Amy Carmichael
IF I HAVE NOT compassion on my fellow servant, even as my Lord had pity
on me, then I know nothing of Calvary love. If I can easily discuss the
shortcomings and the sins of any; if I can speak in a casual way even of
a child's misdoings, then I know nothing of Calvary love.
If I can enjoy a joke at the expense of another; if I can in any way
slight another in conversation, or even in thought, then I know nothing
of Calvary love. If I can write an unkind letter, speak an unkind word,
think an unkind thought without grief and shame, then I know nothing of
Calvary love. If I am afraid to speak the truth, lest I lose affection,
or lest the one concerned should say, "You do not understand," or
because I fear to lose my reputation for kindness; if I put my own good
name before the other's highest good, then I know nothing of Calvary
love. If souls can suffer alongside, and I hardly know it, because the
spirit of discernment is not in me, then I know nothing of Calvary love.
If I myself dominate myself, if my thoughts revolve around myself, if I
am so occupied with myself I rarely have "a heart at leisure from
itself," then I know nothing of Calvary love. If I cannot in honest
happiness take the second place (or twentieth); if I cannot take the
first without making a fuss about my unworthiness, then I know nothing
of Calvary love. If I do not give a friend "the benefit of the doubt,"
but put the worst construction instead of the best on what is said or
done, then I know nothing of Calvary love.
If I take offense easily; if I am content to continue in a cool
unfriendliness, though friendship be possible, then I know nothing of
Calvary love. If a sudden jar can cause me to speak an impatient,
unloving word, then I know nothing of Calvary love. For a cup brimful of
sweet water cannot spill even one drop of bitter water, however
suddenly jolted. If I say, "Yes, I forgive, but I cannot forget," as
though the God, who twice a day washes all the sands on all the shores
of all the world, could not wash such memories from my mind, then I know
nothing of Calvary love.
Flame Of God
From prayer that asks that I may be sheltered from winds that beat on
Thee, From fearing when I should aspire, From faltering when I should
climb higher. From silken self, O Captain, free. Thy soldier who would
follow Thee. From subtle love of softening things, From easy choices,
weakenings, (Not thus are spirits fortified, Not this way went the
Crucified).
From all that dims Thy Calvary, O Lamb of God, deliver me. Give me the
love that leads the way, The faith that nothing can dismay. The hope no
disappointments tire, The passion that will burn like fire; Let me not
sink to be a clod; Make me Thy fuel, Flame of God.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Branded for Christ
| By Leonard Ravenhill http://www.ravenhill.org/ | ||
|
In a certain sense, all men are strangers to one another. Even friends do not really
know each other. To know a man, one must know all the influences of heredity and environment,
as well as his countless moral choices that have fashioned him into what he is.
Though we do not really know one another, tracing the course of a man’s life sometimes offers rich reward, particularly when we see the great driving forces which have motivated him. For instance, how greatly your life and mine would be benefited if we could experience the same surge of Christ-life that moved Saul of Tarsus (later called Paul) and plumb even a little the hidden depths of the meaning in his words, "I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus" (Gal. 6:17). One thing is sure about these words: they were an acknowledgment of Christ’s ownership. Paul belonged to the Lord Jesus -- spirit, soul, and body. He was branded for Christ. When Paul claimed to bear in his body the wounds of the Lord, he was claiming no "stigmata," as did Saint Francis of Assisi in 1224 A.D. It is not a bodily identification by outward crucifixion. He had been "crucified with Christ" (Gal. 2:20). If, as tradition says, Paul was only four feet six inches in height, then he was the greatest dwarf that ever lived. He out-paced, out-prayed, and out-passioned all his contemporaries. On his escutcheon was blazed: "One thing I do." He was blind to all that other men gloried in. Pascal was bitterly criticized because apart from the immortal soul of man, he could see no scenery anywhere worth looking at. By the same token, the Apostle Paul might be castigated for saying not a word about Grecian art or the splendor of the Pantheon. His was a separation to spirituality. After the Athenian clash on Mars’ Hill, Paul poured contempt on the wisdom of this world, dying daily to the temptation to outwit and out-think the wise. His task was not that of getting over a viewpoint, but of overcoming the legions of hell! Somewhere, most likely in Arabia, Paul’s personality had been transfigured. Never after that was he listed as a backslider. He was too occupied with going on. It would have vexed his righteous soul to hear a congregation sing, "Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it!" Unsponsored, unwelcomed, unloved -- these made little difference to Paul. On he went, blind to every jewel of earthly honor, deaf to every siren-voice of ease, and insensitive to the mesmerism of worldly success. The old Welsh divine said that if you know Hebrew, Greek, and Latin , do not put them where Pilate did at the head of Christ, but put them at his feet. "What things were gain to me," says Paul, "these things I count as loss for Christ." What a heart’s ease is the virtue of humility -- the great joy of having nothing to lose! Having no opinion of himself, Paul feared no fall. He might have swaggered in the richly embroidered robes of the chancellor of a Hebrew school. But in the adornment of a meek and quiet spirit, he shines with more luster. This wandering Jew "made war on all that made war on God and on the children of men." This prince of preachers and his foe, the prince of hell, spared each other no beatings. It was a free-for-all and no holds barred! Look closely at Paul -- at that cadaverous countenance, that scarred body, that stooped figure of a man chastened by hunger, kept down by fasting, and ploughed with the lictor’s lash; that little body, brutally stoned at Lystra and starved in many places; that skin, pickled for thirty-six hours in the Mediterranean Sea! Add to this list danger upon danger; then multiply it with loneliness; finally, count in the 199 stripes, 3 shipwrecks, 3 beatings with rods, a stoning, a prison record, and deaths so many that count is lost. And yet if one could add it up, all must be written off as nothing, because Paul himself thus consigned it. Listen to him: "Our light affliction, which is but for a moment..." That’s contempt of suffering, if you like! Oh, that from this wondrous flame every living preacher might capture just a little light! Beatings could not cast the flame out of Paul; fastings and hunger could not kill it; misunderstanding and misrepresentation could not quench its fire; waters could not drown it; prisons could not break it; perils could not arrest its growth. On and on it burned, until life ebbed from his body. The living Christ who was within Paul (Gal. 2:20), as manifested by his soul-passion, was at once the despair of hell, the capital for enlarging the Church, and cheer to the heart of the Saviour, who was seeing the travail of His soul and was being satisfied. First and supremely, Paul loved his Lord. Then he loved men, his enemies, hardship, and soul-pain. And he must have loved this latter particularly, else he would have shirked prayer. Paul’s love carried him to the lost, the last, the least. What scope of love! Mars’ Hill with its intellectuals, the synagogues with their religious traditionalists, the market places with their prodigals -- all these he yearned over and sought for his Lord. Like a mighty dynamo, love pushed him on to attempt great things for God. Not many have prayed as this man prayed. Maybe McCheyne, John Fletcher, mighty Brainerd, and a few others have known something of the soul-and-body mastering work of intercession motivated by love. I remember standing by the Marechale once as we sang her great hymn: "There is a love constraining me To go and seek the lost; I yield, O Lord, my all to Thee To save at any cost!" That was not just a lovely sentiment. It cost her prison, privation, pain, and poverty. Charles Wesley seemed to reach on tiptoe when he said, "nothing on earth do I desire but Thy pure love within my breast!" More recently Amy Carmichael uttered the heartfelt prayer; "Give me a love that leads the way, a faith which nothing can dismay!" These men and women were certainly on the trail of the apostolic secret of soul-winning. Great soul-winners have always been great lovers of men’s souls. All lesser loves were conquered only by the greater Love. Great love to the Lover of their souls drove them to tears, to travail, and to triumph. In this evil hour, dare we love less? Let me love Thee, love is mighty Swaying realms of deed and thought; By it I can walk uprightly, I can serve Thee as I ought. Love will soften every trial Love will lighten every care; Love unquestioning will follow, Love will triumph, love will dare! Without any of their choosing, millions will be branded for the Antichrist one day. Shall we shrink to bear in our spirits, our souls, and our bodies our Owner’s marks -- the marks of Jesus? Branded means pain. Do we want that? Branded means carrying the slur of the servant. Will we choose to be branded -- for Christ? |
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
A Simple Prayer for Bible Reading
http://fighterverses.com/blog-post/a-simple-prayer-for-bible-reading/
Jonathan Parnell
We need God to do a miraculous work when we read the Bible. So we must pray. In chapter nine of When I Don’t Desire God, John Piper introduces a memorable and helpful acronym for what to pray: I. O. U. S.
For example, here’s an amplification of the I. O. U. S. prayer:
Jonathan Parnell
We need God to do a miraculous work when we read the Bible. So we must pray. In chapter nine of When I Don’t Desire God, John Piper introduces a memorable and helpful acronym for what to pray: I. O. U. S.
- Incline my heart to you, not to prideful gain or any false motive. (Psalm 119:36)
- Open my eyes to behold wonderful things in your Word. (Psalm 119:18)
- Unite my heart to fear your name. (Psalm 86:11)
- Satisfy me with you steadfast love. (Psalm 90:14)
For example, here’s an amplification of the I. O. U. S. prayer:
- Incline my heart to you, not to prideful gain or any false motive. That is, focus my affections and desires upon you, and eradicate everything in me that would oppose such a focus.
- Open my eyes to behold wonderful things in your Word. That is, let your light shine and show me what you have willed to communicate through the biblical authors.
- Unite my heart to fear your name. That is, enthrall me with who you are.
- Satisfy me with your steadfast love. That is, fulfill me with the fact that your covenant love has been poured out on me through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
What Christians Do When They Believe and Feel about the Word of God Rightly
http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/kevindeyoung/2012/06/08/what-christians-do-when-they-believe-and-feel-about-the-word-of-god-rightly/
Kevin DeYoung
The Psalmist believed God’s word was true (Psalm 119: 42, 89, 96, 142, 160). He knew the Scriptures demanded what was right (Psalm 119:75, 86, 128, 137) and provided what was good (Psalm 119:1, 2, 6, 9, 24, 98-100, 105, 130). He delighted in God’s word (Psalm 119: 14, 24, 47, 70, 77, 103, 111, 129, 143, 174). He desired God’s word (Psalm 119:5, 10, 17, 20, 27, 29, 33-35, 40, 131, 135, 169). He depended on God’s word (Psalm 119:31, 50, 52). In other words, the Psalmist believed what we should believe about the word and felt what we should feel about the word.
And notice what happened as a result. When all this underground pressure of believing and feeling explode on to the surface it makes a splash. Our thoughts and our affections concerning the word of God can’t help but burst forth as a geyser of Spirit-led activity.
So what do Christians do when they believe and feel about the word of God rightly?
1. They sing (Psalm 119:172).
2. They speak (Psalm 119:13, 46, 79).
3. They study (Psalm 119:15, 48, 97, 148).
4. They store up (Psalm 119:11, 16, 83, 93, 148).
5. They obey the word (Psalm 119: 8, 44, 57, 129, 145, 146, 167, 168).
6. They praise God (Psalm 119:7, 62, 164, 171).
7. They pray for help (Psalm 119: 36, 58, 121-23, 147, 149-52, 153-60, 175-76).
These seven actions are the best indicator of what you and really believe and feel about God’s word. If you do these things, you probably believe what is right even if you can’t quite explain it; you probably have your affections in order even if they don’t always feel like much. And on the other hand, if there is no geyser bursting forth into these kinds of activities, you probably don’t feel what you should or really believe all that is true.
Sing, speak, study, store up, obey, praise, pray. That’s what Christians do with the word of God.
Kevin DeYoung
The Psalmist believed God’s word was true (Psalm 119: 42, 89, 96, 142, 160). He knew the Scriptures demanded what was right (Psalm 119:75, 86, 128, 137) and provided what was good (Psalm 119:1, 2, 6, 9, 24, 98-100, 105, 130). He delighted in God’s word (Psalm 119: 14, 24, 47, 70, 77, 103, 111, 129, 143, 174). He desired God’s word (Psalm 119:5, 10, 17, 20, 27, 29, 33-35, 40, 131, 135, 169). He depended on God’s word (Psalm 119:31, 50, 52). In other words, the Psalmist believed what we should believe about the word and felt what we should feel about the word.
And notice what happened as a result. When all this underground pressure of believing and feeling explode on to the surface it makes a splash. Our thoughts and our affections concerning the word of God can’t help but burst forth as a geyser of Spirit-led activity.
So what do Christians do when they believe and feel about the word of God rightly?
1. They sing (Psalm 119:172).
2. They speak (Psalm 119:13, 46, 79).
3. They study (Psalm 119:15, 48, 97, 148).
4. They store up (Psalm 119:11, 16, 83, 93, 148).
5. They obey the word (Psalm 119: 8, 44, 57, 129, 145, 146, 167, 168).
6. They praise God (Psalm 119:7, 62, 164, 171).
7. They pray for help (Psalm 119: 36, 58, 121-23, 147, 149-52, 153-60, 175-76).
These seven actions are the best indicator of what you and really believe and feel about God’s word. If you do these things, you probably believe what is right even if you can’t quite explain it; you probably have your affections in order even if they don’t always feel like much. And on the other hand, if there is no geyser bursting forth into these kinds of activities, you probably don’t feel what you should or really believe all that is true.
Sing, speak, study, store up, obey, praise, pray. That’s what Christians do with the word of God.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
True Wholeness
http://michaelkelleyministries.com/
The gospel is about wholeness. It’s about fractured, broken people being the gift of life through the life of another. In Christ we become complete and whole people—people who are in want for nothing.
Consider the amazing truth Paul expressed in Ephesians 1 when he said that we have been blessed in Christ with every spiritual blessing. Or again in Romans 8 that we will be given all things in Christ. Or back to Ephesians when he talked about the truly mind-boggling concept of inheritance.
In Ephesians 1:13–19, Paul used the word “inheritance” twice. The first occurs in verse 14: “He is the down payment of our inheritance, for the redemption of the possession, to the praise of His glory.”
Paul talked about the Holy Spirit as earnest money. If you’ve ever bought a house, you know that you have to put down some earnest money as part of the contract. The earnest money isn’t the full amount, but it’s the amount of money you have to forfeit if you back out of the contract. To Paul, the Holy Spirit’s indwelling presence is like earnest money. It’s a deposit given to us by God that makes us sure He will uphold His end of the deal. It makes us sure that He will carry us onto completion, and we will receive our whole inheritance.
So what is that inheritance? We could say it’s heaven, eternity, mansions, streets of gold, no more tears, and all the other stuff heaven brings along with it. But ultimately, I think you have to say the inheritance is the thing which makes heaven so heavenly—our inheritance is God. It’s knowing Him fully and completely. That’s what makes heaven so good, and that is what’s waiting for us. The fact that God is giving us the greatest of all gifts, namely Himself, should bring us closer and closer to that sense of completeness.
But Paul wasn’t done.
If we skip down to verse 18, this is what we find: “I pray that the perception of your mind may be enlightened so you may know what is the hope of His calling, what are the glorious riches of His inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of His power to us who believe.”
Do you see the difference? In this verse “inheritance” isn’t talking about God or heaven; it’s talking about us. We are the inheritance. So who is inheriting us? Who is waiting for us? Who considers us so valuable? God. We are God’s inheritance.
It’s unfathomable to think about what Christ did on the cross, that He bought something for us, but He also bought something for God. Jesus secured both our inheritances, and now God waits in expectation to fully inherit His. And God’s inheritance? That’s us.
Not only do we have an inheritance stored up for us, but we are of such value to the Creator that we are stored up for Him to the praise of His glory. This is a good reminder to me as gas prices are high, the economy is down, and jobs are in question; . . . but we are nonetheless rich in God. And maybe He’s rich in us, too. The gospel reminds us that we are absolutely and completely whole. Complete. In Christ.
Is it any wonder, then, that in virtually all of his letters, Paul’s greetings to the followers of Jesus consisted of two words: “grace” and “peace.” Perhaps he chose those two words because they represent the gospel well. We are the beneficiaries of the lavish grace of God in Christ. And because of the gospel of Jesus, we are whole. We are complete. We lack nothing in Him. Now that’s shalom.
The gospel is about wholeness. It’s about fractured, broken people being the gift of life through the life of another. In Christ we become complete and whole people—people who are in want for nothing.
Consider the amazing truth Paul expressed in Ephesians 1 when he said that we have been blessed in Christ with every spiritual blessing. Or again in Romans 8 that we will be given all things in Christ. Or back to Ephesians when he talked about the truly mind-boggling concept of inheritance.
In Ephesians 1:13–19, Paul used the word “inheritance” twice. The first occurs in verse 14: “He is the down payment of our inheritance, for the redemption of the possession, to the praise of His glory.”
Paul talked about the Holy Spirit as earnest money. If you’ve ever bought a house, you know that you have to put down some earnest money as part of the contract. The earnest money isn’t the full amount, but it’s the amount of money you have to forfeit if you back out of the contract. To Paul, the Holy Spirit’s indwelling presence is like earnest money. It’s a deposit given to us by God that makes us sure He will uphold His end of the deal. It makes us sure that He will carry us onto completion, and we will receive our whole inheritance.
So what is that inheritance? We could say it’s heaven, eternity, mansions, streets of gold, no more tears, and all the other stuff heaven brings along with it. But ultimately, I think you have to say the inheritance is the thing which makes heaven so heavenly—our inheritance is God. It’s knowing Him fully and completely. That’s what makes heaven so good, and that is what’s waiting for us. The fact that God is giving us the greatest of all gifts, namely Himself, should bring us closer and closer to that sense of completeness.
But Paul wasn’t done.
If we skip down to verse 18, this is what we find: “I pray that the perception of your mind may be enlightened so you may know what is the hope of His calling, what are the glorious riches of His inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of His power to us who believe.”
Do you see the difference? In this verse “inheritance” isn’t talking about God or heaven; it’s talking about us. We are the inheritance. So who is inheriting us? Who is waiting for us? Who considers us so valuable? God. We are God’s inheritance.
It’s unfathomable to think about what Christ did on the cross, that He bought something for us, but He also bought something for God. Jesus secured both our inheritances, and now God waits in expectation to fully inherit His. And God’s inheritance? That’s us.
Not only do we have an inheritance stored up for us, but we are of such value to the Creator that we are stored up for Him to the praise of His glory. This is a good reminder to me as gas prices are high, the economy is down, and jobs are in question; . . . but we are nonetheless rich in God. And maybe He’s rich in us, too. The gospel reminds us that we are absolutely and completely whole. Complete. In Christ.
Is it any wonder, then, that in virtually all of his letters, Paul’s greetings to the followers of Jesus consisted of two words: “grace” and “peace.” Perhaps he chose those two words because they represent the gospel well. We are the beneficiaries of the lavish grace of God in Christ. And because of the gospel of Jesus, we are whole. We are complete. We lack nothing in Him. Now that’s shalom.
Anywhere, Anything: On Worship and Hyperbole
http://howtotalkevangelical.addiezierman.com/?p=687
Addie Zierman blog
How to Talk Evangelical
Sometimes on Sunday morning our worship team does the song Burn for You by Steve Fee, and it suddenly feels hard to be there.
I have a tentative relationship with my church anyway, but when they start singing this song, it’s hard for me to stay in that dark room with all the drumming and the lights and the raised hands and promises.
It’s a song with a lot of fire imagery and power words. There’s a fire in my bones, uncontainable, and it’s causing me to burn for You.
As a person who has burned for Jesus, who has been burned, who knows the destructive nature of fire as well as the cold absence of it, this is a loaded metaphor for me to begin with.
And then you get to the chorus:
I’ll go anywhere
I’ll do anything
At any cost for you my King
And I have to sit down in my seat so that I can’t see the words. I have to fold up into my own smallness and remind myself that I don’t have to earn the love of God.
*
It makes me think of that Bruno Mars song that the pop radio stations had on all the time a couple of months ago. The one with the chorus that promises:
I’d catch a grenade for ya
Throw my hand on a blade for ya
I’d jump in front of a train for ya
You know I’d do anything for ya
It’s a song that annoys me for a couple of reason, the first of which is the word “ya.”
But also, it’s the audacity of those claims. The arrogance of them. The vague, unlikely promises that are easy to make, as chances are, no one will ever lob a grenade at her head.
When that song comes on the radio, I get irritable and start asking questions to my radio. Would ya do the dishes for her? Would ya change the dirty diapers for her? Pick up a box of tampons for her? Get up in the night with a crying baby for her? Would ya Bruno?
Would you listen? Would you stay if she failed you in the most unimaginable, heartbreaking way? Would you go to marriage counseling and sit there on the couch holding her hand, answering the hard questions? Would you do the work of forgiving, the work of being forgiven, in that moment where it would be easier to give up?
Because that’s love: not the proud vow that you would die for her if it came to that, but a hundred thousand little deaths that somehow add up to Life.
But, you know, who wants to sing about that?
*
The problem with hyperbole, with lofty promises, is that life is not lived in the grand gesture.
I have seen enough of my own dark heart to know that even though I might desperately want to believe that I’d do anything for God, go anywhere for Him, give up anything he asked of me, there is a breaking point for me.
I have been to the place where he has been silent and he has asked me to trust him anyway, and I couldn’t do it. I have been to the place where I have been lonely and hurt and instead of choosing faith, I chose tequila and denial and loud cynical anger.
Every day, I come to tiny little crossroads, places where I know what God wants from me and where I choose the exact opposite. Anger instead of love. Gossip instead of restraint. Bitterness instead of forgiveness.
So when they sing the song at church, I sit, because for me, it would be a lie. I sit and I try to remember that the God I believe in has already lived the hyperbole. He loves me to the ends of the earth, as far as East is from West, to the moon and back.
I believe that he pierced himself on the blade of my anger and sin and brokenness. That he gave it all and was not destroyed. That he loves me just the same, even when I fail miserably at loving him back.
*
I am trying this new thing.
Instead of promising God anything and anywhere and any cost, I am trying to stop in the moment and ask him. “What would you have me do here?”
I tried it at three in the morning when my son woke up whiny and needy and making demands like a little terrorist.
When he told me to put his blanky on his tummy and his sheet on his feet and his lion toy in a very particular spot on his pillow (NO, Mom. Not there. THERE!), I sucked in a breath, asked God my question, and heard the answer. Love.
When he screamed for me to come back and GET HIM A FRESH PULL-UP, I rallied, listened. Chose love one more time.
When he went into full meltdown mode ten minutes later because he wanted his turtle, a small plastic toy that could be buried at the bottom of any one of the 18 boxes of toys in my living room, I heard God say love, love, love, love, love, and I said, All out of love, God.
And then I went into Crazy Mode and shouted DANE. IT IS FOUR O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING! MOMMY IS ANGRY! And I called him a little shit under my breath while I went stomping into his bedroom to deal with the situation.
We try and try and then we fail. We cannot do the big things or the even little things, and God is well aware of it. In my failure, I am enough for him, and in my victory, I am enough for him too.
God’s love is big and small, more extreme than the greatest hyperbole, more concrete than the tiniest need. And wide enough to cover all of it.
Addie Zierman blog
How to Talk Evangelical
Sometimes on Sunday morning our worship team does the song Burn for You by Steve Fee, and it suddenly feels hard to be there.
I have a tentative relationship with my church anyway, but when they start singing this song, it’s hard for me to stay in that dark room with all the drumming and the lights and the raised hands and promises.
It’s a song with a lot of fire imagery and power words. There’s a fire in my bones, uncontainable, and it’s causing me to burn for You.
As a person who has burned for Jesus, who has been burned, who knows the destructive nature of fire as well as the cold absence of it, this is a loaded metaphor for me to begin with.
And then you get to the chorus:
I’ll go anywhere
I’ll do anything
At any cost for you my King
And I have to sit down in my seat so that I can’t see the words. I have to fold up into my own smallness and remind myself that I don’t have to earn the love of God.
*
It makes me think of that Bruno Mars song that the pop radio stations had on all the time a couple of months ago. The one with the chorus that promises:
I’d catch a grenade for ya
Throw my hand on a blade for ya
I’d jump in front of a train for ya
You know I’d do anything for ya
It’s a song that annoys me for a couple of reason, the first of which is the word “ya.”
But also, it’s the audacity of those claims. The arrogance of them. The vague, unlikely promises that are easy to make, as chances are, no one will ever lob a grenade at her head.
When that song comes on the radio, I get irritable and start asking questions to my radio. Would ya do the dishes for her? Would ya change the dirty diapers for her? Pick up a box of tampons for her? Get up in the night with a crying baby for her? Would ya Bruno?
Would you listen? Would you stay if she failed you in the most unimaginable, heartbreaking way? Would you go to marriage counseling and sit there on the couch holding her hand, answering the hard questions? Would you do the work of forgiving, the work of being forgiven, in that moment where it would be easier to give up?
Because that’s love: not the proud vow that you would die for her if it came to that, but a hundred thousand little deaths that somehow add up to Life.
But, you know, who wants to sing about that?
*
The problem with hyperbole, with lofty promises, is that life is not lived in the grand gesture.
I have seen enough of my own dark heart to know that even though I might desperately want to believe that I’d do anything for God, go anywhere for Him, give up anything he asked of me, there is a breaking point for me.
I have been to the place where he has been silent and he has asked me to trust him anyway, and I couldn’t do it. I have been to the place where I have been lonely and hurt and instead of choosing faith, I chose tequila and denial and loud cynical anger.
Every day, I come to tiny little crossroads, places where I know what God wants from me and where I choose the exact opposite. Anger instead of love. Gossip instead of restraint. Bitterness instead of forgiveness.
So when they sing the song at church, I sit, because for me, it would be a lie. I sit and I try to remember that the God I believe in has already lived the hyperbole. He loves me to the ends of the earth, as far as East is from West, to the moon and back.
I believe that he pierced himself on the blade of my anger and sin and brokenness. That he gave it all and was not destroyed. That he loves me just the same, even when I fail miserably at loving him back.
*
I am trying this new thing.
Instead of promising God anything and anywhere and any cost, I am trying to stop in the moment and ask him. “What would you have me do here?”
I tried it at three in the morning when my son woke up whiny and needy and making demands like a little terrorist.
When he told me to put his blanky on his tummy and his sheet on his feet and his lion toy in a very particular spot on his pillow (NO, Mom. Not there. THERE!), I sucked in a breath, asked God my question, and heard the answer. Love.
When he screamed for me to come back and GET HIM A FRESH PULL-UP, I rallied, listened. Chose love one more time.
When he went into full meltdown mode ten minutes later because he wanted his turtle, a small plastic toy that could be buried at the bottom of any one of the 18 boxes of toys in my living room, I heard God say love, love, love, love, love, and I said, All out of love, God.
And then I went into Crazy Mode and shouted DANE. IT IS FOUR O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING! MOMMY IS ANGRY! And I called him a little shit under my breath while I went stomping into his bedroom to deal with the situation.
We try and try and then we fail. We cannot do the big things or the even little things, and God is well aware of it. In my failure, I am enough for him, and in my victory, I am enough for him too.
God’s love is big and small, more extreme than the greatest hyperbole, more concrete than the tiniest need. And wide enough to cover all of it.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
I am the Captain of My Soul?
InvictusOut of the night that covers me,Black as the pit from pole to pole,I thank whatever gods may beFor my unconquerable soul.In the fell clutch of circumstanceI have not winced, nor cried aloud.Under the bludgeoning of chanceMy head is bloody, but unbowed.Beyond this place of wrath and tearsLooms but the horror of the shade;And yet the menace of the yearsFinds, and shall find, me unafraid.It matters not how strait the gate,How charged with punishment the scroll,I am the master of my fate;I am the captain of my soul.
Out of the light that dazzles me,Bright as the sun from pole to pole,I thank the God I know to beFor Christ the Conqueror of my soul.Since His the sway of circumstanceI would not wince nor cry aloud.Under that rule which men call chanceMy head with joy is humbly bowed.Beyond this place of sin and tears—That life with Him! And His the aid,That, spite the menace of the years,Keeps, and shall keep, me unafraid.I have no fear though strait the gate;He cleared from punishment the scroll.Christ is the Master of my fate;Christ is the Captain of my soul.
http://articles.cnn.com/2001-06-11/justice/mcveigh.poem.cnna_1_timothy-mcveigh-poem-oklahoma-city-bomber?_s=PM:LAWDorothea Day
English professor Marion Hoctor: The meaning of 'Invictus'
Oklahoma
City bomber Timothy McVeigh left the Victorian poem "Invictus" as his
last message to the world before he was executed Monday. (See image of
McVeigh's handwritten statement)
An expert in Medieval and 19th century poetry, Sister Marion Hoctor, professor of English at Nazareth College of Rochester, New York, spoke to CNN.com about the poem and its author, British poet, critic and editor William Ernest Henley.
CNN: Why this poem?
HOCTOR: I think the fact that this poem spoke to (McVeigh) in such a way that he used it as his last statement -- I think Timothy McVeigh really understood what this poem says. Although it is sometimes viewed as inspirational, it is really about stoicism.
An expert in Medieval and 19th century poetry, Sister Marion Hoctor, professor of English at Nazareth College of Rochester, New York, spoke to CNN.com about the poem and its author, British poet, critic and editor William Ernest Henley.
CNN: Why this poem?
HOCTOR: I think the fact that this poem spoke to (McVeigh) in such a way that he used it as his last statement -- I think Timothy McVeigh really understood what this poem says. Although it is sometimes viewed as inspirational, it is really about stoicism.
CNN: How does this poem fit in the prevailing philosophy of the Victorian age?
HOCTOR: What one would say about major Victorian writers and thinkers is that they set aside Christianity -- the dominant form of religion then -- some of them regretfully set it aside and said it belongs to another world. They believed there are dark and complex questions in this world that religion cannot address.
The poem is powerful expression of stoicism -- you fall back on your own resources, you dont fall back on religious resources. If you are going to truly be "invictus" -- which is Latin for unconquered -- you must be true to your own convictions.
So "Invictus" means "I have not been conquered." The business about the gods, where Henley writes "I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul", is quite dismissive. "Gods" is lower-case, and the line says they "may be." He's saying "I'm in possession of my fate, I have been strong, I haven't cried, or winced" in the face of the "bludgeoning of chance." Henley is referring to the death of his child and health problems -- which left him terribly wounded, but not unbowed.
The last two lines sum up stoicism beautifully -- I remember McVeigh's attorneys saying that McVeigh was not prepared to consider in any way that what he had done was wrong, and I think those lines express that.
He chose this four-stanza poem as a more eloquent way of conveying to the rest of the world what his philosophy is and his sense of self. One cannot help but wonder what William Ernest Henley would have thought of this.
The lines describe determination and a summoning up of every ounce of strength -- to overcome with courage and strength which is my own and is not siphoned off from an archaic religious tradition.
In Hebrew, "I am" is the word for God -- (I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul). I think Henley would have known that, but I'm not sure McVeigh would. It means the deity is within us, and was written by someone who had suffered terribly -- but, of course, had not inflicted suffering on anyone else.
The poem represents secular humanism, the spirit of the Victorian age, you could say, the rise of Darwin and the sciences as a challenge to traditional thought and creationism. Really Matthew Arnold, a contemporary of Henley's, wrote of the same spirit.
Henley's other poems wouldn't be recognized. Henley can't compete with his contemporaries, such as Tennyson, Arnold, Browning, and Thomas Hardy -- the real luminaries of this period.
"Invictus" was his 15 minutes of fame.
HOCTOR: What one would say about major Victorian writers and thinkers is that they set aside Christianity -- the dominant form of religion then -- some of them regretfully set it aside and said it belongs to another world. They believed there are dark and complex questions in this world that religion cannot address.
The poem is powerful expression of stoicism -- you fall back on your own resources, you dont fall back on religious resources. If you are going to truly be "invictus" -- which is Latin for unconquered -- you must be true to your own convictions.
So "Invictus" means "I have not been conquered." The business about the gods, where Henley writes "I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul", is quite dismissive. "Gods" is lower-case, and the line says they "may be." He's saying "I'm in possession of my fate, I have been strong, I haven't cried, or winced" in the face of the "bludgeoning of chance." Henley is referring to the death of his child and health problems -- which left him terribly wounded, but not unbowed.
The last two lines sum up stoicism beautifully -- I remember McVeigh's attorneys saying that McVeigh was not prepared to consider in any way that what he had done was wrong, and I think those lines express that.
He chose this four-stanza poem as a more eloquent way of conveying to the rest of the world what his philosophy is and his sense of self. One cannot help but wonder what William Ernest Henley would have thought of this.
The lines describe determination and a summoning up of every ounce of strength -- to overcome with courage and strength which is my own and is not siphoned off from an archaic religious tradition.
In Hebrew, "I am" is the word for God -- (I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul). I think Henley would have known that, but I'm not sure McVeigh would. It means the deity is within us, and was written by someone who had suffered terribly -- but, of course, had not inflicted suffering on anyone else.
The poem represents secular humanism, the spirit of the Victorian age, you could say, the rise of Darwin and the sciences as a challenge to traditional thought and creationism. Really Matthew Arnold, a contemporary of Henley's, wrote of the same spirit.
Henley's other poems wouldn't be recognized. Henley can't compete with his contemporaries, such as Tennyson, Arnold, Browning, and Thomas Hardy -- the real luminaries of this period.
"Invictus" was his 15 minutes of fame.
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