(Use caution when approaching. This beast is ferocious and frightening. It may bite if you are not careful.--DG)
Should I be David, king and messiah,
Or Paul, preacher full of fire?
Should I be Peter, a mouth full and free?
Or, do you think, perhaps I could be me?
Should I be someone you admire
Or someone you despise?
Should I live so you open
Or so you close your eyes?
Should I set you aflame?
Should I light you afire?
Should I bring you to the depths
Or lift you ever higher?
Whom shall I be today so that
You may smile for a moment?
Shall I make peace with myself
Or a riot foment?
Shall I make you smile on
Your sad, sad day?
Are you offended if I make you blush
Or if I lead you astray?
You tell me who you want me to be
Because you seem to know better
What’s inside of me.
You know to the letter
What others need to see
And how you can happy
By setting me free.
I’m play-dough.
I’m clay.
Make me into cookies,
Make me into hay.
Whatever makes you smile
Or strikes up your bands,
I’m all you can imagine
A pen in your hands.
DG--'04
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
The Personality Series, pt. 2
The lyrics to the song are very simple:
It’s the beauty of simplicity,
That brings me down to my knees.
I praise you for eternity.
We love you Lord.
We love you Lord.
We Love you.
Those are not in order, but it is the gist of the song. There is something about simplicity that thrills me and eludes me. I am only about a third of the way through Anna Karenina and I have already decided who my favorite character is. It is a man named Levin. He is a farmer, although in 19th century Russia the term ‘farmer’ has a much different meaning that it does in 21st century America. He is wealthy and owns a lot land, but he is not above going out into the fields and working side by side with the peasants. He enjoys talking with them, eating with them, and working with them. He sees himself among them and envies their lives. Tolstoy writes of Levin,
Levin felt envious of this health and mirthfulness; he long to take part in the expression of this joy of life. But he could do nothing, and had to lie and look on and listen. When the peasants, with their singing, had vanished out of sight and hearing, a weary feeling of despondency at his own isolation, his physical inactivity, his alienation from this world, came over Levin. (251)
The peasants dance and sing and enjoy their work. They have each other and enjoy each other. Life is simple, in Levin’s eyes, for the peasants he employs to mow his fields. He longs for their life and joins in the mowing of fields. In other paragraph, Tolstoy writes,
Often Levin had admired this life, often he had a sense of envy of the men who led this life; but to-day for the first time, especially under the influence of what he had seen in the attitude of Ivan Parmenov to his young wife, the idea had presented itself definitely to his mind that it was in his power to exchange the dreary, artificial, idle and individualistic life he was leading for this laborious, pure, and socially delightful life. (251)
Levin concludes that he will make an effort towards the simple life,
All the thoughts and feelings he had passed through fell into three separate trains of thought. One was the renunciation of the old life, of his utterly useless education. This renunciation gave him satisfaction, and was easy and simple. Another series of thoughts and mental images related to the life he longed to live now. The simplicity, the purity, the sanity of this life he felt clearly, and he was convinced he would find in it the content, the peace, and the dignity, of the lack of which he was so miserably conscious….All my old dreams of home-life were absurd, not the real thing…It’s all ever so much simpler and better…” (252)
I won’t give away what happens, but something happens before the end of the chapter I quoted from that is disturbing. Nevertheless, I get it. I understand Levin’s thoughts, the emotions running through his mind, the terrible struggle to understand how to make a go of a world where everything is so damn complicated. He longs for simplicity and I long with him.
It’s the beauty of simplicity,
That brings me down to my knees.
I praise you for eternity.
We love you Lord.
We love you Lord.
We Love you.
Those are not in order, but it is the gist of the song. There is something about simplicity that thrills me and eludes me. I am only about a third of the way through Anna Karenina and I have already decided who my favorite character is. It is a man named Levin. He is a farmer, although in 19th century Russia the term ‘farmer’ has a much different meaning that it does in 21st century America. He is wealthy and owns a lot land, but he is not above going out into the fields and working side by side with the peasants. He enjoys talking with them, eating with them, and working with them. He sees himself among them and envies their lives. Tolstoy writes of Levin,
Levin felt envious of this health and mirthfulness; he long to take part in the expression of this joy of life. But he could do nothing, and had to lie and look on and listen. When the peasants, with their singing, had vanished out of sight and hearing, a weary feeling of despondency at his own isolation, his physical inactivity, his alienation from this world, came over Levin. (251)
The peasants dance and sing and enjoy their work. They have each other and enjoy each other. Life is simple, in Levin’s eyes, for the peasants he employs to mow his fields. He longs for their life and joins in the mowing of fields. In other paragraph, Tolstoy writes,
Often Levin had admired this life, often he had a sense of envy of the men who led this life; but to-day for the first time, especially under the influence of what he had seen in the attitude of Ivan Parmenov to his young wife, the idea had presented itself definitely to his mind that it was in his power to exchange the dreary, artificial, idle and individualistic life he was leading for this laborious, pure, and socially delightful life. (251)
Levin concludes that he will make an effort towards the simple life,
All the thoughts and feelings he had passed through fell into three separate trains of thought. One was the renunciation of the old life, of his utterly useless education. This renunciation gave him satisfaction, and was easy and simple. Another series of thoughts and mental images related to the life he longed to live now. The simplicity, the purity, the sanity of this life he felt clearly, and he was convinced he would find in it the content, the peace, and the dignity, of the lack of which he was so miserably conscious….All my old dreams of home-life were absurd, not the real thing…It’s all ever so much simpler and better…” (252)
I won’t give away what happens, but something happens before the end of the chapter I quoted from that is disturbing. Nevertheless, I get it. I understand Levin’s thoughts, the emotions running through his mind, the terrible struggle to understand how to make a go of a world where everything is so damn complicated. He longs for simplicity and I long with him.
______________________________
I watched a little bit of Mike Wallace’s 60 Minutes interview with former NFL running back Ricky Williams. Ricky walked away from a contract that would have paid him $5 million dollars this year. Personally, I did not buy a lot of what Ricky was selling because I think that Ricky just wants to get high from smoking pot—a fact that he admitted to in the interview. But the interview also revealed that he spent some time living in a tent community where he woke up every day and read books. The interview pointed out that Ricky wanted a less complicated life, but that less complicated life is afforded him by the millions he made before he retired from the NFL.
Still, aside from all the dope smoking and yoga and ‘searching for the self’ crap that he was spilling, I get it. I understand that desire, that longing, that yearning for something simpler. (I still think Ricky wants to smoke dope and hated that the NFL prohibited him from doing so.) I imagine a life that is uncomplicated by the use of hatred, unfettered from the grip of money, and unrestrained by the chains of ecclesiastical boredom. I want a life that is undiminished by the tired reasoning of people who think they are my parents—as if I need more parental supervision—and believe they need to save me by making me into clones of themselves or worse. I don’t believe that life is meant to be as complicated as it is. And, to clarify my point, I don’t think religion is meant to be as complicated as it is. I desire what Paul wrote should be our desire, that is, ‘to live quiet and peaceful lives in godliness and holiness.’ I want to do my work, and, frankly, not be bothered by people who dislike the way I choose to go about doing it.
I watched a little bit of Mike Wallace’s 60 Minutes interview with former NFL running back Ricky Williams. Ricky walked away from a contract that would have paid him $5 million dollars this year. Personally, I did not buy a lot of what Ricky was selling because I think that Ricky just wants to get high from smoking pot—a fact that he admitted to in the interview. But the interview also revealed that he spent some time living in a tent community where he woke up every day and read books. The interview pointed out that Ricky wanted a less complicated life, but that less complicated life is afforded him by the millions he made before he retired from the NFL.
Still, aside from all the dope smoking and yoga and ‘searching for the self’ crap that he was spilling, I get it. I understand that desire, that longing, that yearning for something simpler. (I still think Ricky wants to smoke dope and hated that the NFL prohibited him from doing so.) I imagine a life that is uncomplicated by the use of hatred, unfettered from the grip of money, and unrestrained by the chains of ecclesiastical boredom. I want a life that is undiminished by the tired reasoning of people who think they are my parents—as if I need more parental supervision—and believe they need to save me by making me into clones of themselves or worse. I don’t believe that life is meant to be as complicated as it is. And, to clarify my point, I don’t think religion is meant to be as complicated as it is. I desire what Paul wrote should be our desire, that is, ‘to live quiet and peaceful lives in godliness and holiness.’ I want to do my work, and, frankly, not be bothered by people who dislike the way I choose to go about doing it.
___________________________
In the personality series, pt 1, I wrote about my hatred (read: extreme distrust and fear) of things like doctors and barbers and optometrists. Sometimes, I want to simply be left alone. I want to enjoy the wife of my youth, my quiver full of sons and every now and again I want to enjoy a good book. I don’t think that is too much to ask. Let me explain a few things that complicate this.
The first thing that complicates my life is religion. Please don’t misunderstand me or take me out of context. I love God and I love Jesus. I serve God and I want to ‘practice my faith’, whatever that means. My worldview is very much Scriptural and I am skeptical of all things that diminish, contradict or belittle the Scripture or my Lord. I am a Christian and that will not change. I am a preacher, and that will not change. But, I don’t even like the word religion and there are quite a few Christian people that I would just as soon not know, for example, faith healers. I could do without them. I could also do without so-called ‘prophecy experts.’ I could do without mean people in the church. These are the ones whose intentions are so pure that their soul shows through, but they don’t have a clue. They criticize and backbite all in their effort to maintain the purity of the church. Children must not run. Children must be quiet, and it is their job to tell children to be quiet always and ever. Children must be just like them: never smiling, never laughing, and never raising a hand in worship. I could do without busybodies in the church. No, I have no use for them. And yet, for some reason, these, and a few others, are the very people who make up the church. You know what? I have no use for myself in the church. I love Jesus and I am a member of his church, but I would just as soon be salt and light in a way that is somewhat detached from the mess that we call church.
Therein is the problem, Jesus has made it pretty clear that we need each other. If I was ever to quit church, though, it would not be because of Jesus, but it would be because of some of his people. Unfortunately, that will not happen, that is, I could never leave the church. For all my angst, I am part of the church, I am a part of the problem, and I am a part of the solution. I cannot say to the arm, ‘Go Away, I have no use for you.’ And to leave myself would be to commit spiritual suicide. No, I need the church and I am needy enough to admit it, but the church does not need me. I think the Church would be better off if more people had that idea about church: They need it, it does not need them. I learned that lesson when I was a senior in high school and thought for certain that the high school band needed me. I was really surprised when the band director told me that the band would get along quite well without me.
Many people do not believe they need the church. Many people think they need to shape the church. I say the church is what the church is: A collection of misfits who fit in nowhere else in the world. We are broken, sinful, flawed creatures who have no business in the church and, considering the way we treat each other at times, we scarcely understand the grace that brought us into the church in the first place. And yet, the church is. I think we need to learn to be the church and understand that we are all there by the same grace.
Another thing that complicates life is wealth in the Church. Truth be told, I long for the sort of Christian practice that does not involve what Americans believe to be important: gadgets, large buildings, fancy stuff, big staffs of employees that conduct daily and weekly staff meetings, and a whole bunch of technological garbage. I am interested in a simple church, a poor church, and bankrupt church that has nothing and no one but Jesus. In my opinion, wealth has not helped the church, but hindered it. People think they can drop a pretty penny in the plate and that is the Christian service or Christian duty as if the poor people in their community are not. Churches should not be deciding what to do with millions of dollars and churches should not be building buildings worth millions of dollars. Churches should be simpler and less complicated. I understand why Jesus said, “You will always have the poor among you,” because even if that perfume had been sold for the poor someone would have decided that a better way to spend it would have been on a building or a program that needed employees. However, this again is where the people think that the Church is simply a place to go and not something that they are. No, the money would not have been spent on the poor, but on the church. The church is far too self-centered to ever think that we could eradicate the problem of the poor. Wealth is far too complicated for the church; I don’t believe we are as good ‘a stewards as we think we are.
For some reason, my personality is not only afraid of wealth in the church but utterly despises it. I wonder what people thought was worse: The fact that Catholic priests have been labeled as pedophiles (which some are) or the fact that the Catholic Church literally has millions of dollars to pay off the victims? Personally I find reason to be both afraid and hateful of money in this situation because if they can pay off something as heinous as pedophilia, I begin to wonder what else they have paid off or what else they can pay off with their millions. I know people will argue, but money—oh, that we were like Peter who said, “Silver and gold I have none, but what I have I give you, in the Name of Jesus Christ rise up and walk.” But I fear that now we would rather give people silver and gold because we don’t have a Jesus to give them let alone a miracle in His Name. It is a vexing issue with me and one that I don’t suppose I will ever be able to make more public than I am doing just now.
Still another thing that complicates life is technology.
I’m not like them,
I can’t pretend
The sun is gone,
But I have a light;
The day is done
I’m having fun.
I think I’m dumb,
Or maybe just happy.
I think just happy.
I think I’m just happy.
--Kurt Cobain
I must be too; dumb, that is. I want to enjoy simple things in life, but I confess that I am dumb and I cannot pretend that it doesn’t bother me. It does. I like simple things like books and music—it doesn’t even have to be music on a CD or DVD—vinyl works for me just the same. I appreciate a good harmony and a cunning melody. I don’t mind melodrama in music nor do I mind monotony. I enjoy music. I enjoy books. Books are simple. They unfold in the hands and take the mind into worlds that even Steven Spielberg cannot take us. Books are multi-dimensional and live without constraints or limits. Books involve all the senses: one must feel the page, smell the salty air, see the horizon, hear the crashing waves, and taste the juicy peach and let its juice run down their face. Of books the Bible says there is no end. I think that is the very thing that I love most about books. I could never hope to exhaust the world’s supply of words. I think I happiest when I’m reading books because then I don’t have to answer to anybody for the way I feel or react or respond to what I have read. I don’t have to fake it; I can just be.
I enjoy writing. I use a bit of technology to write, but if I had to I could do without it too. Before I became rich enough to afford my own computers and things I used to simply write in notebooks, many of them. I have saved them all, too. I have them stored in a file cabinet in my office. There is the history of my life concentrated inside the pages of spiral ring notebooks. I used to keep it to myself, but now I use technology to publish it for the world. Writing is a simple pleasure, and I confess that it is in writing that I am least opposed to the use of technology. Reading and writing go hand in hand. I read so I can write; I write so others can read. It is impossible and selfish to have one without the other. Technology, unfortunately, I think, has softened our taste for literature—real literature, real literary effort. Now I think we hunger simply for the fantastic, the story, the package. Case in point? How many read Tolkien, or even hear of him, before Peter Jackson made his books into movies? And the marketing of the stories is not to spur interest in the books, but to make money on the merchandise. I’m not disappointed the books were made into, faithful and wonderful, film versions. I just hope the books don’t fade away and become dust within a couple of years.
In the personality series, pt 1, I wrote about my hatred (read: extreme distrust and fear) of things like doctors and barbers and optometrists. Sometimes, I want to simply be left alone. I want to enjoy the wife of my youth, my quiver full of sons and every now and again I want to enjoy a good book. I don’t think that is too much to ask. Let me explain a few things that complicate this.
The first thing that complicates my life is religion. Please don’t misunderstand me or take me out of context. I love God and I love Jesus. I serve God and I want to ‘practice my faith’, whatever that means. My worldview is very much Scriptural and I am skeptical of all things that diminish, contradict or belittle the Scripture or my Lord. I am a Christian and that will not change. I am a preacher, and that will not change. But, I don’t even like the word religion and there are quite a few Christian people that I would just as soon not know, for example, faith healers. I could do without them. I could also do without so-called ‘prophecy experts.’ I could do without mean people in the church. These are the ones whose intentions are so pure that their soul shows through, but they don’t have a clue. They criticize and backbite all in their effort to maintain the purity of the church. Children must not run. Children must be quiet, and it is their job to tell children to be quiet always and ever. Children must be just like them: never smiling, never laughing, and never raising a hand in worship. I could do without busybodies in the church. No, I have no use for them. And yet, for some reason, these, and a few others, are the very people who make up the church. You know what? I have no use for myself in the church. I love Jesus and I am a member of his church, but I would just as soon be salt and light in a way that is somewhat detached from the mess that we call church.
Therein is the problem, Jesus has made it pretty clear that we need each other. If I was ever to quit church, though, it would not be because of Jesus, but it would be because of some of his people. Unfortunately, that will not happen, that is, I could never leave the church. For all my angst, I am part of the church, I am a part of the problem, and I am a part of the solution. I cannot say to the arm, ‘Go Away, I have no use for you.’ And to leave myself would be to commit spiritual suicide. No, I need the church and I am needy enough to admit it, but the church does not need me. I think the Church would be better off if more people had that idea about church: They need it, it does not need them. I learned that lesson when I was a senior in high school and thought for certain that the high school band needed me. I was really surprised when the band director told me that the band would get along quite well without me.
Many people do not believe they need the church. Many people think they need to shape the church. I say the church is what the church is: A collection of misfits who fit in nowhere else in the world. We are broken, sinful, flawed creatures who have no business in the church and, considering the way we treat each other at times, we scarcely understand the grace that brought us into the church in the first place. And yet, the church is. I think we need to learn to be the church and understand that we are all there by the same grace.
Another thing that complicates life is wealth in the Church. Truth be told, I long for the sort of Christian practice that does not involve what Americans believe to be important: gadgets, large buildings, fancy stuff, big staffs of employees that conduct daily and weekly staff meetings, and a whole bunch of technological garbage. I am interested in a simple church, a poor church, and bankrupt church that has nothing and no one but Jesus. In my opinion, wealth has not helped the church, but hindered it. People think they can drop a pretty penny in the plate and that is the Christian service or Christian duty as if the poor people in their community are not. Churches should not be deciding what to do with millions of dollars and churches should not be building buildings worth millions of dollars. Churches should be simpler and less complicated. I understand why Jesus said, “You will always have the poor among you,” because even if that perfume had been sold for the poor someone would have decided that a better way to spend it would have been on a building or a program that needed employees. However, this again is where the people think that the Church is simply a place to go and not something that they are. No, the money would not have been spent on the poor, but on the church. The church is far too self-centered to ever think that we could eradicate the problem of the poor. Wealth is far too complicated for the church; I don’t believe we are as good ‘a stewards as we think we are.
For some reason, my personality is not only afraid of wealth in the church but utterly despises it. I wonder what people thought was worse: The fact that Catholic priests have been labeled as pedophiles (which some are) or the fact that the Catholic Church literally has millions of dollars to pay off the victims? Personally I find reason to be both afraid and hateful of money in this situation because if they can pay off something as heinous as pedophilia, I begin to wonder what else they have paid off or what else they can pay off with their millions. I know people will argue, but money—oh, that we were like Peter who said, “Silver and gold I have none, but what I have I give you, in the Name of Jesus Christ rise up and walk.” But I fear that now we would rather give people silver and gold because we don’t have a Jesus to give them let alone a miracle in His Name. It is a vexing issue with me and one that I don’t suppose I will ever be able to make more public than I am doing just now.
Still another thing that complicates life is technology.
I’m not like them,
I can’t pretend
The sun is gone,
But I have a light;
The day is done
I’m having fun.
I think I’m dumb,
Or maybe just happy.
I think just happy.
I think I’m just happy.
--Kurt Cobain
I must be too; dumb, that is. I want to enjoy simple things in life, but I confess that I am dumb and I cannot pretend that it doesn’t bother me. It does. I like simple things like books and music—it doesn’t even have to be music on a CD or DVD—vinyl works for me just the same. I appreciate a good harmony and a cunning melody. I don’t mind melodrama in music nor do I mind monotony. I enjoy music. I enjoy books. Books are simple. They unfold in the hands and take the mind into worlds that even Steven Spielberg cannot take us. Books are multi-dimensional and live without constraints or limits. Books involve all the senses: one must feel the page, smell the salty air, see the horizon, hear the crashing waves, and taste the juicy peach and let its juice run down their face. Of books the Bible says there is no end. I think that is the very thing that I love most about books. I could never hope to exhaust the world’s supply of words. I think I happiest when I’m reading books because then I don’t have to answer to anybody for the way I feel or react or respond to what I have read. I don’t have to fake it; I can just be.
I enjoy writing. I use a bit of technology to write, but if I had to I could do without it too. Before I became rich enough to afford my own computers and things I used to simply write in notebooks, many of them. I have saved them all, too. I have them stored in a file cabinet in my office. There is the history of my life concentrated inside the pages of spiral ring notebooks. I used to keep it to myself, but now I use technology to publish it for the world. Writing is a simple pleasure, and I confess that it is in writing that I am least opposed to the use of technology. Reading and writing go hand in hand. I read so I can write; I write so others can read. It is impossible and selfish to have one without the other. Technology, unfortunately, I think, has softened our taste for literature—real literature, real literary effort. Now I think we hunger simply for the fantastic, the story, the package. Case in point? How many read Tolkien, or even hear of him, before Peter Jackson made his books into movies? And the marketing of the stories is not to spur interest in the books, but to make money on the merchandise. I’m not disappointed the books were made into, faithful and wonderful, film versions. I just hope the books don’t fade away and become dust within a couple of years.
________________________________
So far the Personality Series has taken me in directions that I was not quite certain I would go. In part 3, I hope to explore some more of these things that complicate life. I’m not unhappy about these things, but I am seriously trying to figure out a working theology. I am interested in a simple life. I’ll leave off part 2 with the words that Tolstoy used to describe his hero, Levin:
Long before, Levin had felt dissatisfaction with his own position in regard to the land. He saw where his boat leaked, but he did not look for the leak, perhaps purposely deceiving himself. (Nothing would be left him if he lost faith in it.) But now he could deceive himself no longer. The farming of the land, as he was managing it, had become not merely unattractive but revolting to him, and he could take no further interest in it. (293)
I suspect that inside of us all there is a struggle for this balance. I’m still struggling. Would that the simple life were just so simple as to wake in the morning and say, “I Love you, Lord,” and lay down at night and say, “Thank you, Lord.” Would that.
So far the Personality Series has taken me in directions that I was not quite certain I would go. In part 3, I hope to explore some more of these things that complicate life. I’m not unhappy about these things, but I am seriously trying to figure out a working theology. I am interested in a simple life. I’ll leave off part 2 with the words that Tolstoy used to describe his hero, Levin:
Long before, Levin had felt dissatisfaction with his own position in regard to the land. He saw where his boat leaked, but he did not look for the leak, perhaps purposely deceiving himself. (Nothing would be left him if he lost faith in it.) But now he could deceive himself no longer. The farming of the land, as he was managing it, had become not merely unattractive but revolting to him, and he could take no further interest in it. (293)
I suspect that inside of us all there is a struggle for this balance. I’m still struggling. Would that the simple life were just so simple as to wake in the morning and say, “I Love you, Lord,” and lay down at night and say, “Thank you, Lord.” Would that.
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Dancing Down Penn Avenue
This was also posted at the Daily Devotions portion of my church website.
Recently, I have been thinking a lot about worship. I wrote about bees dancing in their hives. I wrote about soldiers worshipping in fighting holes in the sand floors of Iraq. Worship has been on my mind because it is always on my heart. I make every effort to use every waking moment of every day as an opportunity to worship. It makes no difference if I am writing a devotion, singing along with a CD, reading poetry to my sons, or praying—I believe that worship is not only something we offer, but it is an attitude in which we approach each moment. As one songwriter says, “I’m free because I’m living hallelujah.” (Sarah Kelly)
I’d like to contrast two pictures for you today. The first is in an advertisement I pulled out of the Church mailbox just a few minutes ago. The advertisement is a large newsletter type publication from The McKnight Group. The McKnight Group specializes in ‘design, architecture, and construction.’ They bill themselves as ‘church health specialists.’ I know very little about them save for what I have read in this publication. The newsletter I received focuses on a certain church that partnered with McKnight to construct a new building to meet the growing needs of a congregation that had an average attendance of around 700 people.
There are several pictures of the new facilities. There is a ‘new Gathering Place,’ and the worship team ‘appreciates their spacious, adaptable platform.’ There is also a picture of the ‘Great Hall’ which is like a giant foyer with a reception desk that looks like something out of an airport. A picture of the auditorium is captioned, “Services are enhanced with a state of the art sound and light booth.” All this is wonderful.
Don’t get me wrong. I think technology is cool and useful in the advancement of the Kingdom. I just think sometimes entirely too much time and money are spent on such edifices, such monuments to human ingenuity and ‘vision.’ Don’t get me wrong. I think humans do some cool stuff; however, I think it is merely a sign of our love of all things shiny and new. We construct big, shiny, technologically advanced buildings in the Name of God. And we enjoy them immensely. “The Most High does not live in houses made by men.”
I contrast this with a short excerpt from An American Childhood by Annie Dillard who found herself caught up in the moment one afternoon when she was a child:
I was running down the Penn Avenue sidewalk, revving up for an act of faith. I was conscious and self-conscious. I knew well that people could not fly—as well as anyone knows it—but I also knew the kicker: that, as the books put it, with faith all things are possible.
Just once I wanted a task that required all the joy I had. Dad after day I had noticed that if I waited long enough, my strong unexpressed joy would dwindle and dissipate inside me, over many hours, like a fire subsiding, and I would at last calm down. Just this once I wanted to let it rip. Flying rather famously required the extra energy of belief, and this, too, I had in superabundance.
…
I ran the sidewalk at full tilt. I waved my arms every higher and fast; blood balled in my fingertips. I knew I was foolish. I knew I was too old really to believe in this as a child would, out of ignorance; instead I was experimenting as a scientist would, testing both the thing itself and the limits of my own courage in trying it miserably self-conscious in full view of the whole world. You can’t test courage cautiously, so I ran hard and wave my arms hard, happy.
Up ahead I saw a business-suited pedestrian. He was coming stiffly toward me down the walk. Who could ever forget this first test, this stranger, this thin young man appalled? I banished the temptation to straighten up and walk right. He flattened himself against a brick wall as I passed flailing—although I had left him plenty of room. He had refused to meet my exultant eye. He look away, evidently embarrassed. How surprisingly easy it was to ignore him! What I was letting rip, in fact, was my willingness to look foolish, in his eyes and my own. Having chosen this foolishness, I was a free being. How could the world ever stop me, how could I betray myself, it I was not afraid?
…
I crossed Homewood and ran up the block. The joy multiplied as I ran—I ran never actually quite leaving the ground—and multiplied still as I felt my stride begin to fumble and my knees begin to quiver and stall. The joy multiplied even as I slowed bumping to a walk. I was all but splitting, all but shooting sparks. Blood coursed free inside my lungs and bones, a light-shot stream like air. I couldn’t feel the pavement at all.
I was too aware to do this, and had done it anyway. What could touch me now? For what were the people on Penn Avenue to me, or what was I to myself, really, but a witness to any boldness I could muster, or any cowardice if it came to that, any giving up on heaven for the sake of dignity on earth? I had not seen a great deal accomplished in the name of dignity, ever. (107-109)
I think we build big, impressive shiny buildings because we are embarrassed. We think that our God is too dignified to worship in small, brick, badly lighted buildings without all the technological advances of the 00’s. Or that He is too dignified to be laid in a manger or take on human flesh. Or maybe we are too dignified. Maybe we don’t like worshipping in small, badly lighted, old places. Perhaps…perhaps, we need to lighten up a little.
“David said to Michal, “It was before the LORD, who chose me rather than your father or anyone from his house when he appointed me ruler over the LORD's people Israel--I will celebrate before the LORD. I will become even more undignified than this, and I will be humiliated in my own eyes.”
Recently, I have been thinking a lot about worship. I wrote about bees dancing in their hives. I wrote about soldiers worshipping in fighting holes in the sand floors of Iraq. Worship has been on my mind because it is always on my heart. I make every effort to use every waking moment of every day as an opportunity to worship. It makes no difference if I am writing a devotion, singing along with a CD, reading poetry to my sons, or praying—I believe that worship is not only something we offer, but it is an attitude in which we approach each moment. As one songwriter says, “I’m free because I’m living hallelujah.” (Sarah Kelly)
I’d like to contrast two pictures for you today. The first is in an advertisement I pulled out of the Church mailbox just a few minutes ago. The advertisement is a large newsletter type publication from The McKnight Group. The McKnight Group specializes in ‘design, architecture, and construction.’ They bill themselves as ‘church health specialists.’ I know very little about them save for what I have read in this publication. The newsletter I received focuses on a certain church that partnered with McKnight to construct a new building to meet the growing needs of a congregation that had an average attendance of around 700 people.
There are several pictures of the new facilities. There is a ‘new Gathering Place,’ and the worship team ‘appreciates their spacious, adaptable platform.’ There is also a picture of the ‘Great Hall’ which is like a giant foyer with a reception desk that looks like something out of an airport. A picture of the auditorium is captioned, “Services are enhanced with a state of the art sound and light booth.” All this is wonderful.
Don’t get me wrong. I think technology is cool and useful in the advancement of the Kingdom. I just think sometimes entirely too much time and money are spent on such edifices, such monuments to human ingenuity and ‘vision.’ Don’t get me wrong. I think humans do some cool stuff; however, I think it is merely a sign of our love of all things shiny and new. We construct big, shiny, technologically advanced buildings in the Name of God. And we enjoy them immensely. “The Most High does not live in houses made by men.”
I contrast this with a short excerpt from An American Childhood by Annie Dillard who found herself caught up in the moment one afternoon when she was a child:
I was running down the Penn Avenue sidewalk, revving up for an act of faith. I was conscious and self-conscious. I knew well that people could not fly—as well as anyone knows it—but I also knew the kicker: that, as the books put it, with faith all things are possible.
Just once I wanted a task that required all the joy I had. Dad after day I had noticed that if I waited long enough, my strong unexpressed joy would dwindle and dissipate inside me, over many hours, like a fire subsiding, and I would at last calm down. Just this once I wanted to let it rip. Flying rather famously required the extra energy of belief, and this, too, I had in superabundance.
…
I ran the sidewalk at full tilt. I waved my arms every higher and fast; blood balled in my fingertips. I knew I was foolish. I knew I was too old really to believe in this as a child would, out of ignorance; instead I was experimenting as a scientist would, testing both the thing itself and the limits of my own courage in trying it miserably self-conscious in full view of the whole world. You can’t test courage cautiously, so I ran hard and wave my arms hard, happy.
Up ahead I saw a business-suited pedestrian. He was coming stiffly toward me down the walk. Who could ever forget this first test, this stranger, this thin young man appalled? I banished the temptation to straighten up and walk right. He flattened himself against a brick wall as I passed flailing—although I had left him plenty of room. He had refused to meet my exultant eye. He look away, evidently embarrassed. How surprisingly easy it was to ignore him! What I was letting rip, in fact, was my willingness to look foolish, in his eyes and my own. Having chosen this foolishness, I was a free being. How could the world ever stop me, how could I betray myself, it I was not afraid?
…
I crossed Homewood and ran up the block. The joy multiplied as I ran—I ran never actually quite leaving the ground—and multiplied still as I felt my stride begin to fumble and my knees begin to quiver and stall. The joy multiplied even as I slowed bumping to a walk. I was all but splitting, all but shooting sparks. Blood coursed free inside my lungs and bones, a light-shot stream like air. I couldn’t feel the pavement at all.
I was too aware to do this, and had done it anyway. What could touch me now? For what were the people on Penn Avenue to me, or what was I to myself, really, but a witness to any boldness I could muster, or any cowardice if it came to that, any giving up on heaven for the sake of dignity on earth? I had not seen a great deal accomplished in the name of dignity, ever. (107-109)
I think we build big, impressive shiny buildings because we are embarrassed. We think that our God is too dignified to worship in small, brick, badly lighted buildings without all the technological advances of the 00’s. Or that He is too dignified to be laid in a manger or take on human flesh. Or maybe we are too dignified. Maybe we don’t like worshipping in small, badly lighted, old places. Perhaps…perhaps, we need to lighten up a little.
“David said to Michal, “It was before the LORD, who chose me rather than your father or anyone from his house when he appointed me ruler over the LORD's people Israel--I will celebrate before the LORD. I will become even more undignified than this, and I will be humiliated in my own eyes.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
