In Verse

As far as present getting goes, I can't remember a better Christmas than this year. 3 poetry books, a couple of sweaters, handmade presents from my family, money (that my wife and I put toward the Macbook I'm now writing on), and a family trip to Gulf Shores that is mostly paid for...

Simple and awesome.

I dove into some of the poetry last night, starting with Scott Cairns adaptations of the writings of church fathers and mothers, the saints. It's called Love's Immensity, and I only made it through the first two poems before I had to stop and wonder.

First,

With love's confidence I'm asking,

if you should offer this book
to another, ask of him
as now I ask of you
to read slowly,
and thoroughly, tasting

each word's trouble...

I fear
for the reader who dabbles,
who gleans, who hurries to take
and flee, and who by doing so acquires
nothing by a novel form
of his current poverty and error.

Wow. I know that the author of those words is not just talking about poems, but the Holy Scripture itself. Slowly read it, taste each word. Don't try to just take something from it, instead with with it. I know that I've been short on my ability lately to "eat the book" as Eugene Peterson puts it. I have been into the Scriptures for what I need and then on my way. My mornings have been quick daily office readings and then on to the next thing. I've been busy-minded when I should have been slow and clear.

No more gleaning, says I, and then I move on to the next poem in the Cairns' collection, which seems very familiar...

I'll bet your wits won't let you
quite believe any of this; it is, however,
precisely so.

I know a man, a follower of Christ,
who, some fourteen years ago,
was lifted clean

to the third heaven - whether this
occurred in the body or out of it,
I could not say,

though God knows. And this same man -
whether in the body or out of it,
I do not know,

though God surely knows - was lifted
(hear me!) clean to Paradisse, and there
he heard such words

- so marvelous and grave - that no
human tongue could repeat them,
nor think to try.

That's 2 Corinthians 12:2-4 if you know it. And sure enough, at the top of the page Cairns gave credit to the author: Saint Paul the Apostle. But I remain intrigued at what Cairns had done. In putting the Scripture in verse, he must have forced himself to do the very thing the first poem asked. Slow down. Take each word seriously. In the process of writing the book, he was following the advice given.

And, as a semi-aspiring poet, what if I approached the texts the same way? What if not only Paul was a poet (though he didn't even know it), what if Matthew was too? And James! And Ezekiel! And even the book of Leviticus? Yes and yes and yes.

Scripture flows like poetry, because every word and image means so much.

Or, like Cairns and Peterson have figured out, because every word tastes so good.

Flickers of Hope

Christ is coming, Christ is always coming.

Yesterday, with the flaming end of a coffee stir stick that we ignited with one of the kitchen's burners, we lit the first Advent candle at our church. The lavender candle flickered throughout our service, at this point just one small flame to start the season. In my haste and procrastination, I couldn't find large solid columns of purple candle for the season. So, instead we have tiny sized candles sitting inside of glass jars.

Nothing about them is impressive. We joked when the first one was lit, sarcastic remarks about how it "really lights up the room" and other such quotes. The dancing light certainly couldn't dispel all shadows, but it would make it so we could see.

The first Advent candle represents hope, and it seems to me that it is really appropriate. Dropped into a dark, shadowy, swirling world, hope gives us the ability to see.

Not with sharp clarity. We don't know why Child Protective Services seems particularly hard on one of our congregants and friends. We don't know why the single mother in our church can't seem to get over her nagging kidney malfunctions and now has lung disease added to her problems despite her insistent choice not to smoke. We don't know why the bills don't seem to work out right after hours adjusting our budget. We don't know why.

But we can see light.

And during Advent, that's all we are given right now. Hope. No other candle's flame has joined it yet. Perhaps in our darkest circumstances, that is where we have to start. And perhaps that is where we have to stay for awhile. When their is no solution in sight, we hope.

Christ is coming, Christ is always coming.

Returned

I am kept unto prayer
Returned again to unbelief
- Kazim Ali, "Well"

I sat by the goalpost, cold in the October wind, crying well past midnight. My girlfriend of 4 years had finally said officially that we were on a break, and my heart was tearing straight out of my chest. The damp, dark grass wet the side of my face as I ran out of energy to sit up, and had to simply fall and curl on the evening earth. Why?

As I walked the streets of Chicago, nervous and fearful, my cell phone going off at pre-programmed times to remind me that my beloved grandpa was undergoing major surgery. Unexpected surgery. Life threatening surgery. I was on a trip to celebrate my anniversary, and he was unconscious under the harsh hospital lights. Why?

Thunder cracked through the summer air in Romania. The lightning briefly illuminating the small cell where my roommate and I fight fear by pulling the covers up to our chins and talking senseless nonsense until it doesn't even feel right anymore. Is it right to talk about girls he likes when thousands of babies, helpless, sweet, babbling babies are laying alone in orphanage cribs as the powerful storm beats down the city night? Is there an abandoned child crying under a wooden bench at the park tonight, waiting to be picked up in the morning, feeling the extremes of his unwantedness? Why?

These are heavy questions that I've asked of God throughout my life. These terrible times of stress and anxiety, injustice and doubt... these very times have occasioned my strongest and most passionate prayers. Yelling at God, pleading with God, crying with God... comforted by God.

In the opening quote, Kazim Ali's poem "Well" had two lines, one about prayer and one about unbelief. As I learn about the wonders of prayer, as I've contemplated the topic for two weeks now, something is clear to me. I think that I'd say Ali's poem backwards:

Returned again to unbelief
I am kept unto prayer

It seems to me, that in my deepest times of doubt and yes, even unbelief, I truly find my voice of prayer. This week, I am reminded of that. Faced with my weaknesses and failures as a husband, my response has been prayer. Faced with classes that are unruly, beginning to unravel, my response has been prayer. Faced with deep misunderstandings of my Heavenly Father, hurt and pain and unanswered prayer, my response has been prayer. Faced with temptation and sin, my response has been prayer.

When faced with doubt in all its forms, I am kept unto prayer. Difficulty is a bonding agent. In the story of Elijah, Queen Jezebel threatens his life, chases him into the desert and Elijah becomes so despondent that he asks the LORD to take his life from him. But notice, he asks the LORD. In other words, he prays. And then comes the beautiful story of God's reassurance, as he passes by Elijah in a gentle whisper.

I know that God is passing by me now, and all of time. This prayer thing is more about relationship than it is about my answers. That is why every time I am returned to unbelief, returned to difficulty, returned to doubt, returned to loneliness I am at the same time returned to prayer.

There is None Like You

There is such much that is unique in our world. Each snowflake is said to have its intricate design of frozen crystals woven differently than any other. Each day has its variety of interactions, conflicts and times of peace. Each person has a spectrum of looks, history and personality.

Even when resting in a field of flowers or long bladed grass, I can notice how each little bloom has its tiny leaves at slightly different angles. Each tip of the grass has varying width, height, or lean in the swirling wind. From the very large to the very small, there is uniqueness.

Perhaps the world is formed in such a way that it reflects the glory of our Father. As is said in one of the best songs of praise ever penned:

This is my Father's world
He shines in all that's fair
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass
He speaks to me everywhere.

And each tiny blossom, each blade of grass, each person, each night and day, each slowly falling flake tell of God's unique qualities. There is none like the LORD.

At our marriage retreat this weekend, we were reminded over and over that our spouse is a gift. A gift that we should study and try to understand, because they are special and unique. My love for Courtney grows when I see the talents, ideas, traits and quirks that are only hers. My love for her grows when I respond to that unique person she is in unique ways. It lets her know that I was thinking of only her, not just "women" in general.

Recognizing the unique nature of someone we love allows us to respond in personal ways.

So what of the unique nature of our God? If all of this distinctiveness reflects the will of the LORD, then what is anomalous about Him? And how do we recognize it and respond to it so that our love for our LORD becomes personal?

I don't know the answer to any of those questions well enough to type them all out right now. Somehow, I think it has to do with the personal ways God has revealed Himself to each of us. All of these personal revelations of love lead us to know His character better. But how to respond?

At the retreat, we stood watching a TV screen in a high ceilinged, white walled room. Words zoomed across the screen, people sang or didn't. The song built, had a key change, took it up another level. In the front of the room, my mom helped lead those of us willing to enter the song. Some couples held hands, some wrapped arms around each other, some put their hands on the back of the chairs in front of them because they had grown old and weak, and some turned away from the song and from their spouse. Many couples were revitalized in their love, some probably weren't. But in that moment, the Spirit descended on the whole strange scene, and as it worked in hearts and minds, we began to respond to its personal touch.

We responded simply, but together, to all the unique love that the Spirit was pouring into us at the same time. It was our start, just to sing, "there is none like You."

In the Midst of the Unlikely

I sat uncomfortably in a typical hotel room chair. You know, the ones that look nice and are probably easy to clean because they are basically well-designed and coordinated fabrics pulled over wooden boards. But I propped my feet up on the bed and read with my youngest son leaning his head back against me. In this position, with my backside falling asleep, I read an article about a poet who's work I had really enjoyed, who's work had contributed to my contemplation of God, who's work has helped lead me into prayer. I read, to my surprise, that this poet is Muslim.

And it occurred to me, sitting in my hard chair, holding my squirming son, waiting for "5 minutes" while my wife finished getting ready for our date night... in the midst of all this chaos, God had spoken to me. The message was simple, as it always is, and self-evident immediately.

"I speak out of the unlikely."

God has a history of speaking in unlikely ways. The burning bush, the gentle whisper, a hand writing on the wall. From a prophet who married to a prostitute to a prophet born to a poor teenage mother in a small cattle stall. The words that flow out of these places are generally consistent as well, "I am calling you," "I am with you," or "I love you with everlasting love."

As the evening continued, my wife and I went, as part of a marriage retreat, to indulge in some Amish-style cooking. My wife looking beautiful, my thoughts on late evening activities, God spoke again. This time, He had to cut through my thoughts. This time, he used an older married couple from North Carolina, whose southern drawls made them difficult to understand at times and whose Baptist roots (I must admit) made me uneasy at first blush.

Despite all the reasons not to listen, the LORD's Spirit was still moving. Even my distraction cannot stop Him. The speakers, Debe and Marty Tobin, shared stories from their marriage about Debe's losing a set of keys down the toilet and Marty's ability to "cover her weakness" by thinking ahead and putting an extra set of keys in the glove box. Then, another story about a lawnmower mishap that cut the line to the family's well and the grace they were able to extend to one another. Finally, Marty put it all together: "Because it's not about keys or wells, it's about relationships."

Here I am, stuffed full of mashed potatoes and roast beef, but hearing God's message of life. It is not about the little things - the stuff you accumulate, the stuff you lose, the mistakes you make, the mistakes your wife makes, the mistakes your church makes - it is about sustaining relationships.

I admit, I wasn't expecting to hear such a powerful reminder from a Baptist couple at an Amish dinner while I was thinking of sex. And I admit, I didn't think a Muslim poet, in an uncomfortable chair, in a rushed atmosphere could turn my prayers to the true and only LORD.

But God continues to speak in the midst of the unlikely.

We All Wanna See God

We finished up the simplified tale of Mary and the angel last night, and as I flipped the brightly colored pages and went to close the "Baby Bible" Gideon rolled over and looked at me.

"Daddy," he said in his voice of wanting, the voice he uses when he wants a stuffed animal to spend the night with him in bed, or a last drink of milky, or one more kisses.

"Yea, son," I said stroking his hair and looking down at the tiring eyes.

"I want to see God."

It was shocking coming from a two (almost three) year old. I don't know how serious he was, considering he was using his whiny, "I-don't-want-to-go-bed" tone, but still. The Bible says that God has ordained praise from the lips of babes, but this is a much deeper request that a simple acknowledgment of praise. This was like the longing prayers of the greatest prophets.

Moses, on the mountain of God, bargaining with God for the lives of the people. Moses lays himself out as an offered sacrifice for the people, negotiating with God. I imagine this to be a passionate conversation, because both of them were dealing with a lot of anger. After all that God, Moses, and the people had been through - seas splitting, clouds of smoke and fire, miraculous food and water - the people had built an idol of gold! God the angry Father, Moses pleading for mercy. As God's anger calms, he agrees to Moses' request. Then, exhausted from the interaction, Moses emotion and love well up inside him: "Now," long breath, deep longing, "show me Your Glory."

But Moses is not to see God's face. Later in the story of Scripture, Elijah stands on the mountain, again worn and torn from his zealous service for the LORD in the face of the obstinate people. He prays with passion for the LORD to take him, to remove his loneliness and seeming failure. God answers, not in the wind, fire, or earthquake, but in the gentle whisper. This is the closest that someone has been to God since Moses on the mountain, but still, Elijah does not get to see God.

Gideon's request struck me as odd for his age. Others come to this place of want and desire after lifetimes of service to God, and Gideon is saying it at two. But the request itself isn't odd. For whatever reason, we all want to see God.

The first thing to pop into my head, after Gideon repeated himself several times, was a song by Legends of Rodeo.

And down on the corner of Olive and Queens
we talk about things that we've never seen
like the Sistine, and the heart of Spain, and God.
We all wanna see God.

There's a majesty and a mystery to God. Like the Sistine Chapel, a pinnacle of art that I have to see some day, because it's brilliance is so intriguing. God is the same way. Intriguing.

But what makes God even more of a must-see is love. I've been in a long distance relationship of sorts (two hours) in college. My wife and I spent hours on the phone, about an hour every night really. I know the longing to see, feel, touch someone who you are without a doubt in love with. The LORD God has revealed his ravenous love over and over again in my life, and I want to see Him.

There's a third story of Scripture that takes place on the mountain. I'm looking at it a new way today. Jesus takes Peter, James and John, and they hike to the top of a mountain. There Jesus takes on a radiant brilliance, he is surrounded with God's glory. The gospel writers try and describe this change that Jesus takes on, but I imagine that their images fall short of what that glory must have been like. I think they fall short because Peter loses his mind in the midst of the glory. The gospel writers make it seem as though Peter is overwhelmed and his way of dealing with it is blabbering. This was immaculate, unmeasured, powerful. It was as if God had broken through to the world and shone His face.

Because God had broken through to the world and shown His face.

And who was there to witness it? The LORD's two faithful friends, finally having their prayers answered. Moses and Elijah stood with Jesus on the mountain. They saw God in Jesus.

I'll have to remember to remind Gideon of that next time we lay down to read the "Baby Bible." You see, our next story is Jesus birth.

"Gideon, you wanted to see God? Well, let me tell you the story of how He came to see us..."

"I'm Thinking of You"

I Said to God, "I'm Thinking of You"
Nevertheless, the rain continued.

Christopher Howell

A simple prayer, please God don't let it rain. A simple prayer not answered, the drizzle slowly covered the tips of the grass, the concrete parking lots, the local tennis courts. A simple prayer God didn't seem to hear. Then, weeks of broken relationship.

"Struggles with God," the name given to the people of God, seems very accurate most of the time. Though I know the Old Testament story well enough to understand the fatal flaw of the Israelites, which is that they let go. Nothing is ever easy in the God-to-human connection, but I know that it's too important to let fall aside because one prayer goes completely unnoticed.

Yet, when these things happen, it does feel like a punch to the gut.

If there is one part of practical theology that I could use a primer on, it's prayer. First of all, it's awkward and I'm not very good at it. What I mean is, I feel like I repeat the same things all the time. Things like "bless my family" or "be with us today." Requests that aren't very concrete, not very visible.

Then the real problem comes when I do pray about concrete things. Do I hold God accountable? If I pray for my wife to find a new job that allows her to stay home with the kids, what if that doesn't happen? Or simpler, what if my son wakes up in the middle of the night wailing and I pray that he could just go back to sleep, but instead I spend the next 3 hours cradling and consoling so that he can fall asleep just before I get going to work? Or what if four senior tennis players, myself, and all the rest of the team's season rests on whether it rains or not on an October Saturday morning, and it painfully drips and mists and all the work, effort, hours turn into tears as the end comes unfairly?

What good is prayer if I can't get God to do what I want?

The poem at the top of the page jolted me into this post, and posting again in general. It ends with these lines (not exactly an answer...)

I said, "Dear God, if you remember
me, remember us."

The italics there are mine. If you remember. At times, prayer seems like a big "if." And that's the problem. If it's just an "if," my very practical side says, "I can control it better than God's 'if'." Then, I go about controlling the problem, taking care of things instead of leaving it in God's hands.

I suppose the question I should be asking though, what is the purpose of prayer? And what is the nature of our God? As I begin to think through these questions, one thing becomes entirely clear. My focus is always the wrong place. My focus is always on me and what makes things easier for me, it is never on God.

If I could focus on God, maybe I'd remember things like the way He saved my uncle's life. Or the time when my grandpa had emergency surgery and God protected him. Or the way that little prayers are answered throughout the day. Or the fact that God always answers the broad and general prayer that I spew out of ritual as much as anything: "Be with us."

Is prayer a practice of answering me by giving me what I want? Sometimes. But if it were always that way, I would own the power in the relationship. I can't own the power to simply boss God around, and that reality means that God will not answer every prayer the way I want. That's a tough reality.

Yet, the practice of prayer is much more about presence. Presence and relationship. Remembering that God is with me. Remembering that I can trust God, because of all that He has already done for me. Perhaps He will remember me. But at least he will stay with me.

"And we wrestle in the mud and in the blood...
Break my jaw, I don't care
Just stay with me, stay..."
- Blindside, Fell in Love with the Game

There may be pain of "unanswered" prayer. But we should talk about it, because You are right here waiting to do that.