Summer Plans

Make this your “Lover-summer.”

That’s what God is telling me now.  That’s what I felt when summer first began, as I ran the last gamut of finals and through the last week of school.  Last year, in Snow Mountain Ranch, was my “Cowboy-summer” (I refer to John Eldredge’s Way of the Wild Heart: which breaks the journey of a man’s soul into five stages: Beloved Son, Cowboy, Warrior, Lover, King, and Sage--with God taking center stage throughout them all).  It was an amazing, wild time there.  A time of going on adventures with God and through the challenges I conquered letting Him whisper to me, You are a man after my heart.  You have what it takes.  It was something essential I needed to hear.  Now it is time for more.  Now it's time to discover God as my lover.

I have loved God and known that He loves me for some time now.  Once it was a novel concept, to learn that the words the Bible had to say about the love of God were more than just words.  The love of God is something real and it applies to me.  It has been a struggle to grasp and accept that.  To be loved by the King of all Kings is no small matter.  In the past, legalism and the resulting guilt and shame have made it nigh impossible to accept His advances due to a sense of unworthiness--which is basically me telling Him I’m a better judge of my character (and His workmanship, which I am) than He is.  Pfft!

Well, legalism no longer marks my spiritual walk.  On the way up to the Rock Retreat, that was overthrown, shown for what it was.  My spiritual life has not settled into a legalistic pattern since.  That’s not to say it’s been perfect.  More like erratic: lots of highs and lows.  It was probably like that before, but before I was often focused on finding and keeping the perfect system to gain and keep God’s love and pleasure (again, pfft!).

I’d like to steady the boat--so to speak--, or at least give it a steady course, but that’s not something I can do from my end.  I tried that lots of times before and always wound up on the wrong tack (all these nautical analogies--me and my Dad are into CS Forester’s Horatio Hornblower series, can you tell? J).  Giving direction is God’s part, and He’s very good at it.  What remains for me to do is follow.  Somehow, it’s always harder than it sounds--I think every journey is--, but He gives strength--of every sort that the journey requires.

God has made it clear for some time that He loves me.  He has made it abundantly clear that He is in the business of redeeming, rescuing, releasing, restoring, and pursuing my heart.  It’s not something I talk about a whole lot, except on my blog, in the privacy of my own little corner of the internet (which has been read by people from a dozen different countries--but so far no one I know: “privacy” is a funny word that way).  I’m afraid I’ll sound crazy, and sometimes I think I am.  But His love is very real, everything in reality speaks to it to me.  The only way I can get away is to bury myself in some foolish fantasy, and even that’s no guaranty--He’s a relentless in His pursuit of my heart and sometimes uses very unconventional means to capture it (nothing He hasn’t done before, I’m sure: He’s a veteran at this sort of thing and there is, as the Bible says, nothing new under the sun…still, it’s not the sort of things I heard about in Sunday school!).

This summer, I want to learn to surrender to His love, let it capture every piece of my heart and fill it.  I will follow Him, but not passively.  I must take up arms against every sin and snare that distracts and detracts from His love in my heart, and jealously guard and advance every good thing which grows and illuminates it.  There is much to do, too much, I think, for one summer--but one summer will be a good start.  There will be war, to be sure, for Satan will never let God have anything unopposed and the flesh is a traitor born.  It will be a war on many fronts, but by the grace of God, the blood of Jesus, and the power of the Spirit, we will prevail.

Here’s a preview of some of the enemies I see ahead of me:

Lust - it has tyrannized my sexuality and terrorized me for too long.  It must be shown no quarter, and at the same time no pains should be spared in rescuing my sexuality.  Though I have openly questioned its usefulness and goodness, God has expressed special interest in this part of my heart, as well as those parts of my heart associated with it (which I’ve also had doubts about, of late).  His interest shows importance, and He is always right, even when I can’t see it.

Laziness - it’s an enemy to be fought in several areas, but one in particular.  I hate managing money, but it’s a resource God gave me.  I’ve let this area of my life slip of late and I need to claim it back, as a gift from God.  Passivity must be replaced with proactiveness, though the easy trust I usually have in God for financial things should be preserved.  I also need to be proactive about work--finding it and doing it with all my might.  This, I have found, lightens my heart.

Diversion - here at home with my family, I’ve found we’re gluttons for entertainment.  Today, on the way to church and from church we listened to an audio book and spent the rest of the day watching episodes of an old television favorite.  This past week, I stayed up late playing video games on my PC.  There’s nothing wrong with having fun--in fact, it’s a very vital part of winning my heart--, but entertainment is very big on the promise of fun and very small on the delivery.  Furthermore, it tends to set me in an isolated artificial reality.  I must indulge no more in the unreal world of entertainment and revel in the reality of what God has made--which is a processes sometimes aided by media.  For instance, I’ve found God often uses songs to get right at my heart, with great effect.

Restlessness - I’m always busy doing something, even if it’s nothing.  It’s like a denial-of-service attack on my heart.  While retaining a proactiveness about work, I must daily surrender to the quiet stillness and rest in God’s love there.

Fear - it threatens every front, trying to hold me back and keep me out of the fight.  I cannot give in to it, but I must retain a faithful dependence on God.  With my eyes on Him and not on the storms of life around me, I can overcome fear.

Isolation - it’s always a problem for me during these college summers.  I leave my friends at school and come home, to a place where I no longer seem to belong.  Though I’m still in touch with some friends from high school, we’ve all gone our separate ways and are no longer as close as we once were.  My family is gathered around me, but--as I mentioned before--often absorbed in distractions.  Though each of us has a relationship with God, we don’t ever seem to talk about it except on Sundays.  The deep, daily connections I enjoy at college with brothers and sisters in Christ over spiritual matters do not exist at home or have been allowed to lapse.  It’s easy to accept the isolation, stay in my room, and write ream after ream of my novel, but this just suffocates my heart.  Although it is difficult to run against the status quo of the family, it is necessary to make and maintain these connections.

Jesus at Bethesda

Today’s lesson was on one of Jesus’ miracles, his healing of the man at the pool of Bethesda in John 5:2-14. It’s about a man—presumably crippled—who’d been lying at the pool hoping for a miracle for 38 years. It was said that the waters of the pool were periodically disturbed by an angel and that the first person into the water after the disturbance would be healed. For years, this man had waited on such a miraculous healing for himself, but since he had no one to help him down into the pool he was always too late.


Jesus approached this man out of the crowd and asked if he wanted to be healed. The man explained the hopelessness of his situation, but Jesus said, “Get up, take up your bed and walk.” And the man did! When he turned around again, though, Jesus had disappeared into the crowd.

Now, some of the Jewish religious elite saw this man wandering around carrying his bed and were none to happy. It was the Sabbath day, you see, and carrying your bed was “work”—a strict taboo on a day that was supposed to be dedicated to the Lord. They demanded that the man stop carrying his bed, but the man replied that the one who’d healed him told him to carry it. “And who’s that?” they demanded. The poor man didn’t know.

Later, though, he happened to meet Jesus at the temple and Jesus gave him a remarkable warning: “See, you are well! Sin no more, that nothing worse may happen to you.” Then, the man knew who it was who’d healed him.

There are several remarkable points to this story that were touched on in the sermon and that I see. First of all, the story shows how Christ has—and is—hope for the hopeless. The man knows a miracle is his only chance of recovery and has waited 38 years for one. He has lost all hope, as one can tell from his reply in verse 7. Jesus asks him if he wants to be healed, and instead of saying, “Yes, I’d love to be healed,” the man can only grumble about the hopelessness of his situation. He has given up and sunk in despair. Yet Jesus hasn’t given up on him. God has not even begun to really move in his life. When He does, it only takes one simple sentence to set the man up on his feet and send him on his way back home. The situation, which is hopeless to man, is a synch to God.

In my own life, there are several hopeless situations. There are sins I can’t seem to beat, goals I can never obtain, and battles I can never win. Some situations are so dauntingly impossible that—more often then not—I shy away from facing them altogether. No doubt you can sympathize. Everyone has their own Goliaths—as a Max Lucado put it—“giant” situations, people, or sins that we can’t seem to face and that delight in lording our hopelessness over us.

But a hopeless situation isn’t hopeless to God. Luke 1:37 and Matthew 19:26 say that to God nothing is impossible. The things that we find impossible are possible to Him. He can enable us to overcome our Goliaths, as He enabled the man—crippled at the end of his line—to pick up his bed and walk away.

Second, the sermon noted the compassion of Jesus on this man. In verse 14 Jesus tells him to “sin no more, that nothing worse may happen to you.” Evidently, his first ailment was caused by sin. In other words, it was the man’s own fault that he was lying there by the pool of Bethesda, needing a miracle. His sin was responsible for his condition. Perhaps the connection was obvious: some affliction particularly associated with the sin he had committed. Perhaps it was circumstantial: a malady that struck him down in the act. Perhaps the connection was only known to him and to God Himself. In any case, both Jesus and the man knew why he was lying by the pool of Bethesda. The man had sinned, he had done wrong: he had screwed up and screwed up his life as a result. Thirty-eight years gone for the sin he’d committed. Perhaps that was just how long it took God to really get his attention. In any case, the man who looks up on Christ at Bethesda that day is a broken man who has no one to blame but himself. He knows it. Christ knows it too…and Christ has compassion on him.

My father asked pointedly if we would do the same. We who are Christians, are we like our Christ? When a drug user has an overdose, when an active homosexual (or adulterer for that matter) contracts AIDS, when a thief is caught, when a murderer is sentenced, a bully is sent home crying, or a habitual liar finds himself friendless and un-trusted…what is our reaction? Do we have compassion, or do we say, “It serves you right”?

This is a hard question because, in one sense our serves-you-right is correct. It does serve a sinner right when his ways catch up with him. God is the one who said, “Whoever sheds man’s blood, by man his blood must be shed” (Genesis 9:6). God is also the one who made laws against stealing, and punishments for the thief who was caught. He’s the one who handed down laws against every sin of man, and He’s the one who designed our bodies, relationships, and lives in such a way that violating those laws has justly negative consequences. More, we cannot ignore that is the God who created Hell and justly demands it as a punishment of sin. God is not ashamed to see justice done. According to Revelation 14:11 the smoke of the fires of Hell ascends up eternally before God. God does not shy away from doing justice, nor is He ashamed of it when it is done, and neither should we be. So in one sense, when we see justice done on the sinner we should recognize it as a good thing: justice needs to be satisfied. God holiness and greatness are seen when it is so.

But we should not forget compassion. Here Christ has compassion on the man who’s wallowing in the just result of his own sins. Three chapters later, he has compassion on a woman caught in the act of adultery and delivers her from the legal punishment for that crime (although a case can be made in that instance that some of gross injustice was going on—after all the woman was being punished alone even though she was “caught in the very act of adultery” and legally the adulterer and the adulteress were supposed to suffer the same fate, which raises the question: how do a bunch of Pharisees catch a woman alone in the very act of adultery?...very suspicious. No wonder they all left when Jesus asked for an innocent man to throw the first stone). In Matthew chapter 5, verses 44 and 45 commands us to love our enemies, “so that you may be the sons of your Father who is in Heaven. For He makes His sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.” Earlier in the Bible, God declares: “I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live” (Ezekiel 33:11). God loves even sinners. It is a yearning—sometimes tragic—kind of love. It is that love that sent Christ to Earth…coming for the sinner at the pool of Bethesda, the woman caught in adultery, and the thief on the cross (Luke 23:40-43). But we must also remember that He came for the Pharisees—not to argue with them, but to save them from their sins through His death (and some were saved such as Joseph of Arimathea, Luke 23:50-52)—, and for the Romans who crucified Him. He also came, in the very same way, for His disciples who followed Him through thick and thin three years only to flee on the last night. It is also important for us to remember that He came for us in the exact same way. Whether we think we are better or worse than the people on whom God’s justice falls, we’re wrong. We are all sinners and God died for all of us, to satisfy His justice against us all so that none of us need take the punishment for our sin (Christ has already paid it). We are all wicked. By Christ’s sacrifice, we can all be made righteous. The only difference, then, between the sinners who are punished and the saints who are forgiven is that the latter have by the grace of God accepted and believed what Christ did for them and the former have not. Let us remember that when we see a sinner suffering justly: “There, but for the grace of God, go I.” Perhaps that will help us have compassion, or at the very least, sympathy.

But here’s another thing to note for ourselves. I know I find it helpful, and I hope you do too: Christ extends the same compassion to the cripple of Bethesda as He does to us today. Many a time, I know I’ve found myself in a bad spot…and known it was all my fault. I’ve found myself rushing to class—already late as I head out the door. And why am I late? Oh, that’s right, because I was playing a game and decided to go one more round when I knew I didn’t have the time (and I probably shouldn’t be playing that game at all)…or I decided to linger over Dilbert (my page-a-day calendar) when I knew I needed to be double-timing it out the door…or stopped to chat with a friend when I knew I should say: “Hey, I’ll see you later!” So, I’m on my way to class, sweating about being late, missing material, and getting docked points…and now is when I turn to God. I’m nervous as I do so. This is the God of the universe here, after all, the One who numbered all my days, the One who has the most cause to be upset with me right now. I don’t lightly turn to Him. It’s not like I screw up my life on purpose and just flippantly throw it at Him and say, “Here! Fix it for me, sugar daddy!” In fact, I’m a little hesitant to turn to Him. I don’t know what to say. When I go to Him, is His just anger at my procrastination all I’ll find? I’m afraid, to tell the truth, but I need help and I’ve nowhere else to go. I’m hopeless once again, and I need Him.

Time and again, I find myself at this crossroads. Mind you, it’s not always—or even mostly—procrastination. Usually, it’s something worse. At times like these, I know what I need to do: I need to turn to my Savior and my God. I know that doing anything else is pointless. I have just one chance, and that’s God. He’s the only one who can pull a victory out of these situations. He’s the only one who can make me the man He wants me to be, the man I need to be if I am to survive.

Sometimes, I wonder if God is up to the challenge, but only briefly. Of course, He can overcome anything: He made everything! At other times I wonder if He cares enough to pull off the necessary rescue. He never lets that doubt endure long: His love is unfailing, unceasing, and often arrives when it is least expected and most needed. The question that haunts me is me. What will I do in response to God? When God calls to me, “Rise, take up your bed, and walk,” will I have the faith to just get up and do it, or will I continue to lay at the side of the pool in despondency? That’s the doubt that keeps me up at night…but this too must be laid aside. It is God who gives us faith and strength, whose Spirit works within us to purify and perfect us. It is Christ who healed the man at Bethesda, despite his hopelessness. Our despair does not dilute His power. May it be seen in me tonight!

Is God a Gorgon?

"But," He said, "You cannot see my face, for man shall not see me and live."
-Exodus 33:20

The title of this entry is a little tongue-in-cheek.  It plays off of my first perception when I read this verse as a kid.  Here, God is telling Moses how He will show the man His glory, and yet not show him His face.  No one can see the face of God and live, I thought.  So, would someone die if they saw the face of God?  Admittedly, the first image that crossed my mind when I pictured a God with a man-killing face was this:

Okay, so obviously, God is not Medusa!  I do not believe that His face is so ugly it would kill a man to look at it.  But what, then, does it mean when He says that no man can look at His face and live?  I've had that thought nagging in the back of my brain for a while now.

The first thing that occurred to me was that God is holy, and He is also very jealous of His holiness.  There are various examples of His jealous protection of His sanctity throughout the Old Testament.  For example, Uzzah was killed when he touched the Ark of the Covenant in 2 Samuel 6.  It wasn't that the Ark had a ten-thousand volt divine anti-theft device running through it, nor was it that the Ark was so horrible that just touching it could kill you: it was the holiness of the Ark being avenged by God.  The Ark was very special to God and was to be transported in a very special way, which God had clearly laid out.  David and his men chose to transport it by oxcart instead, and this violation of its holiness lead to a further violation when Uzzah touched the Ark, which God said not to do.  God was not overreacting to some arbitrary standard, He was protecting His Holiness and the Holiness of His things.  A human parallel might be to think of a woman protecting her decency.  If you pat her rump and you're not her husband, she's liable to slap you across the face...because she's protecting the sanctity of her body.

Certainly the same might hold true for the matter of God's face.  Indeed this seems the most likely situation.  A woman would be disinclined to let a pervert live if she caught him trying to peek in her shower.  How much less would the Holy God of all Creation expose His glorious face to sinful creatures of dust?  It is beneath His dignity to allow such, and anyone trying to "peek" on His glory would surely be killed for the offense.

Yet there is something more to this.  If God's only reason for not letting Moses see His face was all consuming jealousy for His holiness, then why are we encouraged (actually, commanded) to seek God's face (Psalm 27:8)?  I had no answer.  Seeing God's face seemed like a bad thing, and not to mention it being punishable by death.  That's not exactly something I want to seek after!  Also, what of the atonement of Christ?  Had He really made me clean and pure in His eyes if He still couldn't stand to let me look at Him?

These questions rattled around in the back of my brain for a long while, until an unexpected connection caused them to settle.  I mentioned in previous post how I'd been playing this online strategy game called Astro Empires.  It was a persistent multi-player strategy game, meaning that when you log off, your virtual empire is still visible to all the other players online, who can hurt it or help it as they please.  At one point (two or three months ago--I've been procrastinating on writing this post), I became quite involved in the game.  I joined a guild with other players online and made some friends there.  My little empire burgeoned and prospered.  It was an idyllic era--though of course, it was all just a game!  Then, unexpected developments occurred in my real life, not only demanding my attention but also promising good things to come.  Seeing this, I decided to quit Astro Empires.  I wrote farewell messages to my friends, and revealed the secret locations of my best bases and worlds to one of them--willing them to him, in a way--before deleting my account and vanishing from the Astro Empire's universe forever.  This is a little like death, isn't it? I thought.  [It was late at night when I did all this, so you will pardon the odd tack my thoughts took, I hope.]  I decided that, in fact, it was.  I was dying to Astro Empires.  I was leaving it's universe forever, along with the people in it and the "possessions" which I'd had.  But I was not the least bit sad to be "dying" so, for I was going to something greater, more worthy, and with a far greater reward.  If this is what dying is really like, dying and going to Heaven, I thought, then it's not so bad.  When my time comes, I imagine I will willingly let go and die to this world, so that I might live with my God in the next.

This brought me to a new way of looking at that verse.  I can point to no scripture which backs it up.  It is not so much an interpretation as a thought, so take it for what it's worth!  But what if God really wanted us to seek His face, but just wasn't willing to show it to us yet--not simply out of holy jealousy, but also because He knows what effect it would have on us?  What if God in His fully glory was such an overwhelmingly beautiful sight that, were a man to catch sight of Him, he would immediately die?  That is, he would instantly recognize God as the greatest, most worthy, and most rewarding thing in the universe--more rewarding, more worthwhile, and greater than life and the universe themselves--, and would thereby immediately resign all the trappings of this life in hope of gaining life with Him?  And would that not be Heaven if that hope was answered?  Would it not be Hell to have it denied?  Perhaps this is what it means to have a God whose face we can--as yet--not see.