Those of you who actually follow my blog with some regularity (or should I say both of you?) will notice that both this and the entry dated February 20 only just appeared today, March 13th. Confused? I often begin entries as inspiration strikes and then save the unfinished works as drafts until I have sufficient time to revisit them. (At present, there are at least four unfinished drafts waiting in cue.) While it is my intention to post here at least once a month, there are times when the "to do" list of life becomes brutal and the unshaped thoughts are left on the cyber-shelf. Furthermore, I will often take independent bits and pieces and fold them into a single post or add them as support to a burgeoning thought line. Some drafts may never become published pieces in any form.
So, when a post appears here, the date/time stamp usually represents the moment when the writing process began and may or mayn't reflect the publish date and time of the work. Sorry for the confusion. And yes, I wrote this entire entry just so I might have cause to use the contraction "mayn't."
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
10... 9... 8... 7... 6...
A friend from years gone by posted this statement today on a social networking site…Dear 2009: We are so over. You've been the most miserable year of my life. You lied to me, stole from me, and betrayed me. Worst of all, you shattered my heart without once looking back. But you know what? You will never destroy me because I am strength personified. Don't let my door smack you in the ass as you leave--good riddance!
I began a response. “Actually, it sounds like you owe a lot to 2009.” I should have stopped there but, instead, continued with something about how our character is more clearly defined in difficulty than by ease or even triumph. Impossible though it may seem, the message actually went downhill from there, attenuating to a level of triviality traditionally reserved for cheap fortune cookies. I quickly back-spaced the thoughts into cyber oblivion.
The truth is, in many ways, I share her sentiment. 2009 was not my favorite year and I can't say I'm sorry to see it go. I too find myself happily looking ahead.
Even so, I am not a big New Year resolution guy. Fresh starts? Great. Resolve and subsequent discipline? Let’s go. But, quixotic visions of new identity inspired by a superficial delineation of time? Good luck with that. Still, these superficial delineations are the framework for the world in which I must functionally exist. And, while I don’t believe it possible to make a clean break of the things I don’t like about who, what, and where I am, just because the year is coming to a close; change must find its beginning.
I am seldom completely unaware of the consequences of my actions. I live much more intentionally than that. However, that does not mean potential consequences are the major motivation for many of my choices—especially those I have or will come to regret most. No. Those choices are usually motivated by selfishness, immediacy, even apathy; regardless of any impending consequences.
I cannot speak of my resolve. I will make no personal promises. I'm not sure anyone ever really does. I think it is more accurate to say we have New Year desires—New Year hopes. So, what I long for in the New Year is to live in the full implication and reality of the statements made by a follower of Jesus, two millennia ago.
The truth is, in many ways, I share her sentiment. 2009 was not my favorite year and I can't say I'm sorry to see it go. I too find myself happily looking ahead.
Even so, I am not a big New Year resolution guy. Fresh starts? Great. Resolve and subsequent discipline? Let’s go. But, quixotic visions of new identity inspired by a superficial delineation of time? Good luck with that. Still, these superficial delineations are the framework for the world in which I must functionally exist. And, while I don’t believe it possible to make a clean break of the things I don’t like about who, what, and where I am, just because the year is coming to a close; change must find its beginning.
I am seldom completely unaware of the consequences of my actions. I live much more intentionally than that. However, that does not mean potential consequences are the major motivation for many of my choices—especially those I have or will come to regret most. No. Those choices are usually motivated by selfishness, immediacy, even apathy; regardless of any impending consequences.
I cannot speak of my resolve. I will make no personal promises. I'm not sure anyone ever really does. I think it is more accurate to say we have New Year desires—New Year hopes. So, what I long for in the New Year is to live in the full implication and reality of the statements made by a follower of Jesus, two millennia ago.
God went for the jugular when he sent his own Son. He didn't deal with the problem as something remote and unimportant. In his Son, Jesus, he personally took on the human condition, entered the disordered mess of struggling humanity in order to set it right once and for all. The law code, weakened as it always was by fractured human nature, could never have done that.
The law always ended up being used as a Band-Aid on sin instead of a deep healing of it. And now what the law code asked for but we couldn't deliver is accomplished as we, instead of redoubling our own efforts, simply embrace what the Spirit is doing in us.
Those who think they can do it on their own end up obsessed with measuring their own moral muscle but never get around to exercising it in real life. Those who trust God's action in them find that God's Spirit is in them—living and breathing God! Obsession with self in these matters is a dead end; attention to God leads us out into the open, into a spacious, free life. Focusing on the self is the opposite of focusing on God. Anyone completely absorbed in self ignores God, ends up thinking more about self than God. That person ignores who God is and what he is doing. And God isn't pleased at being ignored.
But if God himself has taken up residence in your life, you can hardly be thinking more of yourself than of him. Anyone, of course, who has not welcomed this invisible but clearly present God, the Spirit of Christ, won't know what we're talking about. But for you who welcome him, in whom he dwells—even though you still experience all the limitations of sin—you yourself experience life on God's terms. It stands to reason, doesn't it, that if the alive-and-present God who raised Jesus from the dead moves into your life, he'll do the same thing in you that he did in Jesus, bringing you alive to himself? When God lives and breathes in you (and he does, as surely as he did in Jesus), you are delivered from that dead life. With his Spirit living in you, your body will be as alive as Christ's!
So don't you see that we don't owe this old do-it-yourself life one red cent. There's nothing in it for us, nothing at all. The best thing to do is give it a decent burial and get on with your new life. God's Spirit beckons. There are things to do and places to go!
This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It's adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike "What's next, Papa?" God's Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children. And we know we are going to get what's coming to us—an unbelievable inheritance! We go through exactly what Christ goes through. If we go through the hard times with him, then we're certainly going to go through the good times with him!
Romans 8:3-17 [1]
1. Peterson, Eugene H. The Message: The Bible in Contemporary Language. Colorado Springs: NavPress, 2002.
Monday, November 30, 2009
James and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
I want to sleep in. I do. But as the autumn sunrise brightens the room, the anticipation of adventure stirs my soul. It’s more angst than anything, really. There is still much to do before we can leave. I’ve yet to take a family vacation for which we were anywhere near prepared when the day of departure arrived. The reservations have been made, the time frame for hitting the road has been discussed, but my wife and I carry in our heads two different versions of a last minute "to do" list and we are far from ready. We dig out the ice chest and load up bags with snacks and paper products for picnic lunches. We throw our clothes into a suitcase and remind the boys to pack their toothbrushes. I’ve made eight road trip mix CDs—a little travelling music. We load the mountain bikes on the back of the SUV, make sure the house is secure, and we’re off. Two hours later than I would have liked, but we are on the road all the same.
Our destination is only a little over an hour away, but Thanksgiving traffic may stretch the trip a bit. As we near the halfway point, I get a phone call from my mother. She and my father are camping for the holiday in the Arbuckle Mountains of Oklahoma. She has called to wish us a happy Thanksgiving, but the conversation, as it often will, encompasses a much broader range of topics. Just before we say our goodbyes, I notice the light indicating the pressure in my right rear tire has dropped below an acceptable level. A few exits go by and I pull off the freeway to add a bit more air. I plug in our small emergency compressor and proceed around to the rear of the vehicle only to discover a near flat tire. I can actually hear the hissing as the air escapes. I feel around the tread. My hand is met by a forceful stream flowing from where the inner sidewall meets the tread line.
The SUV is heavy laden with “necessary” provisions for our adventure. The bikes and bike rack prohibit the opening of the back door (from whence the spare is lowered and where the jack is stored). The spare, if I could get to it, is not full sized and would be inadequate for the journey (Joshua Tree National Park with an itinerary to include some back country travel). And, though our tires are under warranty with a major auto chain, it’s Thanksgiving Day and no one will be open.
Now, I understand that in the grand scheme of life, this is by no means tragic. However, in moments like these, when the excitement of actually getting away—the urgency I feel deep inside to escape to adventure is so palpable I can almost hear the movie score in my head, I have to tell you, I wasn’t taking it so well.
There is a Walmart half a block away (isn’t there always). Anyone who knows me will tell you I am not a fan. All right, that is a gross understatement. If it were 30 degrees below zero and a trip to Walmart meant the difference between a long, warm, happy life and slowly freezing to death, alone in the bitter cold, I'm still not sure I'd give Sam Walton the satisfaction.
Digression aside, I pull around to the auto center to see that they are chaining up the service bay entrances. It is almost noon and it looks as though they are closing the automotive department for the day. I enter the store and walk the aisles looking for God only knows what when I spot a can of aerosol flat repair for SUVs. I know what you are thinking. “DON’T DO IT! IT’S A TRAP!” But, “safe for tire sensors” is printed right on the side of the can and I’m desperate. If this can of flat repair will just get me to the hotel, I can unload the vehicle, change the tire, and formulate a more permanent solution from there. If it doesn’t work, I’m right back where I started, right? WRONG!
I follow the instructions precisely. Flat repair fluid comes gushing out of the hole in my tire and is now running down the parking lot. Subsequent steps call for driving a couple of miles to let the fluid evenly distribute and for the pressure to build, after which, once the leak is sealed, if the tire is still not fully inflated, more air can be added. I drive around a parking lot for about 10 minutes. When I stop, no more hissing. It worked! Even so, the tire is still 12-15 lbs low on pressure. I try to inflate it. The compressor nearly explodes. It seems as if no air can get through the valve stem.
I drive back to the retailer (whose name I dare not type three times in one post). Three mechanics are standing around in front of the auto center. As suspected, they have closed for the day. I approach the trio. They stop and look at me like I’ve just interrupted a nuclear disarmament summit.
Mechanic: “Do you need something?”
Me: “I have a question… well, more of a story really.” (I proceed to tell them what has transpired)
Mechanic: “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Me: “You think?”
Mechanic: “You probably messed up your sensor. They cost $50 to replace.”
Me: “But it says right on the side of the can that it is safe for tire pressure sensors.”
Mechanic: “Yeah, I don’t know why it says that. The repair fluid is designed to plug holes. It doesn’t know an air pressure sensor or the valve stem from any other hole. It just plugs everything.”
Me: “All right. On to ‘plan B’ then. Thanks.”
They all three give me the look. You know the one. It was like I'd just asked Pavarotti if he knew how to sing “Glow Little, Glow Worm.” Then, fully satisfied that they have exercised due disdain, they return to their conversation as if the annoying interlude had never taken place. Don’t get me wrong. This is completely expected. It happens to me nearly every time I take my car in for any kind of repair. I have come to believe most auto mechanics, physicians, college professors, a large portion of France, and Barbara Boxer are all cut from the same cloth.
I understand what it means to be annoyed by people who just don’t get it. But, who am I to judge elective stupidity? What I don’t know about a lot of things is… well, a lot. There exists a universal bank of information that socially productive individuals should probably know. The impact of a consumer marketed flat repair product on the inner workings of tire sensors is not in this standard repertoire. Even so, teach me what I need to know and don’t assume I’m incapable of comprehending or patronize me for having somehow missed this day in "life-school." In eighth grade, when given the choice of electives, I chose Spanish over shop. Sue me. [the writer gently steps down from his soap box]
So, now stressed to the point of internal frenzy, I remove the bikes, unload the cargo hold, and proceed to change the tire. We unpack our picnic lunch (which has now become road trip fare) and return home. For the second time we unload the vehicle and for the third time load (now into our small sedan) our supplies. Nearly five hours after we first left our home, we arrived at our destination. It was 45 minutes before sunset when we entered the park.
And that is how our wonderful Thanksgiving vacation began. Really. We had a great time. Funny how the highs and lows of life can come at you in such rapid fire. Funny how quickly and easily an otherwise reasonable grown-up can revert to what is tantamount to a toddler meltdown (at least on the inside). Funny how, just like the toddler, with a little time, something to eat, and a place to get out and run, all of the angst can just melt away.
Our destination is only a little over an hour away, but Thanksgiving traffic may stretch the trip a bit. As we near the halfway point, I get a phone call from my mother. She and my father are camping for the holiday in the Arbuckle Mountains of Oklahoma. She has called to wish us a happy Thanksgiving, but the conversation, as it often will, encompasses a much broader range of topics. Just before we say our goodbyes, I notice the light indicating the pressure in my right rear tire has dropped below an acceptable level. A few exits go by and I pull off the freeway to add a bit more air. I plug in our small emergency compressor and proceed around to the rear of the vehicle only to discover a near flat tire. I can actually hear the hissing as the air escapes. I feel around the tread. My hand is met by a forceful stream flowing from where the inner sidewall meets the tread line.
The SUV is heavy laden with “necessary” provisions for our adventure. The bikes and bike rack prohibit the opening of the back door (from whence the spare is lowered and where the jack is stored). The spare, if I could get to it, is not full sized and would be inadequate for the journey (Joshua Tree National Park with an itinerary to include some back country travel). And, though our tires are under warranty with a major auto chain, it’s Thanksgiving Day and no one will be open.
Now, I understand that in the grand scheme of life, this is by no means tragic. However, in moments like these, when the excitement of actually getting away—the urgency I feel deep inside to escape to adventure is so palpable I can almost hear the movie score in my head, I have to tell you, I wasn’t taking it so well.
There is a Walmart half a block away (isn’t there always). Anyone who knows me will tell you I am not a fan. All right, that is a gross understatement. If it were 30 degrees below zero and a trip to Walmart meant the difference between a long, warm, happy life and slowly freezing to death, alone in the bitter cold, I'm still not sure I'd give Sam Walton the satisfaction.
Digression aside, I pull around to the auto center to see that they are chaining up the service bay entrances. It is almost noon and it looks as though they are closing the automotive department for the day. I enter the store and walk the aisles looking for God only knows what when I spot a can of aerosol flat repair for SUVs. I know what you are thinking. “DON’T DO IT! IT’S A TRAP!” But, “safe for tire sensors” is printed right on the side of the can and I’m desperate. If this can of flat repair will just get me to the hotel, I can unload the vehicle, change the tire, and formulate a more permanent solution from there. If it doesn’t work, I’m right back where I started, right? WRONG!
I follow the instructions precisely. Flat repair fluid comes gushing out of the hole in my tire and is now running down the parking lot. Subsequent steps call for driving a couple of miles to let the fluid evenly distribute and for the pressure to build, after which, once the leak is sealed, if the tire is still not fully inflated, more air can be added. I drive around a parking lot for about 10 minutes. When I stop, no more hissing. It worked! Even so, the tire is still 12-15 lbs low on pressure. I try to inflate it. The compressor nearly explodes. It seems as if no air can get through the valve stem.
I drive back to the retailer (whose name I dare not type three times in one post). Three mechanics are standing around in front of the auto center. As suspected, they have closed for the day. I approach the trio. They stop and look at me like I’ve just interrupted a nuclear disarmament summit.
Mechanic: “Do you need something?”
Me: “I have a question… well, more of a story really.” (I proceed to tell them what has transpired)
Mechanic: “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Me: “You think?”
Mechanic: “You probably messed up your sensor. They cost $50 to replace.”
Me: “But it says right on the side of the can that it is safe for tire pressure sensors.”
Mechanic: “Yeah, I don’t know why it says that. The repair fluid is designed to plug holes. It doesn’t know an air pressure sensor or the valve stem from any other hole. It just plugs everything.”
Me: “All right. On to ‘plan B’ then. Thanks.”
They all three give me the look. You know the one. It was like I'd just asked Pavarotti if he knew how to sing “Glow Little, Glow Worm.” Then, fully satisfied that they have exercised due disdain, they return to their conversation as if the annoying interlude had never taken place. Don’t get me wrong. This is completely expected. It happens to me nearly every time I take my car in for any kind of repair. I have come to believe most auto mechanics, physicians, college professors, a large portion of France, and Barbara Boxer are all cut from the same cloth.
I understand what it means to be annoyed by people who just don’t get it. But, who am I to judge elective stupidity? What I don’t know about a lot of things is… well, a lot. There exists a universal bank of information that socially productive individuals should probably know. The impact of a consumer marketed flat repair product on the inner workings of tire sensors is not in this standard repertoire. Even so, teach me what I need to know and don’t assume I’m incapable of comprehending or patronize me for having somehow missed this day in "life-school." In eighth grade, when given the choice of electives, I chose Spanish over shop. Sue me. [the writer gently steps down from his soap box]
So, now stressed to the point of internal frenzy, I remove the bikes, unload the cargo hold, and proceed to change the tire. We unpack our picnic lunch (which has now become road trip fare) and return home. For the second time we unload the vehicle and for the third time load (now into our small sedan) our supplies. Nearly five hours after we first left our home, we arrived at our destination. It was 45 minutes before sunset when we entered the park.
And that is how our wonderful Thanksgiving vacation began. Really. We had a great time. Funny how the highs and lows of life can come at you in such rapid fire. Funny how quickly and easily an otherwise reasonable grown-up can revert to what is tantamount to a toddler meltdown (at least on the inside). Funny how, just like the toddler, with a little time, something to eat, and a place to get out and run, all of the angst can just melt away.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Know Me
Regardless of how much easier it might seem for you…
I am not the sum of nor am I defined by what I’ve done.“...everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have discarded everything else, counting it all as garbage, so that I could gain Christ and become one with him. I no longer count on my own righteousness through obeying the law; rather, I become righteous through faith in Christ. For God’s way of making us right with himself depends on faith.” - Paul
I am not confined to the implications you assign to what I’ve said.
I am not concerned with my appearance—how you see me.
I am not responsible for maintaining your good feelings.
I am not limited to your experience with me.
I am not conscripted to only the things I’ve promised.
I am not beholden to you.
I am not inconsistent.
I am not predictable.
I am not controllable.
I AM God.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Aloysius Snuffleupagus
I very much enjoy the writings of Donald Miller. I am proud to be one of the few people who actually bought Searching for God Knows What and Through Painted Deserts (yes, he has written quite a bit since Blue Like Jazz). Last week I finished reading his newest book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.
I know this girl (we’ll call her Big Bird) who used to constantly talk about her “friend,” (we’ll call her Snuffleupagus). Snuffy was Big Bird’s roommate. But, every time we went to visit Bird, Snuffy wasn’t home. Big Bird would regale us with wonderful tales of misadventure and mayhem involving herself and Snuffleupagus. But, alas, Snuffy never materialized. Eventually, there were photos on the wall of the notorious (yet ever illusive) Snuffleupagus. Photoshop magic? We began to wonder if “Snuffy” was really just Big Bird’s alter ego. One evening we attended a party, of sorts, at Big Bird’s house and, low and behold, there was Snuffleupagus (or at least the actor hired to play her to throw us off the trail). She hung around for 20 minutes or so and then vanished. That was a few years ago. We’ve not seen her since.
I know this guy (we’ll call him Gordon) with whom I lunch from time to time. Last week, over Asian food, we started discussing life and faith. The conversation went something like this (I will undoubtedly embellish. That is a writer’s prerogative, you understand.)
Gordon: Growing up, I was always taught that the most important thing a Christian is to do is make more Christians. But, how can I convince someone else of something if I have so many unanswered questions about it myself?
Me: Like what? What do you mean?
Gordon: Imagine you’ve grown up being taught that all of the answers to life's questions and everything you ever need to know about God can be found in this book. The book tells you how much God loves you and cares for you. Then, as an adult you start to look into this book, where it came from, how it came together… you look around at the world you live in and you see all of these inconsistencies. Even things in the book itself don’t seem to always add up. People around you ask you all kinds of questions about your faith, what you believe and why, but your answers often seem to come up short—both for them and for you. What if you are discovering that maybe God isn’t who you thought He was. You’ve had undeniable experiences with Him, but you don’t know how they fit into your understanding of who He is.
Me: Academically speaking, the Bible is a loose collection of writings spanning hundreds of years, removed from their original context, translated, organized and distributed by believers in Jehovah; followers of Jesus, the Christ. Whatever you believe about it from there, know and understand the limitations, apart from Divine insight, we most definitely have in understanding the intent and context of each writer. Would it really represent a compromise to who God is for one writer in one time and place to have one experience with Him and yet another to have a different understanding? The story of the three blind men describing an elephant comes to mind.
Gordon: Yeah, I get that. But where does that leave me? Then there is the whole,” if God is so loving, why is there so much tragedy and suffering in the world?” argument. Where are the biblical answers to that? If I can’t find God there, where do I find Him?
Me: Exactly. That is exactly my point. You have to stop trying to find God IN the Bible and start letting God speak to you through it. The Bible isn’t merely a means to knowing God. You can acquire an exhaustive knowlege of the Bible and still not know God. I had a professor in college who had a master’s degree in biblical studies. He knew more about scripture than I did but didn’t believe in God at all. He had only pursued the degree because of his fascination with the Bible as literature. Literary understanding of a book won’t connect you to God. Hermeneutically reconciling any contradictions between accounts by various biblical authors is not the secret to knowing God. I do, however, believe the Bible is the principle of quite a few different ways God can speak to us. It is also a good way for us to get caught up on this grander story—who He has been and wants to be in relationship to humanity; to creation.
Would you believe me if I told you I knew the author, Donald Miller?
Gordon: Probably. You haven’t given me any reason to believe you would lie to me.
Me: Okay, so you would believe me based on the nature of my character as you know it. Fine. Good, in fact… thank you for that. But, say you had doubts. What would it take for me to convince you that I know Donald Miller? Keep in mind, I’m very familiar with his writings. I’m his social networking “friend.” I could share with you life stories and personal information regarding Donald’s likes, dislikes, childhood struggles and hang-ups. On my facebook page, you can see a recent photo of the two of us (his arm around my shoulder). I can even show you words written to me in his own hand.[1] Would that be enough for you?
Gordon: Probably not.
Me: So, what would it take? What would you need to believe that I knew Donald Miller?
Gordon: Well, I guess I would have to see the two of you together.
Me: There you go. God isn’t asking us to convince anyone that He is. We can’t. What’s to keep thinking people from concluding God is just an elaborate myth if all you have to show for Him are artifacts, stories and organizations? But what if they saw us together? What if they met my friend, God, instead of my book or my church or my empirical evidence? What would that look like? What would that be like? Suddenly, it is God’s responsibility to prove that He is (something He is certainly capable of doing with or without me). But, it is my responsibility to know Him and to make our friendship public. I’m not talking about TBN, here. I’m talking about friendship, not salesmanship. Besides, we are charged to “go and make disciples”—not “new converts.”
1. All of this is true, though not what it seems (or as creepy as it sounds). I read his blog. He autographed my copy of A Million Miles and I took a photo with him at the book signing.
2. Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality (Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2003)
I know this girl (we’ll call her Big Bird) who used to constantly talk about her “friend,” (we’ll call her Snuffleupagus). Snuffy was Big Bird’s roommate. But, every time we went to visit Bird, Snuffy wasn’t home. Big Bird would regale us with wonderful tales of misadventure and mayhem involving herself and Snuffleupagus. But, alas, Snuffy never materialized. Eventually, there were photos on the wall of the notorious (yet ever illusive) Snuffleupagus. Photoshop magic? We began to wonder if “Snuffy” was really just Big Bird’s alter ego. One evening we attended a party, of sorts, at Big Bird’s house and, low and behold, there was Snuffleupagus (or at least the actor hired to play her to throw us off the trail). She hung around for 20 minutes or so and then vanished. That was a few years ago. We’ve not seen her since.
I know this guy (we’ll call him Gordon) with whom I lunch from time to time. Last week, over Asian food, we started discussing life and faith. The conversation went something like this (I will undoubtedly embellish. That is a writer’s prerogative, you understand.)
Gordon: Growing up, I was always taught that the most important thing a Christian is to do is make more Christians. But, how can I convince someone else of something if I have so many unanswered questions about it myself?
Me: Like what? What do you mean?
Gordon: Imagine you’ve grown up being taught that all of the answers to life's questions and everything you ever need to know about God can be found in this book. The book tells you how much God loves you and cares for you. Then, as an adult you start to look into this book, where it came from, how it came together… you look around at the world you live in and you see all of these inconsistencies. Even things in the book itself don’t seem to always add up. People around you ask you all kinds of questions about your faith, what you believe and why, but your answers often seem to come up short—both for them and for you. What if you are discovering that maybe God isn’t who you thought He was. You’ve had undeniable experiences with Him, but you don’t know how they fit into your understanding of who He is.
Me: Academically speaking, the Bible is a loose collection of writings spanning hundreds of years, removed from their original context, translated, organized and distributed by believers in Jehovah; followers of Jesus, the Christ. Whatever you believe about it from there, know and understand the limitations, apart from Divine insight, we most definitely have in understanding the intent and context of each writer. Would it really represent a compromise to who God is for one writer in one time and place to have one experience with Him and yet another to have a different understanding? The story of the three blind men describing an elephant comes to mind.
Gordon: Yeah, I get that. But where does that leave me? Then there is the whole,” if God is so loving, why is there so much tragedy and suffering in the world?” argument. Where are the biblical answers to that? If I can’t find God there, where do I find Him?
Me: Exactly. That is exactly my point. You have to stop trying to find God IN the Bible and start letting God speak to you through it. The Bible isn’t merely a means to knowing God. You can acquire an exhaustive knowlege of the Bible and still not know God. I had a professor in college who had a master’s degree in biblical studies. He knew more about scripture than I did but didn’t believe in God at all. He had only pursued the degree because of his fascination with the Bible as literature. Literary understanding of a book won’t connect you to God. Hermeneutically reconciling any contradictions between accounts by various biblical authors is not the secret to knowing God. I do, however, believe the Bible is the principle of quite a few different ways God can speak to us. It is also a good way for us to get caught up on this grander story—who He has been and wants to be in relationship to humanity; to creation.
Would you believe me if I told you I knew the author, Donald Miller?
Gordon: Probably. You haven’t given me any reason to believe you would lie to me.
Me: Okay, so you would believe me based on the nature of my character as you know it. Fine. Good, in fact… thank you for that. But, say you had doubts. What would it take for me to convince you that I know Donald Miller? Keep in mind, I’m very familiar with his writings. I’m his social networking “friend.” I could share with you life stories and personal information regarding Donald’s likes, dislikes, childhood struggles and hang-ups. On my facebook page, you can see a recent photo of the two of us (his arm around my shoulder). I can even show you words written to me in his own hand.[1] Would that be enough for you?
Gordon: Probably not.
Me: So, what would it take? What would you need to believe that I knew Donald Miller?
Gordon: Well, I guess I would have to see the two of you together.
Me: There you go. God isn’t asking us to convince anyone that He is. We can’t. What’s to keep thinking people from concluding God is just an elaborate myth if all you have to show for Him are artifacts, stories and organizations? But what if they saw us together? What if they met my friend, God, instead of my book or my church or my empirical evidence? What would that look like? What would that be like? Suddenly, it is God’s responsibility to prove that He is (something He is certainly capable of doing with or without me). But, it is my responsibility to know Him and to make our friendship public. I’m not talking about TBN, here. I’m talking about friendship, not salesmanship. Besides, we are charged to “go and make disciples”—not “new converts.”
My most recent faith struggle is not one of intellect. I don’t really do that anymore… Sooner or later you just figure out there are some guys who don’t believe in God and they can prove He doesn’t exist, and some other guys who do believe in God and they can prove He does exist, and the argument stopped being about God a long time ago and now it’s about who is smarter, and honestly I don’t care.[2]Right now, Snuffleupagus is featured in Big Bird’s facebook profile photo. I recognize her. I’ve met her, but I don’t know her. It is unlikely that anyone will ever see me and Snuffy together. She is Big Bird’s friend, not mine. While I am sure she is a wonderful person, I have no real desire to call up Big Bird and get Snuffy’s contact information. I don’t imagine my wife and I will be inviting her to dinner any time soon. You see, Snuffleupagus hasn’t really been a part of our relationship with Big Bird.
I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn’t resolve. But I was outside the Bagdad Theater in Portland one night when I saw a man playing the saxophone. I stood there for fifteen minutes, and he never opened his eyes.By the way, God says "hi."
After that I liked jazz music.
Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way.
I used to not like God because God didn’t resolve. But that was before any of this happened.[ibid.]
1. All of this is true, though not what it seems (or as creepy as it sounds). I read his blog. He autographed my copy of A Million Miles and I took a photo with him at the book signing.
2. Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality (Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2003)
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