Brilliance, pt 1

If I knew what it would cost before I did it, would I do it? Would I invest the time, effort, energy in the beginning? Is it pure insanity to jump in head first, feet first, body first, before the spirit jumps in? I'm trying to make sense of something that cannot make sense no matter how it is looked at, leaped at or listened to. I'll never know. Probably, I ought to quit while I am only behind and stop trying to get ahead before I am utterly lost.

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I wondered aloud to my son today: I hope someday when we all get to heaven that after we have marveled at the wonders of God for a time that we get to see some baseball. I immediately regretted saying it. The reason? Do I really think that I will ever stop marveling at the wonders of God? I think eternity will scarcely be enough time to complete such an assignment as marveling at the wonders of God. "Oh the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable his judgments, and his paths beyond tracing out! Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor? Who has ever given to God, that God should repay him? For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever! Amen." (Romans 11:33-36). I Don't think I'll have time to think about baseball then. I wonder what makes me think I have time for it now? Shouldn't I start marveling at the wonders of God now?

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I wonder sometimes if it is terribly wrong to desire any sort of happiness here on this planet. Seriously. Is it wrong to enjoy a rest after a hard day's work? Should I look for opportunities to suffer for the Name of Jesus lest I forget my brothers who are suffering elsewhere in the world? Should I abandon all creature comforts in order to better identify with my sisters who are living in something worse than squalor? How shall I live in Christ in America? Should I abandon my dignity or should I raise the dignity of those who have already been humiliated? What shall I throw their way? A Prayer? A Dollar? A Rock? A Kiss? Who are they? Perhaps they are looking at the stone on which they write and wonder, "What shall I throw his way? Shall I abandon my humble place and join him in wealth or lower him? How shall I remember my poor brothers in America who suffer from so much affluence and abundance? What shall I throw him? My Loin Cloth? My Soleless Shoes? My Straw Mat? A Kiss? A Prayer for his miserable condition?"

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I heard this song the other night. I think it was called 'Creep', by a group called Radiohead. I've never listened to Radiohead. I still haven't. I heard someone else sing it. But I like it. Call me a creep. Loser like me. Call me anything but what I am. I cannot live up to the billing. I'm likely to fail and let you down. I'm in a world I don't understand. What I cannot figure out is why God would do it. I talk a mighty big talk, but what do I know of real suffering? What does this mean, "And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge--that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God." (Ephesians 3:17b-19) He does not pray that we will have power or knowledge: How can you know something that surpasses knowledge? He prays that we will know a love that surpasses knowledge, and the power not to be powerful but to know love. I'm supposed to know this sort of love when all the time I am all too aware of who I am? I'm always in the way! That's why we need the power: To get beyond ourselves and to Christ. Maybe I'm not a creep after all, just a little weak; a little too thick.

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I watched Rambo: First Blood tonight. Rambo was a Vietnam vet who got shafted--seriously. Halfway through the film some gung-ho weekend warrior National Guardsmen launched a rocket at him. The rocket hit the front of the mine he was in and sealed it prohibiting him from escaping. They thought he was dead and they went about their business. But inside this grave, this underground mine shaft, he was alive. They went back to their lives--celebrating, enjoying 'their' town, back to work. He, Rambo, crawled, crouched, and climbed through seemingly miles and miles of underground passages until, at last, he found an exit. He climbed up the ladders until he, bloody and bruised, arrived at the top. Rambo died. Rambo Resurrected. And the funny thing about it is this: When he resurrected he was angrier than before he died. Strange that. Either way, he did come back to life. The grave he was in could not contain him. He found a way out of the earth.

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It is cool this evening. I like that. I hear frogs. I hear crickets. I hear an occasional car drive by. Crickets certainly are wonderful to listen to. I will miss them when winter comes. Maybe a few will move into my house and live here until summer comes. I don't want to miss a single note of their song. Some things are far too important to miss. Even crickets. I want to enjoy them now because the way this world works, I may not get to hear them tomorrow. I'm awake at 2 AM because I want to be found watching, waiting, listening for the note that will drown out and replace the crickets and announce that new, better music has arrived. Even the crickets will stop to listen. Or they may join in the band. Crickets!? Imagine that: They stay awake all night, all day just singing, waiting and watching.