These top 5’s are really something. Not sure how they are hitting, but this one should be delightful for the purpose of reflection on the preeminent relationship in my life and the reason for existence. It also will serve as an interesting exercise in what I consider to be moments in markers in my relationship with Christ, God Himself.
5. When I was in high school I was at Taco Bell with my friend Andy Hoehn. We were on the wrestling team together and we were having a conversation about God. I wish I could describe the details but suffice it to say it was a conversation about why I believed that Jesus was my Savior. I remember being so delighted to share my faith that I immediately prayed that the conversation would be fruitful. It wasn’t long after pulling onto Quakerbridge Road that I was overcome by the presence of the Holy Spirit and began to speak in tongues. I remember feeling chills and not really knowing what happened at the time and later learned to appreciate my experience and the value of speaking in tongues.
4. My freshman year of college I went to a two night concert featuring a worship artist named Jason Upton. It was particularly powerful because he ministered through the Scripture from Malachi about turning hearts of the father to their children and hearts of children to their fathers. I remember this being a moment of healing in my own heart where I felt like I could begin to see and heal aspects of my relationship with my own dad. I remember those worship services softening my heart in ways I did not imagine possible.
3. My last semester of grad school I had this crisis of what to do and where to go after I finished. I remember being parked on a hill on Mulberry Street in Scranton, PA with a milkshake or ice cream cone in my hand. I said to myself, “I have no idea what I’m doing and I have no idea what I’m becoming.” And in what felt like an instantaneous response to my spirit, I felt I heard the voice of God whisper to my mind, “I love who you are becoming.” I remember feeling both broken and encouraged to keep going which I believe sustained me in my next season of life on the farm and obtaining ministerial credentials.
2. My entire season of chaplaincy residency was an intense season of God stretching my faith and understanding new dimensions how God is faithful and sustaining even in death. I don’t think I fully understood how much death is connected to life and how important grief is in our ability to keep going. I also learned how delaying grief can keep one stuck. As a whole I don’t know if I daily felt tangible grace to do difficult things as much as I experienced as a hospital chaplain.
1. Valentine’s Day of my freshman year of college, my best friend Ben and I had a conversation until 2 am where at the end of it we had prayed for him to accept the Jesus as Lord and Savior. I have had a few other experiences in which I have been with people as they professed belief or confessed for the first time. I also connect this experience to baptism, the public declaration of faith. I believe there is a tangible joy to be experienced when I see people meet and choose to follow Jesus.
What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes…
So whoever knows the right to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.
Have I been vanishing?
I feel it when people ask me what I am doing.
I start my sentences with a plan and slowly drift into uncertainty until I say, “I don’t know” 3 or 4 times. Then I see their look wondering how to change the conversation.
I hate that I do that. Sometimes I do it and maintain a smile or laugh at myself. Other times I do it and look around and begin to ask myself “What just happened?”
A few days ago I sat in my truck for a while and just stared listlessly waiting for a divine interruption.
Then yesterday I saw some pictures from my childhood. And I read into them, that I looked lost. Maybe all children have moments where they photograph with expressions of curiosity and inquisitiveness or appear to be trying too hard to achieve some simple task.
Tasks, like staying at a job or not moving so much or staying content.
When I look at pictures from when I was 5 or 6 I feel like I am looking in a mirror at someone more familiar to me than the person I see now.
23 Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror 24 and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like.
If I have vanished then where have I gone?
Life is seemingly so short and moves so fast.
If you know the right thing to do and fail to do it, it is sin or feels like death.
There have been times this last year that I have been confident of what the right thing is and have barely done it.
There have been times when I have been certain of what the wrong thing is and sadly but confidently done it. I have sinned boldly and reaped boldly of the awful reward.
I have spun my wheels in the mud, while oxycodone sits in my medicine cabinet on the other side of the mirror looking like the least of all evils.
But all vices wage war with the Spirit and make you feel lost if you sow to numb the flesh.
If I have gone, then where am I now?
But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.
For the sun rises with scorching heat and withers the plant; its blossom falls and its beauty is destroyed. In the same way, the rich will fade away even while they go about their business.
James 1:6, 1:11
My quarantine started in October when I moved to Margate and lived on an empty street working six days a week.
From September until February contained some of the most depressed moments I’ve experienced for a long time. That was all pre-pandemic and while I have had moments and stretches of depression in the last few months, I also have had some of my very exciting moments from February-now.
And as much as I don’t understand how or why I feel the way I do, I feel like I’m living in two places. And every time I try to take the next step I become the version of myself that wants to be fiercely loyal to friends and family, be around them and enjoy them, while being completely uncertain/unsure of myself. And I want to hide.
Whether I am here or there, what am I waiting for?
See how the farmer waits for the land to yield its valuable crop, patiently waiting for the autumn and spring rains. You too, be patient and stand firm, because the Lord’s coming is near.
I’m waiting for what we are all waiting for, fulfillment of perceived promises, a sense of purpose, a sense of God’s pleasure and delight (1 Timothy 6:6), sanctification in Christ, abundant life.
Authors Note- This blog was started in August of 2020 and was unpublished. I was reflecting on how I ended up working back in construction, was post knee surgery and figuring out if I would move back to Charleston. I was reading heavily in the book of James. Life is short so I was and still am determined to live and love well.
In late February of 2013, I began training to be a professional wrestler. It came after putting a dream I had growing up, on hold for about 7 years. Really, on hold is not the right word, more like out of my mind what I thought was completely. But it’s amazing what the right place at the right time, at a season of life where other things lost their meaning can provide for a person.
As it turned out, the initial excitement of training only lasted a few weeks, and as I was gripped by a season of depression, training just wasn’t giving me any sense of joy. But I remember having a thought for several months. I remember thinking, “If this dream was something that was a part of a my life and brought me joy for so long, one day if I persist long enough this might just bring me joy again.”
Whether or not that thought worked or was sustaining, I’m not sure I can tell or remember. What I do remember is that I continued until 2018 (with almost a full year break in 2015-2016) when I moved to South Carolina.
It was then I continued in a new direction with a new set of expectations and goals with an invigorated sense of purpose that I believed was grounded in a call from God. If any of that interests you, this blog chronicles much of that journey, or you can ask me for a rambling, long winded, inchorent babbling version where the only hope is that I will shut down in the middle of it in order for it to come to a succinct but albeit inconclusive end.
This is quite a long introduction to say a few words on the topic of continuing on in one’s faith. To start I present a scripture:
21Once you were alienated from God and were enemies in your minds because of your evil behavior. 22 But now he has reconciled you by Christ’s physical body through death to present you holy in his sight, without blemish and free from accusation— 23 if you continue in your faith, established and firm, and do not move from the hope held out in the gospel. This is the gospel that you heard and that has been proclaimed to every creature under heaven, and of which I, Paul, have become a servant.
I have been struck by the conditionality of Paul’s words. To expound on the supremacy of Christ just prior, and to follow the verses above by proclaiming that Paul rejoices to share in sufferings, he seems to say “in your reconciliation you could stop or move on from your hope, the same hope that was meant to be an anchor to your soul; you could cut ties with.”
He puts forth the condition of cutting ties in a sandwich by way of reminder of a former alienation and enmity brought about by evil behavior. He also reminds us that the way God presents you now is as holy an pure and without blemish unable to be accused and that there is unimaginable possibilities in the hope of the gospel. Even still there in the middle is an “if you continue in your faith.”
And what makes us want to not continue is hardly ever what one might think actually could. The New Testament seems to be strongly convinced that persecution would not stop followers of Jesus from continuing. The writers seem far more convinced that false doctrine leading to false beliefs is far more likely to lead believers astray than persecution. There is almost this assumption/guarentee of persecution, whereas false doctrine/teaching has to be entertained, has to find a willing ear. And this according to the New Testament is far greater catalyst in the turn towards no longer continuing than anything else I can think of.
I think the reason people turn to false beliefs is due to palpability. There is something in what is being believed that is easier or more conducive to living life a certain way than if they kept a grasp on truth. Anything to avoid the disruption of comfortability or status. But to continue on in faith, means saying yes to who (Jesus) you barely know and what you may have not have the faintest grasp of what is involved (the works prepared to do beforehand).
If we want to follow Jesus, expecting the upending of sensibilities is what we signed up for; alongside it is a steadfast promise that we will be kept and loved and forgiven upon confession and our efforts to continue to turn from darkness toward delight in Jesus.
Will you continue? What do you believe that is convenient but untrue? What do I believe that keeps me comfortable yet unwilling to look foolish in faith? Who am I continuing for? and what do I need to do with the ministry of reconicliation God has entrusted to me as an ambassador of the kingdom? So many answers to these questions I know in part, or hardly at all, but in choosing to continue, I establish myself in hope.
Impetuosity is a word I have often heard associated with Peter. It is a word that would seem to accurately describe James and John (the Sons of Thunder) when their inclination was to call fire down from Heaven to burn a city. I think that impetuosity has two sides. Often we are so preoccupied with one way of thinking that when something that runs contrary to it enters the picture we or I become very quick to disregard my care for the thing that stands at odds with me.
But what if that thing is less clear than an enemy or an outright rejection? What if that thing that frustrates us is a storm or uncertainty or someone who cares for us that is not necessarily trying to hurt us? What do we do with our angst?
When Peter walks on water, his boat and the people on it were aggressively rowing against wind and waves. I’m prone to think that the disciples, determined to cross the lake were doing what they felt was their only option. Strive against the wind on the boat.
Jesus who is walking on the water is either unfazed by the wind and waves or has authority enough to calmly walk among them.
And then the disciples, Peter included, see a Jesus whom they mistake for a ghost. And Peter has a thought after calling out to Jesus, who identifies Himself as the man who walks on water. Peter thinks he can identify with Christ by also walking on water.
But this too was an impulsive thought. Not long after he walks on water, he falls into it and immediately cries out for help. Equally immediate is Jesus’ response of reaching out his hand to help.
I wonder how Peter would reflect back on that story:
“We were rowing, going nowhere. I still don’t know why he sent us ahead into the wind knowing we would struggle. Then we saw him walking; it seemed like He had no intention to come to us, that he was willing to sneak past us. Maybe, it was all about Him wanting us to reach out, to cry for help. So we did, although I wanted to be with Him, to be like Him. But it seemed so impossible. Even when I stepped onto the water it seemed impossible. Even as I took a few steps it was hard to believe. It is still hard to believe. I walked with Him on water for a moment, and followed Him into all sorts of things I did not know. That was His constant thread of drawing me nearer to love, to trust in Him without the guarantee of anything else. Even my own faith is subject to sifting. But Jesus, He’s real, He caught me. He’s kept me.”
Last December I wrote in my phone, “In a way, I went blind; I went where the hope was.” At the time, I was waiting to hear back about a job. I was in tension with many things that a year later I still sit in tension with. Some things could not bear under the tension and broke.
As I write this, my mom sent me a very lengthy mom text that was both silly and sad in regards to the day when she became well advanced in age and how she would like to be cared for.
It was actually super encouraging, a well thought out treatise of how she would like to be cared for, very straight forward, very specific and explained how it will meet her perceived needs. It seemed like it came from someone who knows what they want.
I admire it because it seemed reasonable and easy to meet the kind of expectations she laid out. While I say her expectations are reasonable, I have no idea if I will be able to meet any of them 10 years from now or sooner or later. I only can meet expectations for the now. For those people or places or things that don’t know what they want or need now, it makes it very difficult, somewhat impossible to know how to help.
There was and have been times when I could very easily articulate what I’ve wanted or thought I needed. Even in doing so, sometimes those wants and needs don’t get met. Need and want are both qualitative terms. It’s too reductionary or just plain false to say all we need is food water and shelter. Our humanness need much more than what merely keeps the body alive. We need things, people, places of safety that help sustain our joy which is ultimately grounded in Christ. Sure those things, relationships and places can be shaken, hopefully without being broken.
Today, my soul is aware that it is both surrounded by color yet covered under the weight of a veiled cloudiness that has kept me cold, achy and tired. I need a win. Grades are due, my energy is sapped. I have been lost at home. Yet tangible hope must be found somewhere. There must be a direction in which I can go and find it or the things that can give breath to hope: joy, love, some sense of rest.
I need a direction, an aim, a God of hope, a divine intervention that can fill in the gaps of all the margin I have been unable to handle in the wake of feeling shaky and uncertain about the misplaced affection in which I have hoped. I wish God would make decisions for me when I feel life has become too exhausting. I have too much to give to be tired. I’m going still a little unsure about what I see.
A little over a month and half ago I went on vacation to Hawaii. I had a friend tell me, jokingly (though in every joke there sometimes is a truth) “You’re going on vacation? A vacation from what? You don’t have a job.” It’s actually a line from Seinfeld, Jerry to George (I’m not George).
I don’t need to justify my position, but I will. Suffice it to say that pre-pandemic I was working long hours in an isolated beach town in NJ to move to another job with the same company that took no breaks during the pandemic. Also, I tore my meniscus, got ACL surgery and was pretty inactive for a while so after going on no extended vacations for 2 years, one of those years being an emotionally intense year of chaplaincy in which I made very little money, followed by an emotionally trying time of disappointment in pursuing a career in ministry, I decided to take a vacation in the midst of a pandemic after not working for 3 months. Thankfully, I got a nice tax return check.
Now that the justificaiton is out of the way, I will reflect on what I hoped from the trip. Memorial Day weekend, the weekend I tore my meniscus I met my friend Richard who I traveled to Hawaii with.
We had lots of good conversation the first time we met, centered around moving to Charleston, how in the midst of transition or choosing to transition, there will always be consequences you can’t account for. And how enneagrams 4’s hearts are so concerned about mining the depths that it can be hard for us to get out of the depths and look up and see the light (usually other people help us).
Unforeseen consequences of the first time I moved to Charleston for example: my dad was diagnosed with leukemia 5 days before I moved. Half way through my time here, my grandma passed away. If someone were to tell me those things when I applied for a chaplaincy residency at the end of 2017 perhaps I would have reconsidered moving to Charleston in 2018. But in short we don’t know what will happen when we choose to move or transition. We hope for the best and we get what we get, and hopefully we are content in knowing God has us.
Richard and I also talked about navigating trials, and projecting joy in the midst of suffering (something I’m historically terrible at). Our circumstances in December of 2020 found us thinking about planning a trip. Woe was us! International travel was off the table, and I don’t like the cold, so we went to Hawaii. A glorious compromise.
Hawaii is beautiful. I don’t think anyone who has been could or would say otherwise. Beaches, mountains (volcanoes), nice temperature. In simple terms it’s a great place to vacation and to live if you like living on an island in the middle of the ocean.
We hiked, we surfed, we ate some things, stayed in nice places and laughed a ton. We also talked about community and its purpose in our lives, how by its design it’s never meant to keep us stuck. How community in it’s freest form points us to Christ and sets us free to look beyond self to the needs of others and the Kingdom that has come. And how once community ceases to be this, it becomes a trap or a roadblock to good things. Community takes what we have in common and shares it for the sake of further unity. Community should grow not retract. Community shouldn’t keep us on an island.
It was helpful to think about on an island where it was beautiful and easy to be, knowing that everyone else’s lives were moving and going on without me. It was a different island than the one I was on for 5 months at the Jersey shore coming home to my cat every night in the cold winter of 2019-2020.
Oh the islands I choose to visit. And what isolation does to a person is interesting. I have reflected on it previously. People talk about the dangers of isolation and being alone, and I can attest to many of those dangers. But I will say, being alone for a long time means lots of time to think about what you want and how you will get there.
Which is why in many ways Hawaii was not just a vacation but also a chance to think about the question: “was this what I set out to do?”
I wrote myself a letter on August 5th, 2020 after reading a Bob Goff book, Dream Big, that Richard recommended to me. In it Bob says to write a letter you wrote to yourself and read it 6 months later so naturally I did that on our vacation.
I will give you the highlights of what I had hoped from the letter I wrote on August 5th and read February 5th 2021. (Yes I wrote it with the intention to read it on my birthday):
-I wrote I’d be in Charleston (technically I was wrong, I wasn’t even in Hawaii reading it, I was in Colorado, a place I probably will never return to).
-I wrote I’d have a budding romance (always the romantic optimist), that could not have been less true.
-I’d have writing/publishing opportunities (I’ve certainly written a ton, but have refused to finish anything, an enneagram’s 4 challenge, committing to something long enough to complete it, we accept life for its incompleteness, we also aren’t great at selling ourselves)
-I’d have a healthy knee (actually that’s mostly true)
-I’d have a restful home and a joy filled community (yes…)
-I was considering doing a second Master’s (ironically enought that’s still on the table but it’s my third choice at the time when I wrote it: a Master’s in education. I was previosuly considering an MDIV or Clinical Counseling).
-I was supposed to sell a lot of stuff, eat healthy, and fast more (meh)
It was a short letter. There was some recap and epistle like characteristics to it that were helpful that I won’t go into detail about.
During the many reflections with Richard and thinking about the 4 months of living in Charleston and not working, I had to come to grips with if it was worth it. Was it worth moving and risking looking foolish?
Is it worth it to be left under the scrutiny of others on the outside thinking I might be lazy or indecisive or unsteady or unreliable or not resilient and to move on from those perceptions in order to be steadfast? It’s part of the cost: to be misunderstood, to let others make assumptions, to be judged for how you present yourself. The way to keep going without depression or self-pity is to move on, quietly.
A step of faith requires one to be willing to look foolish, to look like a failure and knowing that many will find your life undesirable. Being able to ignore the inevitable gossip and the ones that treat you like you are less than because of your decisions or circumstances is difficult. But we need to move on from those voices without working up a defense. (perhaps not writing something like this)
It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting.
I don’t know how prepared you are to give of your tears or how familiar you might be with what that entails. I’m going to write a bit about mourning this morning. Grief, loss, and death, I know are not necessarily fun topics to read about. I don’t know a lot about pandemics, the spread of viruses or the long term effects of these things, but I am fairly confident that if political leaders and people are willing to show any hint of prioritizing stimulating the economy and bailing out large financially irresponsible big businesses at the risk of spreading a deadly virus, it’s safe to say that some compassionate folks may have to take up the business of empathy and grieving.
*Scroll to the bottom if you just like practicals*
And that person might be you or me. So here’s how:
Tears are beautiful. One day, in the Kingdom of Heaven there will be no more use for them. But here, now, tears of the emotional variety are a visual display of our pain and our stress and our empathy. As they are released chemicals are typically released in our body that calm our mind and relieve us of physical pain. In this way they are chemically associated with doing good for the inside.
It is important to keep in mind that the capacity for tears or crying is more important than volume. So like anything crying too much or persistent crying amidst a depressive episode could yield little to no benefit. It’s important to discern and distinguish between the two.
Yesterday, my mom put her cat Tabitha down who was 19 years old and had kidney failure. I cried a bit on my drive to her house thinking about my mom during this season of quarantine, thinking a little about Tabitha and how interesting of a cat she was. Those tears were in some ways helpful because I was prepared to empathize with my mom and imagined what it was like to lose a pet but also adjust in a season when being home a lot and perhaps for a extended season is necessary.
Later on that evening, I cried again while being exceedingly frustrated and uncertain even scared about what decisions to make, feeling like life is still out of my control and being frustrated and double-minded about how to live out what I feel called to in the midst of my current vocation after a season where I already felt isolated for the previous 5 months. These tears were less helpful, but still helpful. In part because these tears were more a response to an unclear uncertain emotional framework that had me stuck on myself. If I was still crying those same tears now they would not be helpful and perhaps self-indulgent.
Let’s return to loss and grief and death though for a moment. Some of you may have experienced the loss of a loved one. It was a deep loss that you may have not been prepared for and suffered or may suffer still as you learn to adapt to a new rhythm without that individual. Sometimes their loss might still illicit tears or sadness but hopefully, that loss has not kept you unable to find fullness in life.
Hopefully, you found a helpful ritual or prayer or found ways to accept the loss and have been given new eyes of appreciation for others. Hopefully, also, you will be presented with the opportunity to help others walk through their own grief and loss.
My hope is that this will not be a season that you will be called upon to do that, but there is a chance in the coming weeks even months you might know several people who lose something or someone due to this virus.
Not all loss is death, but death feels the most permanent. And in seasons where isolation is already becoming the norm if someone were to die while others are isolated and may not be able to mourn as easily communally, we will need to be diligent in helping to heal those who suffer loss.
We have power to minister and bring healing to others when we stay alert and aware in the midst of our own loss, to not checkout and isolate, but to remain available. To be reminded that others too will suffer the loss of spouse or grandparent or parent or child, that while our grief and loss is unique in the individual or thing lost, the experience of losing is not unique to us.
So a couple of practicals:
-Imagine you are in their position, in the coming weeks it might not take that much imagining (we’ll see)
-Listen more than spouting advice or cliche phrases of optimism (Scripture written in an encouraging note or a timely word spoken gently might be helpful but listen first)
-Pray for them
-Make sure they are fed and checked in on
-Affirm that they are loved, again gently
-Maybe not a reminder for the one suffering, but death is not the end of everything and it is a part of life; death might become more normalized, but Jesus has promised us eternity with Him for those who believe. So yes, a priority on the restoration to or perseverance in their most important relationship.
-Remember God is with us in our tears
You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?
In the Kingdom, when it comes, there will be the tree of life that bears different fruits and the leaves of that tree will function like medicine to heal the nations. It is not often when reading Revelation that I know if I am reading a metaphor or imagery or literally, but in this instant, I don’t think it is harmful to believe a literal very large and very happy looking tree fulfilling this purpose.
But the tree as it stands and sways is made and moved by Jesus, in Him it moves, we breathe and have being. In this same Kingdom, in those same eternal moments every tear, every sorrow, all recollection of death and pain will be wiped away.
It is on that hope, I hope to encourage you with these brief words. Jesus came and comes again with one intention, to lavish love on His Bride, His Beloved, His people in restored relationship.
There is a strange dichotomy at play though, right now. Winter is supposed to pass; it’s supposed to be done with on Thursday. The time of things dying and being laid bare is supposed to be behind us, even during Lent, a time meant to prepare us, a season of repentance of sins, of giving away, of denying our self. The leaves and flowers are determined to make their appearing. And yet the world is slowing down and simultaneously crying out because of sickness.
But maybe the world, the creation and the command of God are all crying out the same thing.
Maybe they are crying out, “Do not be afraid!” Particularly afraid defined as running away or fleeing. We may stand our ground or even be forced into solitude or quiet in these times but the potential for relationship and community and conversation still exist in abundance. The potential for love and kindness and mercy is present.
And though we wait, for the day when leaves will heal nations, perhaps Jesus has left us, His church to heal and bless the nations.
I’m running on 3 hours of sleep, I’m writing at the end of my work week, I’m recognizing I am weak. I’m remembering the Body is strong. I’m resting in the hope that my eternity is secure. I’m relying on a great cloud of witnesses cheering us on and the intercession of Jesus to keep us faithful to the end.
I had a wonderful night worshiping Jesus yesterday with the family of God. I was reminded of the following passage in Mark 10:28-31
Then Peter spoke up, “We have left everything to follow you!” (I weep here)
“Truly I tell you,” Jesus replied, “no one (<—- you’re not alone) who has left home (“safe” places) or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children (family) or fields (possessions and provisions) for me and the gospel (Jesus and the good news of His kingdom)will fail to receive a hundred times as much (more than we can imagine) in this present age: homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields—along with persecutions (I don’t need to put that part in parentheses because it should stand out)—and in the age to come eternal life.But many who are first will be last, and the last first.”
I emphasize, perhaps my greatest joy is worshiping, singing, dancing before the Lord along with His people, people on mission together. I experienced so much joy seeing them worship.
I’ve had this experience several times this week: my mom shared a testimony with me about feeling led to encourage and pray for her coworker at the library; I’ve heard news from both my communities here and in Charleston on Thursday night and I have been offered an opportunity to teach a class in January on theology. It was a great week for me in that realm.
Yet, I’m losing track of the days and time: when I had certain conversations, losing track of promises, of how to obey the leading of the Spirit. I find my desires to be tired and malaise as I try to wait and hear for the now.
I read verse 28, Peter saying “We have left everything to follow you!”
There have been seasons of my life I’ve read Peter’s words and have shared his
earnestness. However, what I have missed and still will likely miss in the future is Jesus’ actual response. Jesus doesn’t so much affirms Peter’s earnestness which is heartfelt and sincere, as much as Jesus simply states, “Peter this is the lot of everyone who follows.” You twelve are no different than any sincere follower of Jesus. You all will be called to leave something.
And I here the Spirit ask me, “what aren’t you leaving behind? Have you chosen “safety” again? What are you going back to that’s empty”
I’ve definitely run back to some familiar things, some are not helpful, even sinful and others are stagnant. None of them are filling. I hope to find mercy in the familiar but mercy is something that is new every morning. It’s like mana; mercy and grace comes fresh for the moment for the thing God telling us to do. And it must be fresh.
And the only way to maintain fullness is to eat and drink a new every day. And this is where I wander and stumble.
I cling so hard to the past, expecting the past to change or trying to pretend like it doesn’t exist, relying on my history with Jesus rather than fighting for friendship in the present.
If I pretend like all of my past does not exist or when I try to remove the past from me, I stifle the opportunity for God to come through on His promise to make all things work together for good.
And stifling that promise for newness and fullness of life feels like death when you’ve put all your faith and hope in it.
When we, like Peter have left all to follow, we’ve agreed to surrender control, and I find myself often trying to refinance the terms.
I return to construction. I run from the Church when she wounds me. I wound the Church in my running. I lose myself in job security as I find the insecurity within myself alive and well. I am confronted with my selfish motives and rather than persevere for something worthwhile, I merely persist in my waking non-working hours questioning most everything. And in writing this I fear I victimize my reader. I’ve grown weary from writing about painful things. It’s a contradiction because the Kingdom I profess is coming is one in which pain passes away.
Once I’ve chosen the Kingdom and the family of God, I’ve made a choice to dine forever with God. The choice of dining or dying has been made and that means there is no longer room for fellowship with darkness.
I now must dine in the light and having the Spirit of Christ in me means dark things, behaviors, and spirits have to make an exit. Yet, tares mingle among the wheat.
I’m still being sifted, as a child in my faith. And in it I am reminded how little if anything I contribute to this process. But one thing is certain I must habitually continually say yes to the process.
Family, to stay full at this table, we must dine daily even in the presence of enemies, as the psalm says. In the glory of the presence of God, a holy fullness will drive out the emptiness of darkness, hopelessness, and uncertainty. Faith is certain for the hopeful. May we stay full.