Next Post at end of July

An Experiment

His name shall be called "Emmanuel" -- God With Us (Is.7)

 

Jesus said, "If anyone chooses to do God's will, he will find out whether my teaching comes from God or whether I speak on my own" (Jn. 7).

 

There are so many things Jesus said that we read or hear, but do not "do" to find out whether or not they are true.  Or we acknowledge that Jesus' words are true, but they have no impact on our lives -- it is just an inspiration of the moment, but we go on without change.

 

Perhaps Jesus' most powerful revelation to us was the Love of the Father for us.  He told us to call Him "Abba/ Daddy," and He told us that the Father knows what we need ahead of time.  Most of us, though, tend to live our lives as if we did not have a loving Father.  One of the joys of my life has been to "experiment" with the word of God to find out for myself whether it is true or not.  And I have to say that experimenting with God is the greatest adventure that life offers.

 

I challenge anyone for one week to live as if it were true that God cares about us, that He is intimately "with us" in every circumstance of our lives.  One way to do this is to sit each morning with a calendar or notebook and lift our hearts and minds to God.  As we jot down the things that concern us this day -- or the tasks we should do for the day -- we can act as if God were reading our notes, and as if He were the Senior Partner in the enterprise of our lives.  We can act as if He really cared about the smallest detail, and as if He would advise us about what we should do, where we should go, or to whom we should speak during the day.  I think we would be absolutely amazed that God would play our game with us -- though to Him, it is not a "game," but a living truth! 

 

Our awareness of His Presence will be intensified as our eyes are opened to what He does -- so subtly that we do not notice it unless we are looking.   After the young mother (Dinette) had prayed for me to receive the Holy Spirit in the hospital, she was released to go home with her child.  Several days later, after I had returned home also, I was reading my bible at 9:30 one evening.  I kept hearing a voice in my mind saying, "CAll Dinette."  My reason took over, thinking of all the reasons one did not call a new mother at 9:30 pm. ( In fact, to this day, I don't call ANYONE at 9:30 pm. )  But the voice was insistent:  "CALL Dinette!"  It would not leave me alone.  On top of my "good sense," I was embarrassed to call her when I had nothing to say, really, and who calls that late at night to ask about how the baby is doing?

 

Finally, I yielded to the voice and quelled my rational mind, thinking there must be a good reason for me to call.  As soon as she answered, she said, "Wait a minute," and put the phone down (this was before cell phones, and even before portable phones).  When she picked up the phone again, she said, "Thank God you called me!"  She had finally gotten the baby to sleep and put the nipples on the stove in boiling water to sterilize them.  Then, exhausted, she went to take a shower, forgetting that the nipples were on the stove.  Her husband was out of town; when I called, she had to go into the kitchen to answer the phone, and then she saw that the water was almost all gone from the pot.  Another minute or so, and she would have had no nipples for nighttime bottles for the baby.  I'm not sure even if she could get to the store, that she would have found one open that late at night, since she lived in a small town on the West Bank.

 

That was my first "experiment" in listening to the voice of God-- or really, even in hearing the voice of God.  But it was a powerful one, and reflecting on it when I hung up, I was shaken at the realization of how "close" to us God really is, how much He cares about the so-called "little" things of our lives.  To Dinette, that was not at all a little thing, but could have been a huge thing--waking up a baby she had spent hours trying to get to sleep, putting her in the car, and trying to find an open drugstore.  To most people, however, God is too "busy" with wars, draughts, famines, etc. to bother with the "little things."

 

The only way to know the truth is not through our reasoning, but through our "doing," as Jesus said, "If anyone chooses to do the will of God, he will find out whether my words are true."  We don't know how to "do the will of God" at first, but if we begin acting as if He were truly present and active in the smallest details of our lives, we will find out His will, and then it will be easy to do it, knowing how much He cares for us.

 



Deliver Us From Evil

"Seeing is believing," the saying goes.  We have a song used in worship: "Open my eyes, Lord, I want to see."  Sometimes, we don't want to see, because then we cannot "unsee." 

Yesterday, we were watching part of a wonderful series on photography from The Great Courses.  All of the photographers have worked for National Geographic, so the lectures are usually a treat for the eyes, as well as being informative about the tricks of the trade.  Yesterday's lecture, however, was haunting -- one that I wish I had not seen. 

Jodi Cobb worked for National Geographic for over three decades; she had a passion not so much for nature, or even for photography itself, but for people -- for being on the "inside" of their lives, for seeing how they live, for understanding how they feel.  Her greatest "mission" was the story she did on human trafficking -- on 21st century slaves.  Although I had heard of the horrors of human trafficking, I had never actually seen its effects with my own eyes.  Now, I cannot forget what I have seen.  Jodi Cobb is not a powerful speaker; in fact, she speaks slowly and even haltingly.  She does not "persuade" her audience in words  -- but her images cannot be dismissed from the mind.  We see children around the world -- babies, in fact -- who are either kidnapped or sold into bondage by destitute parents; we see women who live and work in cages, who never leave their "cribs."  We see children who sit at looms 14 hours a day weaving those expensive "hand-woven" rugs for our homes.  Their bones are not strengthened by play; their eyesight grows dim through focusing continuously on the threads in front of their faces.

We discover in the photographic essay that the trafficking of human beings around the world is the world's second-largest criminal activity; 27 million people are bought and sold against their will, held captive, brutalized, and exploited for profit.  Jodi Cobb reports that she was in danger, in fear, and in tears throughout the entire project.

The Book of Genesis tries to tell us of the accumulating and cumulative nature of sin -- but it is so compressed that we do not "see" it in the pages of the book.  We skim right past it, and then are surprised and caught up short by the grief of God in Chapter 6 -- the grief that brings about a world-wide flood, because God was sorry that He had made mankind.  Last night in bed, after seeing Jodi Cobb's journalistic photography, I experienced a little of God's grief; after all, I had seen only a glimpse of what is continually before His eyes -- the evil that is in the heart of man. We fail to comprehend the "wrath of God" because we cannot see the extent of evil on the face of the earth. 

The Book of Isaiah again attempts to verbalize the evil that destroys the earth and all that live therein, but again, until we see it for ourselves, his words fall short:

Ah, sinful nation,

a people loaded with guilt,

a brood of evildoers,

children given to corruption. 

They have forsaken the Lord;

they have spurned the Holy One of Israel

and turned their backs on him....

 

Your whole head is injured,

your whole heart afflicted.

From the sole of your foot to the top of your head

there is no soundness--

only wounds and welts and open sores,

not cleansed or bandaged or soothed with oil (Chapter 1).

 

One thing that Genesis does indicate is the "passing on" of evil from one generation to the next, with the evil intensified in each generation.  There is no "cure" for wounds inflicted, wounds that demand to be inflicted on the next generation.  There can be no "peace on earth" until the wounded heart of man is "cleansed" and "bandaged" and "soothed with oil."

 

We are not all human traffickers, thank God, but we have all passed on the injuries we ourselves have received -- injuries of rejection, of pain, of selfishness, etc.  There is not one of us who has not injured another in some way; it is not always our "fault," but we nevertheless pass on to others the wounds we cannot bear for ourselves.

 

"Original Sin" is in our DNA; the best of families cannot eradicate it, even with the best of intentions and efforts.  God has no grandchildren; each one of us must eventually face the evil in ourselves and cry out for salvation.  Even the great St. Paul would write:  I do not understand myself at all; in my mind, I agree with the law of God, but the very thing I have determined not to do is the very thing that I do -- and what I have determined to do is the very thing I do not do....O unhappy man that I am, who will rescue from this body of death?  (Romans 7).

 

And he goes on the give the answer to our human dilemma in Romans 8:  Thanks be to God!  It has been done for us by Jesus Christ!...the Spirit of God has placed within us the law of life which overcomes in us the law of sin and death (paraphrased).

 

When we pray "Deliver us from evil," we pray to be released from the evil that dwells within our very cells, as well as to be delivered from the effects of evil in those around us.  We pray that the world be delivered from the evil that causes men to buy and sell others for profit and consumption.  We pray that the captives of greed. lust, and indifference be released, and that their bodies and souls be healed of the scars inflicted by evil.  We pray death to those who inflict their will on others -- and resurrection of a "new creation," the person created in the image and likeness of God.

 

Baptism is the outward sign of an inward process:  "Unless you are born again of water and the Holy Spirit, you cannot see the kingdom of God."  Being "born again" means that first the "old man," the "natural man," has died, in order that the "new creation" be born.  Please, deliver us from evil!

 

 

 



A Sensory Experience

When the Presence of God entered into Morton's cell that night, there was no theology, no doctrine -- in fact, there were no words at all.  The whole description is reminiscent of Moses' fiery-bush apparition in the desert.  What "possessed" Morton that evening was a sensory experience which embraced his soul through the senses of his body.  He heard the roar of a mighty wind or of rushing waters; he saw a brilliant golden light unlike anything he had ever experienced; he felt as if he were floating above his bunk -- and his soul was filled with peace.

Was this not what the disciples of Jesus experienced in His Presence?  That sensory experience obviously does not remain with us --- after experiencing the Transfiguration, Peter, James, and John were told not to reveal their experience until after the Resurrection (and they did not even know what "resurrection" meant).  They still had to face the Crucifixion, but though their minds shut down in horror, their bodies and souls could not deny their experience of Jesus Christ.   Morton could no more conjure up his experience during his remaining years in prison than could the apostles re-create their experience on Mt. Tabor.  And yet....the peace of God remained with Morton throughout all the days to come.

Our theology or doctrine is our attempt to explain and to codify what we have experienced of the Holy.  When a number of people (as for example, Peter, James, and John) all experience the same thing, and when they recall and try to articulate what they have experienced, we find patterns emerging.  As Morton said, discovering the Christian mystics and their experiences comforted him greatly -- he was not insane; he was blessed.  This is why people love the Bible so much -- they find within its pages their own story, and they feel confirmed in their own experience.

Unfortunately, most of us are hesitant to trust our experiences -- or even to open ourselves to the experience of God in the first place.  We would rather rely on ourselves, on our own resources, than to cry out to God.  And once He enters our lives, very often through a "spiritual encounter," we are reluctant to trust the experience.  As Morton, we try to find other explanations -- what did we eat?  what did we do to bring on that phenomenon?  Certainly, we don't want to tell anyone else what we have experienced, for fear of being seen as off-balance, not entirely rational and in control.

And yet, God still wants to reveal Himself to us, not as a doctrine to be believed, but as a Love to be embraced, "consumed" by us body, mind, and spirit.  He wants to satisfy all our hungers fully.  He is the Bread of Life, the Wine of Salvation, the Light of the World, the Good Shepherd of our souls.  He would have us feed on Him in the wilderness, walk with Him beside still waters, and be comforted by Him in times of evil.  Still, we refuse Him entrance for fear of delusion and confusion.

We fill our homes with sensory experiences --- pleasant scents, beauty to delight the eyes, soft music (I would hope) to comfort the ear and soul, rich textures to fill the eye and the sense of touch, and soft cushions to relax the body.  We want our homes to provide a safe refuge and a rich experience of life, and yet we are so afraid to really experience the spiritual life.

Growing up in the Catholic church was a rich sensory experience, especially during the "high Mass."  There was incense, rich and powerful music, lighted candles, stained glass windows, beauty at every turn -- Mass was an operatic experience.  Even the language of the Mass was beyond our rational thought -- it was exotic, captivating in a strange way.   Supposedly, we changed the experience so that people would better understand what was going on.  However, "understanding" brings familiarity, and familiarity, often boredom and disinterest.

God did not ask the Israelite nation to embrace the Ten Commandments until He had lifted the burden from their shoulders and removed the rod from their backs; until He had fed them in the wilderness and given them water from the rock; until He had provided for them a cloud by day to shelter them from the heat and a pillar of fire by night to give warmth in the cold.  Only after all these sensory experiences, caring for them as a mother for an infant, did He give them the "Law of Moses."   "Walk in My Ways," He said, "and I will be your God and you shall be My people." 

Why are we so afraid to allow Him to fill us with the "finest of wheat" and the water of life?  Why are we so determined not to open our eyes and behold the lilies of the field, clothed in beauty beyond that of Solomon?  Why do we not want to drink from the Spring welling up to eternal life?  The Christian Life should ultimately be a response to all that we have experienced of God, as it was for the apostles.  It should not be a burden that we carry out of duty, but an on-going rich conversation with both God and man about what we have seen and heard, what our ears have heard and our hands have touched, in the words of St. John (first letter).

Through Locked Doors 2

Yesterday I wrote about Michael Morton, wrongly imprisoned for life for a crime he did not commit.  In desperation, he cried out to God for the first time.  Entering through the locked doors of his mind, body, and soul, peace entered for the first time, bringing with it a hope that passed all rationality.  His follow-up thoughts to that encounter with the divine are worth quoting:

I had no recollection of my supernatural encounter ending -- no memory of turning off the radio or hanging up my headphones or setting my alarm.  I couldn't remember these things but they had obviously taken place. I didn't know what had happened or why it had happened.  I felt I knew "who" had reached out to me, although it would be years before I fully understood or embraced what had taken place that night in my cell.

 

As part of my graduate work, not long after this event, I was assigned to read about the Christian mystics of the Middle Ages. [Note: Morton was pursuing a degree in Literature through the prison college system.]  They were described as individuals who had a direct experience of the divine in this life--- people who had literally found themselves in the presence of God.  The experiences recounted by the old mystics mirrored mine in startling, important ways.  It gave me comfort to know I wasn't the first person to have had an encounter like mine.  I wasn't insane; I was blessed.

 

That night in my cell I hadn't sensed an individual vision of Jesus or seen the traditional icons of Christianity.  No disembodied voice told me to build an ark because it was going to rain.  What I had seen and felt and heard was divine light --- and divine love ---and the presence of a power that I had sought, in one way or another, all my life.

 

I explored the possibility that something else had triggered this -- what had I eaten that day anyway?  What had I done? But after months of questioning, after analyzing and reanalyzing everything I could, I found nothing concrete that would have induced that moment, nothing that could provide a reasonable earthbound explanation for what had happened to me.  In the end, I fell back on Occam's razor --- the old philosophical theory that the simplest explanation is probably the best.

 

In other words, I realized that I had cried out to God --- and received exactly what I had asked for -- a sign.  Nothing more, nothing less.  It was that simple and that profound. 

 

I didn't change overnight.  I was -- and still am-- a human being with deep flaws.  Like everyone else on earth, I still have the capacity to make unfair judgments about others, an inherent tendency to make mistakes of pride, an ability to unthinkingly inflict casual cruelties on others.  I am a work in progress.  But I want to be a person who deserves to be in the presence of God.

 

I still don't know exactly what happened to me on that dark night in prison.  But I do know this --- after the night that my cell and my soul filled with light, I am a different man, a better man, a more forgiving man: a man of faith.

 

That light has stayed with me through years of challenges and disappointments, through fresh heartaches and the settling of old scores -- through the discovery of new love and the letting go of old hatreds.  That light has found its way to the center of my life.  And the center is holding.  Back then, I didn't know how much I would need that solid base to survive all that was yet to come.

 

I don't know that I have ever read a better description of the true Christian experience, one that begins not in church but in despair and desperation; one that continues to dwell in and with the believer from that time forward, leading into greater and deeper growth in joy and in peace; one that does not abandon the receiver in times of sin or stress, but that works within to draw us out of the pit and to set our feet on solid ground.  I recommend Morton's book to everyone who needs strength and encouragement.  Tomorrow, more reflections about his experience.

 



Through Locked Doors

On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you!"  After He had said this, he showed them his hands and his side.  The disciples were overjoyed when they saw the Lord (Jn 20:19-20).

 

We have so many locked doors in our lives --- doors locked and barred against the entrance of God.  We are rational creatures, especially in the West, so influenced by Greek culture and philosophy, and we resist believing things that we cannot see, hear, and taste for ourselves.  We are "like gods;" the Greeks created their gods in their own image, and we tend to reduce our god to manageable proportions, an idol that we can manipulate and control according to our own designs.  As Thomas said, "Unless I put my hand into His side and my fingers into the nail-holes, I will not believe!"  (I trust in my own mind, my own senses; unless I "see," I will not believe.)

 

There are other locked doors to our souls also -- fear, trauma, woundedness, rejection, disappointment, failure, human respect -- all have worked together to seal the doors of our hearts against the entrance of God.  If we open the door, we let in all the things we have been trying to shut out in self-defense.  It hurts too much; it is easier to remain walled-in against man and God.  We don't want to be fools, trusting in fairy tales, in things that are not real.  We need to be strong, independent in body and mind; we need to take care of ourselves. 

 

But in spite of all, He comes!  He comes through our locked doors and stands in our midst.  He is there, in spite of all we have done to keep Him away.  In spite of fear, greed, hopelessness, and despair, He is still Emmanuel, God with us!  He still wants to bring us peace, and knowing that we will not go to Him, He comes to us right where we are.

 

I have just finished reading Getting Life, by Michael Morton, the story of a man who served 25 years in prison for a crime he did not commit -- the murder of his wife.  The clear evidence of his innocence was deliberately suppressed by a miscarriage of justice.  The small-town sheriff was determined to "solve" the case and "prove" his worth, so he buried testimony and evidence that Morton did not commit the crime.  Not only did Morton lose his wife, but his 3-year old son was cruelly ripped from his arms and given to a family Morton did not wish to raise his son.  The next 25 years, as we can well imagine, were a nightmare of despair.  He was locked in maximum security prisons with the insane, the cruel, and the hopeless. 

 

As Morton's son grew older, he was told and believed that his father was guilty; he no longer wanted to see or visit him in prison, and he changed his name to that of a man Morton didn't even know.  At that point,

 

..I felt the blow emotionally, psychologically --- and ultimately -- spiritually.  Suddenly, the only anchor I had was gone.  Eric was the only safe place I'd had left.  He had been the receptacle of all my hopes and dreams.  He was the light at the end of the tunnel.  He was my idol, my religion -- my reason for living.  I believed in him.  He was the only thing.  And he had vanished.

 

I felt so bad, so hopeless, and so defeated, so broken, that I did something completely out of character for me.  I cried out to God.  I begged for a sign, for a reason to go on, for a way out of my abyss and my pain -- for some deliverance, some reassurance, some relief.  Something.  Anything. 

 

I got nothing.  Only silence and emptiness -- further proof that I'd been right all along: there really was no one there.  I truly was alone.  So I plodded on, day after day.  Every twenty-four-hour stretch was filled with familiar tedium---working, working out, eating, and sleeping.  Then doing it again, and again, and again.  Each day was just another gray day in prison.  There had been thousands like it for me in the past, and it appeared there would be thousands more in the future.

 

At the end of yet another tiresome and typical day, I pulled myself onto my bunk.  It was late, and I was worn out.  My cell partner was already asleep and snoring.  I put on my radio headphones and switched off the small light beside my bunk.  I tuned in to a classical music station, closed my eyes, and began listening --- preparing to be carried away into another night of dark and dreamless sleep. 

 

What happened next changed my life. 

 

With no warning whatsoever, a bright, blinding, golden light burst into the room.  The light swallowed up everything; it enveloped me.  I felt wrapped in that light -- a warm, wonderful, comforting light.  It was a sensation different from any I had ever know.  I felt like I was floating above my bunk---fearlessly, effortlessly, blissfully.  My ears were filled not with music but with an incomprehensible roar.  I didn't know if it was the thunderous roll of a massive wind or the crash and rumble of great, rushing waters.  I felt I was being lifted by a monumental power --- by something mighty but gentle, formidable and yet more forgiving than anything I had ever experienced.

 

But most of all --- more than the beautiful light or the roar of unseen winds or the pure pleasure this experience gave me --- I remember the infinite peace and joy, the limitless compassion and the intense love I felt aimed right at me.

 

At that moment, this power was not meant for all of the world or for all of humanity --- it was being shared directly and specifically with me.  Only me.  And I knew without being told that it was nothing less than God's perfect, boundless love.

 

After so many years in prison, after being rejected by virtually everyone-- after being bounced out of courts and kept behind bars; after losing my wife, my son, my life ---this was the moment when everything changed.  Finally, at long last, I felt peace-- real peace-- and I reveled in it.  I escaped into the beautiful moment. 

 

The next thing I knew, my alarm was going off, the lights were on, and I was back in my same old cell, in the same place -- in the same prison.  I had the same problems and the same limits.

 

But for me it was a new day.

 

Tomorrow, I will add Morton's subsequent reflections on what had happened to him that night.  Someone, maybe Thomas Aquinas, defined theology as "faith seeking understanding."  Like Morton, most people first have an experience of God and then seek to understand what has happened to them, as certainly did the apostles, both before and after their experience of the Resurrection of Jesus. 

 

What happened to them was not simply a historic event; it is what happens in every life that cries out to God  --- He comes.  He enters through all of our locked doors; He cuts through our fears and apprehensions.  He is with us, in us, and for us.  And He will not let us go.