refugee, it's us who's displacing them. When we choose not to help the poor and the needy, we actually rob them.

"Perhaps the only fair thing to say is that when we forsake the lives of others, we actually forsake our own."

Thank you, Joel Houston.

(Stay tuned. After seeing this film later tonight, I'll probably have something to say.)

isaiah 53.

I wanted to share this with you all. It's beautifully poetic. I wish there were a way to record my professor's gentle, thundering voice (yes, that's an intentional oxymoron) reading this aloud. But alas, this must suffice.

"Who hath believed our report? and to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed? For he shall grow up before him as a tender plant, and as a roof out of a dry ground: he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him.

"He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

"Surely he hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.

"He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth: he is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth. He was taken from prison and from judgment: and who shall declare his generation? for he was cut off out of the land of the living; for the transgression of my people was he stricken. And he made his grace with the wicked, and with the rich in his death: because he had done no violence, neither was any deceit in his mouth.

"Yet it pleased the Lord to bruise him; he hath put him to grief: when thou shalt make his soul an offering for sin, he shall see his seed, he shall prolong his days, and the pleasure of the Lord shall prosper in his hand. He shall see of the travail of his soul, and shall be satisfied: by his knowledge shall my righteous servant justify many; for he shall bear their iniquities.

"Therefore will I divide him a portion with the great, and he shall divide the spoil with the strong; because he hath poured out his soul unto death: and he was numbered with the transgressors; and he bare the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors."

Isaiah 53

a new day.

Dietrich always has the right words at the right time. (Yes, we're on a first-name basis.)

"When we become a burden to ourselves, when we don't want to keep on going, when we are afraid of the mountain lying in front of us, when guilt feelings weigh heavily on our mind, we we feel we have been lied to and victimized by the world, then we need only one thing - we need a person whom we can fully trust without reservation, a person who understands everything, hears everything, a person who bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, forgives all things. We need a person to whom we can say:

'You are rest, you are gentle peace, you are the longing and the one who stills it.'

"We need a person under whose eyes our suffering disappears and our heart opens up in silent love, a person who gently takes our burden from us and frees us from our fits of rage and from all our fears. In so doing, this person delivers our soul from this world...

"Now the greatest of all miracles is that every individual has and can find this person because this person calls each of us to himself on his own initiative, offers himself, invites us. This person who is our rest, our peace, our refreshment, and our deliverance, is Jesus Christ alone. He alone is truly human. And in this true humanity he is God."

-A Testament to Freedom (235-236)

i don't even know...

I’ve officially survived seven weeks of college. And what an odd seven weeks this has been.

I love college, don’t get me wrong. The hesitance I have is complex.

I’ve felt a weight on me for the past several weeks. And until today, I couldn’t find a way to explain it.

Today, I sat in my Great Texts class discussing Plato’s Republic (Wow. That’s something that should go on “StuffWhitePeopleLike.com”, which, if you have yet to visit, is a genius website), and I discovered the source of my burden.

I’ll explain:

In our discussion, I found myself completely identifying with Socrates’ model of the cave. Rather than trying to describe it myself, I’ll quote his description (as translated by “Stinky” the very affectionate nickname my professor has given a man named Benjamin Jowett; my professor is reading the “far superior” Greek translation, so to him, Jowett’s work does not measure up to the real Greek text):

“Behold! human beings living in an underground den, which has a mouth open toward the light and reaching all along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen which marionette-players have in front of them, over which they show the puppets…men passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and statues and figures of animals made of wood and stone of various materials which appear over the wall…they see only their own shadows, or the shadows of one another, which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave.”

So there’s the illustration. What Socrates is describing here is a world in which people do not see actual objects. Rather, they see reflections or shadows of the true forms. They are, as a result, in the dark.

In his discussion, he goes on to add that certain individuals (philosophers) will occasionally leave the cave and travel above, into the light. And in this light, they will see the actual objects, the true forms of which, previously, they had only seen shadows. And after witnessing the truth, these philosophers will descend into the cave. And as they do, they will have trouble adjusting to life there.

For one, they will have trouble communicating to the others what they saw above—for the others will have no way of conceiving the truth they have just witnessed. Secondly, they will be dissatisfied with the world of shadows—for the philosophers have seen the far superior truth.

This aspect is where I draw the parallel to my life.

I have seen.

I have seen a world far different from my own. I have seen a world that doesn’t pretend to have it all together. A world ridden with strife, yet full of smiles. A world ridden with despair, yet blossoming in simplicity. I have seen a world full of need, yet persistent in offering good ol’ hospitality.

And I have descended.

I have returned to my own world. A world fixated on personal success, often missing community. A world striving for simplicity yet complicating matters much more. A world full of individuals, wholly disconnected.

And here is where my problem lies: I am caught between two worlds.

I have seen the light. I have seen the reality of the world. I have seen the obstacles. And yet, I have experienced meaning and true life in serving in and among hopelessness.

And now, I’ve descended into a world, which is my reality but not the reality. A world in which my days are reduced to sleeping, sitting, eating, and essay-writing.

It’s not satisfying.

It’s not fulfilling, especially when my mind is tormented by those images of despair,

when I remember their accents,

when I picture their smiles,

when I can almost hear their laughs,

when I marvel at the eternal purpose behind my work there.

And like the philosophers, I have a desire to show people the reality of “there,” but because they’ve never seen it, they won’t understand it.

My world doesn’t understand the other world. My world pities the other world. My world doesn’t see why I’d want to leave it and go to the other world.

My world doesn’t understand me.

And so that’s my burden: I know there’s something more out there. I know there’s a world of despair yearning for hope. And I want to be a part of that world. I want to make a difference in that world.

But I’m here. Far-removed. Here. Living a comfortable life. Here. Feeling a little guilty. Here. Dissatisfied with the way things are. Here. A bit overwhelmed by the brokenness in this world. Here. Wishing I was there, wishing I could take part in restoring a world that’s in decay, a world that’s craving redemption.

And in the midst of all this, I find brief moments of comfort in the words of Paul:

“If we are to share his glory, we must also share his suffering. What we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will reveal to us later.”

I guess there is purpose in this, in me being here. And just as the ones in the cave can’t fathom the truth the philosophers have seen, I can’t see the purpose God has for me in this place. But I must rest in the fact that there is purpose, and there is Someone who can see it.

And so, too, may you be at peace with your circumstance, wherever this life finds you.

All glory to the only wise God.

nothing new.

We speak as though we no longer had "a proper joy and certainty" about this way, or, still worse, as though God and God's Word were no longer as clearly present with us as they used to be. In all this, we are ultimately trying to get round what the New Testament calls "patience" and "testing."

...Dear brethren, our real trouble is not doubt about the way upon which we have set out, but our failure to be patient, to keep quiet. We still cannot imagine that today God really doesn't want anything new from us, but simply to prove us in the old way. That is too petty, too monotonous, too undemanding for us.

And we simply cannot be constant with the fact that God's cause is not always the successful one, that we really could be "unsuccessful" and yet be on the right road. But this is where we find out whether we have begun in faith or in a burst of enthusiasm.

-Dietrich Bonhoeffer, A Testament to Freedom 443

(For the record, Dietrich's a BAMF.)

hidden treasure.

I'm not sure why the kingdom is such a "hot topic" in my brain right now (Wow. That's kind of an awkward sentence...), but it is. To my disappointment (and yours too, I'm sure), this post is coming later than I would have liked. But I'm just going to roll with it.

Last week, I went to a mid-week service at Antioch Community Church. And to try and describe it in English would not do the service justice. "Off-the-chain", "crazy sauce", and "insane-in-the-membrane" all fail in allowing me to accurately express my feelings towards that night.

If you know me, you know that since reading Shane Claiborne's Irresistible Revolution about two-and-a-half years ago, my life has, well, been upset. No, not "angry" upset. But upset in the "they-were-supposed-to-cream-the-other-team-but-they-lost" sense. In the same way that Jesus flipped Israel's law on its head, my life has been turned upside-down. (I'd like to note that it wasn't the book itself that shook things up, but rather the questions and concepts it raised. In searching for answers, I've turned to the Bible, which has been the sole source of my unrest.)

Anyway, rather than giving you a short synopsis of my life, presenting my reason for starting this blog, or convincing you to read the Irresistible Revolution, I'd like to share with you what the pastor said last Wednesday night.

Matthew 13:44

"The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure that a man discovered hidden in a field. In his excitement, he hid it again and sold everything he owned to get enough money to buy the field."

I've read this passage several times, but what I never really grasped or noticed was that this man re-hid the treasure. Yes, selling his possessions to buy the field was one thing. But selling his possessions to buy the field that may or may not still contain the treasure was another.

That, my friends, was a huge risk.

After much more eloquently making this point, Carl (the pastor) went on to make a connection between the boredom we sometimes feel towards Christianity. We've boiled "following Christ" down to being nice, going to church, and having a quiet time. And no wonder we're bored?! We're sitting on the bench, while the most exciting football game of all time is being played in front of us. We're like gymnasts laying down on the high beam in the middle of the Olympics - as Carl's analogy described.

We play it safe.

But if the kingdom of heaven is like a treasure in a field that a man bought after selling everything he owned, what are we doing? If we really lived like that, Christianity wouldn't be boring. If we really lived like that, how would our world be different?

How are you living? Are you a part of that kingdom?

(So many questions, oh boy! That's all thanks to Socrates and Plato's Republic, which I am currently reading.)

the kingdom of god.

The kingdom of God is a beautiful thing.

Honestly, there's nothing like worshiping the Creator of the Universe with several thousand people.

There's nothing like sitting in a room full of college freshmen listening to them share their stories, their dreams and aspirations, the things God has placed on their hearts.

There's nothing quite like marveling at the beauty in people as they walk to and from class.

Lately, I've found myself in awe of the way in which God's so uniquely crafted each and every one of us. How he's calling us to different roles in society, to different places around the world.

If only more people realized their potential and paid attention to that call. I feel like society impresses upon young people a pressure to become successful, to make a life for themselves. I saw this quote the other day, and I find it incredibly troublesome:

Life is not about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.

On another occasion, we could talk about what exactly "finding" oneself implies. But for now, my point is that I certainly don't believe life is about "creating" ourselves. In fact, life isn't even about us - or shouldn't be about us, at least.

I worry that too many kids aren't hearing the right message.

And to them, I want to say that this life is about bringing glory to our God. This life is about humbly following his heart. Falling before his throne. Giving way to his call. Being his hands and feet. Defending the fatherless. Rescuing the oppressed.

Sure, it might bring success. It might even bring money and fame. But I hope that's not all we focus on.

On many occasions, I've found myself sitting in our twice-weekly chapels praying that the Lord would light a passion in the students here. I so desire for people to experience God in the same way I have. To understand him in the rather simple and quite incomplete way I've understood him. To grasp the fulfillment and abundance that's comes with his presence. To have a passion for following him and living their lives for him, and only him.

Ever since I've returned from Tanzania, the concept of creation returning to the Lord has been on my mind. In one of my previous posts, I mentioned how Pastor James had a unique perspective on the terrible drought there: it's God's way of renewing the land and calling the people back to him.

And the concept seems to be at the forefront of my mind once again as I read about the fall of man and the flooding of the earth in one of my classes. Since the beginning of time, or at least the fall, creation has been yearning for renewal and restoration. Paul puts it well in Romans 8:22 when he says,

"We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies."

Now, things are incomplete. Now, things are messed up. But someday, "we will see him coming on the clouds of heaven" (as Hillsong sings). Someday, all of creation will return to him.

And until then, I hope that more people will be overwhelmed by his glory, his majesty, and his beauty. So that they will come to grasp how fearfully and wonderfully they have been made. So that they will use their gifts to bring him praise with their lives.

So that justice and love can mark the work of the kingdom,

to point people to the King,

to restore the earth.

May our hope be in Yahweh, whose love is greater than all.

He shall reign forever.

the hard hours.

I'd like to share a poem with you. We had to read it for my "Literary Bible" seminar. I think it's absolutely beautiful. And once you know the background story, it's even more powerful. So here's the story:

The poet, Anthony Hecht, went through a pretty brutal divorce. After everything was finalized, his ex-wife moved halfway around the world to Israel and took both of his sons with her. Realizing he would never get to see his sons again, he wrote this:

"The Hard Hours"

"'Adam, my child, my son,

These very words you hear

Compose the fish and starlight

Of your untroubled dream.

When you awake, my child,

It shall all come true.

Know that it was for you

That all things were begun.'

"Adam, my child, my son,

Thus spoke Our Father in heaven

To his first, fabled child,

The father of us all.

And I, your father, tell

The words over again

As innumerable men

From ancient times have done.

"Tell them again in pain,

And to the empty air.

Where you are men speak

A different mother tongue.

Will you forget our games,

Our hide-and-seek and song?

Child, it will be long

Before I see you again.

"Adam, there will be

Many hard hours,

As an old poem says,

Hours of loneliness.

I cannot ease them for you;

They are our common lot.

During them, like as not,

You dream of me.

"When you are crouched away

In a strange clothes closet

Hiding from one who's "It"

And the dark crowds in,

Do not be afraid -

O, if you can, believe

In a father's love

That you shall know some day.

"Think of the summer rain

Or seedpearls of the mist;

Seeing the beaded leaf,

Try to remember me.

From far away

I send my blessing out

To circle the great globe.

It shall reach you yet."

why?

So where is it? I don't see it.

I don't get it.

The fulfillment of the promise.

I don't see it down here,

in the middle of the fear.

What hope can remain,

in the depth of this pain?

I don't see it.

The earth is groaning night and day.

A song of human slavery,

of dark disease and poverty,

of children in captivity.

God, that's the sound that comes to me...

I know about theology.

I know you gave your son for me.

I know you're wrapped in mystery.

I get invisibility.

But I still see their misery.

I hear those voices haunting me,

saying, "Who will come and set us free?"

Absolutely brilliant. Not mine, but hers: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YiNBmNl88Pk

glow.

So many posts tonight. But I just had to share these lyrics with you.

Hillsong came out with a new album this week. I had no idea one was even in the works, so it was quite a pleasant surprise.

Here's my favorite song, "Glow"

Lost and stranded, empty-handed

Broken down and all alone

Your mercy, it entered into darkness

And enfolded us in love

Just a glimmer of your glory

And the earth falls to its knees.

You level the mountains with a whisper

And you calm the raging seas.

We give you all we are

For the glory of your name.

We give all we are

For your praise.

Let the earth come to life

In the light of heaven's glow.

And the streets sound with joy

As the shackles lose their hold.

You laid down your life

For one and all.

So we give all we are

To you alone.

This means freedom for the captive

And good news for those in need

Your message is justice and compassion

God of love, and Prince of Peace

With one voice we sing hallelujah

All the earth cry out hallelujah

With the angels sing hallelujah

Jesus Christ is King

We give everything

To you alone.

two more...

My gifts (or as they pronounce it, "jifts") from my BFF's (I taught them what that means) Idarus and Willy.

I told them I like elephants, and that I wanted a picture of Kilimanjaro to put up in my dorm room.

This beats any photograph, in my opinion.

and more pictures.

a village in Tanzania - Nameni is a precious 8-year old girl sponsored by my grandparents through Compassion International.

Arusha, Tanzania - Peace House Secondary School - Immanuel is one of the most mature 14-year olds I've ever met.

Arusha, Tanzania - Peace House Secondary School - Danielle and I with our Form One "rafikis."

Arusha, Tanzania - Peace House Secondary School - My BFF's Willy and Idarus.

more pictures.

Namanga Road - On our way to Tanzania from Kenya - The once lush foothills of Mount Kilimanjaro now look like a desert. Tanzania is experiencing one of the worst droughts in its history.

somewhere-near-Longido, Tanzania - Perhaps a little reminiscent of the Dust Bowl?

Tanzania-Kenya border - The pillar marks the border between Kenya and Tanzania. I like to say that I illegally entered Kenya...

Mto Wa Mbu, Tanzania - We woke up to trails and trails of these massive safari ants one morning. Not your typical ants: these ones will quietly crawl up your legs and start biting you. Main lesson: don't pour out the juice from a tuna can near your tents.

Tarangire National Park, Tanzania - Note to self: don't open a jar of honey to make lunch on a safari.