Connecting to God through Praise

 We are naturally "praising" people:  I love that movie!  Taste this cheesecake; it's fabulous. Knitting is so relaxing. Lake Tahoe is beautiful!  We praise because we want others to see and enjoy what we see and enjoy. And when they do, our delight is reinforced.

As C.S. Lewis points out, praising something enhances our enjoyment of it, but as any parent knows, praise also connects us to others and reinforces the beauty/ goodness of what we see in them.  When we praise someone, we acknowledge truth, goodness, and beauty in them.  When we lose a friend to death, we also lose their enjoyment of the good they always saw in us. And losing that enjoyment/praise leaves a gaping hole in our spirit!

As naturally as praise comes to us, however, it seems difficult or stilted when it comes to praising God.  Unless the Holy Spirit overshadows us and "pours out into our hearts the love of God," we somehow feel foolish or artificial in trying to praise God.  In his autobiography, Surprised by Joy, C. S. Lewis describes the moment of his conversion from atheism to theism, but his conversion was "...to theism, pure and simple, not to Christianity. I knew nothing yet about the Incarnation. The God to whom I surrendered was sheerly nonhuman.... No slightest hint was vouchsafed me that there ever had been or ever would be any connection between God and Joy.  If anything, it was the reverse.....For all I knew, the total rejection of what I called Joy might be one of the demands, might be the very first demand, He would make upon me....There was no strain of music from within, no smell of eternal orchards at the threshold, when I was dragged through the doorway. No kind of desire was present at all."

Lewis's conversion had been an intellectual recognition of Truth, but entering into companionship with the Supreme Being with joy was not on his radar.  He saw little benefit in attending church: 

But though I liked clergymen as I like bears, I had as little wish to be in the Church as in the zoo. It was, to begin with, a kind of collective; a wearisome "get-together" affair.  I couldn't yet see how a concern of that sort should have anything to do with one's spiritual life. To me, religion ought to have been a matter of good men praying alone and meeting by twos and threes to talk of spiritual matters.  And then the fussy, time-wasting botheration of it all! the bells, the crowds, the umbrellas, the notices, the bustle, the perpetual arranging and organizing.  Hymns were (and are) extremely disagreeable to me. Of all musical instruments I liked (and like) the organ least. I have, too, a sort of spiritual gaucherie which makes me unapt to participate in any rite.

The journey from "calling one's soul my own," that Lewis describes to a free outpouring of praise and thanksgiving -- or enjoyment of the Divine Presence -- is a difficult threshold for most of us, I dare say.  We can be good church-goers all our lives without really enjoying it, just as we can be good "pray-ers" for most of our lives without ever becoming good "praisers," or enjoyers of God.

As we see at Pentecost, the Holy Spirit makes all the difference -- even to those who spent three years in the presence of Jesus Christ Himself, Emmanuel, God with us.  Jesus promised that His own joy in the Father would be ours:  I tell you these things that my joy will be in you, and your joy will be complete (Jn. 15:11). 

And He also told us that we could ask for the Gift of Joy, or the Gift of the Holy Spirit.  If my word remains in you, you can ask for whatever you will, and it will be done for you.  

In the meantime, while awaiting that Gift, we can learn praise (enjoyment of God) through the Psalms, a subject for tomorrow.

Access!

 I have a bad habit of giving away books that I love --- I just want other people to enjoy what I love, so I freely hand away books recently read, urging the recipient to "read this."  While I don't regret giving away my books, the result is often that when I want to refer to them later, I often cannot recall either the title or the author of the book I want to reference.  Fortunately, the explosion of information on the internet has allowed me to look up what I have forgotten.

One of the books I handed over several years ago is The Shack Revisited by C. Baxter Kruger, Ph.D., obviously a commentary on The Shack.  In it, Kruger describes himself as a young boy, the friend of a pastor's son.  He tells the story of going to play one day with his friend, whose father had an office/study in the home.  The two of them, playing cowboys, decided to ambush the pastor in his study.  They quietly opened the door, snuck in supposedly without his father's awareness, and held up the older man at 'gunpoint."  The father turned around and ambushed the two of them by gathering them up into his huge desk chair and hugging both of them, all three of them laughing.  

Looking back on that incident as a grown man, Kruger reflects that without his friend, he would have had no access to that home, but even once inside, he would never have dared to enter the sacred study area where the pastor was working.  With his friend providing free access to the father, however, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to not only enter the study, but to ambush the father.  

I was thinking about that story this morning as I read the 14th chapter of John, where Jesus tells the apostles that he is going to "prepare a place" for them, and that he will come back and "take you to be with me."  But he does not stop there.  He goes on to tell them, "You know the way to the place where I am going."  In response to Thomas' inquiry, "How can we know the way?" Jesus answers, "I am the Way...no one comes to the Father but by me. If you really knew me, you would know my Father as well."  And here is the kicker:  From now on, you do know him and have seen him.

What?  We know that "no one has ever seen God" from the first chapter of John, not to mention the entire Old Testament and the testimony of all the world religions and semi-religions from the beginning.  In the Book of Exodus, Moses, leading the people through the desert, asks Yahweh, "teach me your ways so that I may know you and continue to find favor with you" (chapter 33).  The Lord's answer to him is, "My Presence will go with you and I will give you rest."  Moses replies, "If your Presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here. How will anyone know that you are pleased with me and with your people unless you go with us? What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?"

When Yahweh answers that He will do the very thing requested, Moses is emboldened to ask, "Now show me your glory." The Hebrew word here for "glory" can also be translated as "presence, weight, substance."  And the Lord said, "I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim my name, Yahweh, in your presence....But you cannot see my face, for no one can see me and live."

Then the Lord said, "There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock.  When my glory/presence passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I will remove my hand and you will see my back; but my face must not be seen."

How then can Jesus say, "from now on, you do know Him and have seen Him?  There is so much here that I almost despair of trying to unpack it all.  

First of all, when Jesus says, "I go to prepare a place for you, that you may be where I am," he is referencing numbers 10:33:  So they set out from the mountain of the Lord and traveled for three days. The ark of the covenant of the Lord went before them during those three days to find them a place to rest. The cloud of the Lord was over them by day when they set out from the camp. (By night, the cloud above the tabernacle looked like fire.)

The Presence of the Lord that Yahweh promised Moses would accompany them on the journey was evidenced in the cloud by day and fire by night.  When the Day of Pentecost arrived in the Book of Acts, God sent fire to accompany the apostles on their journey -- fire and wind as testimony that He was with them.  Christ had told Peter that he was the "rock" on which the church would stand, as all the goodness of the Lord passes by and the Lord proclaims his Name, Yahweh, in your presence.

Just before going to his death, Jesus tells his apostles, Now this is eternal life: that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent....I have revealed You to those whom you gave me out of the world...Holy Father, protect them by the power of your name---the name you gave me--so that they may be one as we are one. While I was with them, I protected them by that name you gave me...I have given them your name, and will continue to make you known that the love you have for me may be in them and that I myself may be in them.

In the desert, Moses is told, "My Presence will go with you and I will give you rest."  God tells Moses that He will do this "because I am pleased with you and I know you by name....and I will proclaim My Name, Yahweh, in your presence."  When I know "your name," in Hebrew mentality, I know your "substance," who you are, your "weight," your "glory."  God knows who Moses is; Moses knows who God is by revelation of God's Presence, His weight, His glory.  This is what Jesus reveals to us on earth:  If you do not believe because of the words I say, believe because of the works I do.  If you have seen me, you have seen the Father.

In the Book of Numbers, the ark of the covenant goes before them to find a place of rest for them as they travel. Jesus tells the apostles that he goes before them to prepare a place for them (to enter "God's rest," we find out in Hebrews).  In John 10, Jesus tells us that He is the "gate," the door, the access to the Father:  I am the gate; whoever enters by me will be kept safe.  He will come in and go out and find pasture (a place of rest and safety/ salvation).

Like C. Baxter Kruger, we too have access to the Father through Jesus, who graciously opens to us the door to his father's house and allows us to enter the place where his father lives.  Indeed, we are invited to make ourselves at home and to take up whatever is in the father's house -- here is the kitchen, the fridge, the freezer -- here is the library; here is a place of rest.  Can you think of anything else you might need / want?  Everything the Father has is mine, and everything I have is yours.  From now on, you do know him and have seen him!

 

The Outrageous Gospel

 Any student of world religions who reads the Gospel of John for the first time would be struck by the outrageous claims of Jesus Christ.  No other spiritual leader has begun to make the kinds of statements that Jesus makes in this gospel.  Most religious leaders (Buddha, Mohammed, Confucius) would say, "follow my doctrine and you will do well."  Or, "I tell you the truth."  But Jesus dares to say, "I AM the way; I AM the truth."

When Jesus says, "My teaching is not my own; it belongs to the One who sent me" (John 7), it gives pause.  In John 14, the wording is a bit different:  "The words I say to you are not just my own. Rather, it is the Father, living in me, who is doing His work."  Who is the Father he refers to? Who is the One who "sent me"?  The Jews were familiar with Yahweh, the God of the Old Testament who had sent Moses and the prophets, but Jesus is now referring to that God as "the Father living in me."  No other prophet makes such a claim.

The Jews understood what He was saying, but it was beyond the realm of belief.  "We do not stone you for a good work, but for blasphemy, because you, being a man, make yourself equal with God" (John 10).  

C.S. Lewis, of course, says it better than I can:

If you had gone to Mohammed and asked, "are you Allah?" he would first have rent his clothes and then cut your head off.  If you had asked Confucius, "Are you heaven?"...he would have probably replied, "Remarks which are not in accord with nature are in bad taste."  The idea of a great teacher saying the things Christ said is out of the question. ... The only person who can say that sort of thing is either God or a complete lunatic suffering from that form of delusion which undermines the whole mind of man....if you think you are God, there is no chance for you. We may note in passing that He was never regarded as a mere moral teacher. He did not produce that effect in any of the people who actually met Him.  He produced mainly three effects: Hatred -- Terror-- Adoration. There was no trace of people expressing mild approval.

I have to wonder how it is that so many people today do express mild approval of Jesus.  It may be that we have only heard about Him, but never actually met Him.  Someone once said that if you want to know Jesus, it is best to start by reading the Gospel of John 7 times before reading anything else in the Bible. That may be great advice, although I have never tried it.  I would suggest not only reading the Gospel, but "chewing" it slowly, meditating over it, muttering it from time to time. I think it has to get inside us, not merely be an object outside of us.  If Jesus says he is the Truth, and if he is not lying or deluded, we need to get into Him and to get Him into us.  And the Gospel of John, outrageous as it is, is a great place to begin.

The Sacrifice (part 3)

 The soldiers lead me to the common hall;
there they deride me, they abuse me all:

Yet for twelve heav'nly legions I could call:

Was ever grief like mine?

Then with a scarlet robe they me array;

Which shows my bloud to be the only way

And cordiall left to repair man's decay:

Was ever grief like mine?

Then on my head a crown of thorns I wear;

For these are all the grapes Sion doth bear,

Though I my vine planted and watered there:

Was ever grief like mine?

So sits the earth's great curse in Adam's fall

Upon my head; so I remove it all

From the earth unto my brows, and bear the thrall:

Was ever grief like mine?

Then with the reed they gave to me before,

They strike my head, the rock from whence all store

of heav'nly blessings issue evermore:

Was ever grief like mine?

They bow their knees to me, and cry, Hail king:

Whatever scoffes or scornfulnesse can bring,

I am the floore, the sink, where they it fling:

Was ever grief like mine?

Yet since man's scepters are as frail as reeds,

And thorny all their crowns, bloudie their weeds;

I, who am Truth, turn into truth their deeds:

Was ever grief like mine?

The soldiers also spit upon that face

Which Angels did desire to have the grace,

And prophets once to see, but found no place:

Was ever grief like mine?

Thus trimmed forth they bring me to the rout,

Who Crucifie him, crie with one strong shout.

God holds his peace at man, and man cries out:

Was ever grief like mine?

They leade me in once more, and putting then

Mine own clothes on, they leade me out agen.

Whom devils flie, thus is he toss'd of men:

Was ever grief like mine?

And now wearie of sport, glad to ingrosse

All spite in one, counting my life their losse,

They carrie me to my most bitter crosse:

Was ever grief like mine?

My crosse I bear myself, until I faint:

Then Simon bears it for me by constraint,

The decreed burden of each mortal saint:

Was ever grief like mine?

O all ye who passe by, behold and see:

Man stole the fruit, but I must climbe the tree;

The tree of life to all, but only me:

Was ever grief like mine?

Lo, here I hang, charg'd with a world of sinne,

The greater world of the two; for that came in

By words, but this by sorrow I must win:

Was ever grief like mine?

Such sorrow, as if sinful man could feel,

Or feel his part, he would not cease to kneel,

Till all were melted, though he were all steel.

Was ever grief like mine?

But, O my God, my God! why leav'st thou me,

The sonne, in whom thou dost delight to be?

My God, my Go------

Never was grief like mine!

Shame tears my soul, my bodie many a wound;

Sharp nails pierce this, but sharper that confound;

Reproaches, which are free, while I am bound:

Was ever grief like mine?

Now heal thyself, Physician; now come down.

Alas! I did so, when I left my crown

And father's smile for you, to feel his frown:

Was ever grief like mine?

In healing not myself, there doth consist 

All that salvation, which ye now resist;

Your safetie in my sicknesse doth subsist:

Was ever grief like mine?

Betwixt two theives I spend my utmost breath,

As he that for some robberie suffereth,

Alas! what have I stollen from you? death:

Was ever grief like mine?

A king my title is, prefixt on high;

Yet by my subjects am condemn'd to die

A servile death in servile companie:

Was ever grief like mine?

They gave me vinegar mingled with gall,

But more with malice: yet, when they did call,

With manna, angel's food, I fed them all.

Was ever grief like mine?

They part my garments, and by lot dispose 

My coat, the type of love, which once cur'd those 

Who sought for help, never malicious foes:

Was ever grief like mine?

Nay, after death their spite shall further go;

For they will pierce my side, I full well know;

That as sinne came, so sacraments might flow:

Was ever grief like mine?

But now I die; now all is finished.

My woe, man's weal: and now I bow my head:

Only let others say, when I am dead,

Never was grief like mine!

the Sacrifice (continued)

The Jews accuse me with despitefulnesse; 
and vying malice with my gentleness, 

pick quarrels with the only happinesse:

Was ever grief like mine?

I answer nothing, but with patience prove

If stonie hearts will melt with gentle love.

But who does hawk at eagles with a dove?

Was ever grief like mine?

My silence rather doth augment their crie;

My dove doth back into my bosome flie,

Because the raging waters still are high:

Was ever grief like mine?

Hark how they cry aloud still, Crucifie:

It is not fit he live a day, they crie,

Who cannot live lesse than eternally:

Was ever grief like mine?

Pilate a stranger holdeth off; but they, 

Mine own deare people cry, Away, away,

With noises confused frighting the day:

Was ever grief like mine?

Yet still they shout, and crie, and stop their eares,

Putting my life among their sinnes and feares,

And therefore wish my bloud on them and theirs:

Was ever grief like mine?

See how spite cankers things. These words aright

Used, and wished, are the whole world's light:

But honey is their gall, brightness their night:

Was ever grief like mine?

They choose a murderer, and all agree

In him to do themselves a courtesie;

 For it was their own cause who killed me:

Was ever grief like mine?

And a seditious murderer he was:

But I the Prince of Peace; peace that doth passe

All understanding, more than heav'n doth glasse:

Was ever grief like mine?

Why, Cesar is their only king, not I"

He clave the stonie rock, when they were drie;

But surely not their hearts, as I will trie:

Was ever grief like mine?

Ah! how they scourge me! yet my tendernesse

Doubles each lash: and yet their bitternesse

Windes up my grief to a mysteriousness;

Was ever grief like mine?

They buffet me, and box me as the list,

Who grasp the earth and heaven with my fist,

And never yet, whom I would punish, miss'd:

Was ever grief like mine?

Behold, they spit on me in scornfull wise;

Who by my spittle gave the blinde man eies,

Leaving his blindnesse to mine enemies:

Was ever grief like mine?

My face they cover, though it be divine.

As Moses face was veiled, so is mine,

Lest on the double-dark souls either shine:

Was ever grief like mine?

Servants and abjects flout me; they are wittie:

Now prophesie who strikes thee, is their dittie.

So they in me denie themselves all pitie:

Was ever grief like mine?

And now I am deliver'd unto death,

Which each one calls for so with utmost breath,

That he before me well-nigh suffereth:

Was ever grief like mine?

Weep not, deare friends, since I for both have wept

When all my tears were bloud, the while you slept:

Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept:

Was ever grief like mine?

More to come......

The Sacrifice by George Herbert

The Sacrifice

Oh all ye, who passe by, whose eyes and minde
To worldly things are sharp, but to me blinde; 

to me, who took eyes that I might you finde:

Was ever grief like mine?

The Princes of my people make a head 

Against their Maker; they do wish me dead,

Who cannot wish, except I give them bread:

Was ever grief like Mine?

Without me each one, who doth now me brave,

Had to this day been an Egyptian slave.

They use that power against me, which I gave:

Was ever grief like mine?

Mine own Apostle, who the bag did beare,

Though he had all I had, did not forbeare

to see me also, and to put me there:

Was ever grief like mine?

For thirtie pence he did my death devise,

Who at three hundred did the ointment prize,

Not half so sweet as my sweet sacrifice:

Was ever grief like mine?

Therefore my soul melts, and my heart's deare treasure

Drops bloud (the only beads) my words to measure:

O let this cup passe, if it be thy pleasure:

Was ever grief like mine?

These drops being temper'd with a sinner's tears,

A balsome are for both the Hemispheres,

Curing all wounds but mine; all, but my fears.

Was ever grief like mine?

Yet my disciples sleep: I cannot gain

One houre of watching; but their drowsie brain

Comforts not me, and doth my doctrine stain:

Was ever grief like mine?

Arise, arise; they come. Look how they runne!

Alas! what haste they make to be undone!

How with their lanterns do they seek the sunne!

Was ever grief like mine?

With clubs and staves they seek me, as a thief,

Who am the way of truth, the true relief,

Most true to those who are my greatest grief:

Was ever grief like mine?

Judas, dost thou betray me with a kisse?

Canst thou finde hell about my lips? and misse

Of life, just at the gates of life and blisse?

Was ever grief like mine?

All my disciples flie; fear puts a barre 

Betwixt my friends and me.  They leave the starre,

That brought the wise men of the East from farre:

Was ever grief like mine?

Thea from one ruler to another bound

They leade me: urging, that it was not found

What I taught: Comments would the text confound.

Was ever grief like mine?

The priests and rulers all false witnesse seek

'Gainst him, who seeks not life, but is the meek

And readie Paschal Lambe of this great week:

Was ever grief like mine?

Then they accuse me of great blasphemie,

That I did thrust into the Deitie,

Who never thought that any robberie:

Was ever grief like mine?

Some said that I the Temple to the floore

In three days raze'd, and raised as before.

Why, he that built the world can do much more:

Was ever grief like mine?

Then they condemne me all with that same breath,

Which I do give them daily, unto death.

Thus Adam my first breathing rendereth:

Was ever grief like mine?

They binde, and leade me unto Herod: he

Sends me to Pilate. This makes them agree;

But yet their friendship is my enmitie.

Was ever grief like mine?

Herod and all his bands do set me light,

Who teach all hands to warre, fingers to fight,

And only am the Lord of hosts and might.

Was ever grief like mine?

Herod in judgment sits, while I do stand;

Examines me with a censorious hand;

I him obey, who all things else command:

Was ever grief like mine?

Since my Kindle just ran out of juice, I will continue this very long poem tomorrow.

The Poetry of George Herbert

Poetry is not really my thing.  The last time I recall reading poetry was for a course in my Master's Degree in 1985.  Before then, maybe in 1960-something, studying for my Bachelor's.  So, no, poetry rarely touches my soul.

Strangely enough, I hate to admit, does the passion of Christ.  Other than the movie by Mel Gibson, The Passion of the Christ, I have not given much thought to the suffering of Christ. I don't know why.  I know the great saints have almost to a man meditated on the suffering of Jesus, but I just couldn't get there.  I don't like to think about it.  As a child, we used to attend the Stations of the Cross on Fridays with our classes, but even then, try as I would, the suffering just didn't penetrate my mind.  I felt sorry for Jesus, of course, but I didn't really want to focus on the intense pain he underwent.  

Recently, however, I was reading something that quoted George Herbert, a 16th-century English poet.  I had briefly studied, if you can call it that, his poetry in high school by reading maybe one of his poems.  I found it unremarkable, as most 16th-century English poets would be to a high school sophomore.  Whatever excerpt I read in this quotation, however, caught my attention, and so I downloaded a sample of his poetry (you can buy the complete works for 99 cents, so why I had to try a sample, I cannot tell you).

I should also tell you that it took what my daughters call "a pajama day" for me to get into reading his poetry.  I was not feeling well; the weather was miserable -- a perfect setting in which to re-discover the delights of reading poetry once again.  As I got into the sample, I found at first aphorisms much like the wisdom literature of the Old Testament -- wise and sometimes witty sayings that hit the nail on the head.  I rather think that it might take more than one or two --- and maybe a pajama day with nothing else to do --- to begin to ease into George Herbert's humor, but I'll give one sample here:

By all means use sometimes to be alone.
Salute thyself: see what thy soul doth wear.

Dare to look in thy chest; for 'tis thine own:

And tumble up and down what thou find'st there.

Who cannot rest till he good fellows find,

He breaks up house, turns out of doors his mind.

By the time I reached the end of my sample, I was hooked on George Herbert and sprang for the whole 99 cents to acquire the complete works.  Like all poetry, it demands to be read slowly and thoughtfully, but doing so reaps rich rewards.  And, having now in my possession the complete works, I found more than just light aphorisms.  Unwittingly, I found myself immersed in a very long poem called "The Sacrifice." Written in 3-line stanzas, in the voice of Jesus, the poem slowly drew me into what I had never wanted to contemplate -- the suffering of Christ.  And I was moved by the simplicity of the verses to continue reading.  Because the poem could not be more appropriate for the Lenten season, I want to present it in its entirety.  However, it is very long, so I think I may have to spread it over a few days.  Also, 16th-century English spelling is idiomatic; I find the original version charming, so I will not standardize Herbert's spelling, even though it may not appeal to the modern reader.  

The poem begins with the next entry.