Creation

So, I'm sitting here in my office continuing preparation for the Advance Academy '09 class that I'll be leading (called Worship Renovation) starting next Wednesday. And let me just call a spade-a-spade and say that this little post is mostly just a shameless plug for the class :-)

Anyways - sitting here thinking about music (and worship, and any artful expression), this is the thought that formed.

When we engage in music and art – this is especially true of instrumentalists and vocalists and painters and dramatists and playwrights and directors but also true of anyone who opens themselves up to experience those artistic expressions – we live into our God-given, God-like ability to create. And we mysteriously step into this partnership with God in continuing to carry on his great creation project and we too create. And there is something supernatural and spiritual and good about this.

And in these moments, I think that God looks upon us and - just as He did at the end of each day in the creation story/poem of Genesis - He says, "It is good."

End of thought. Sign up for the class. End of shameless plug.

Jimmy the Wrench

So, this morning I read Matthew 5 - the story of Jesus' encounter with Jairus and his daughter. And I was reminded of something I put to paper back in December of 2006. Here it is.

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Maybe this is just me. But have you ever noticed how much the Pharisees, teachers of the law, and rulers of the Synagogue resemble a New York Mafia “family”? Just like the mob, they are kind and benevolent to those who give respect, but are less than hospitable whenever anyone stands against their traditions – against the good of the “family.” Jesus definitely falls into the second category. He was a threat. Throughout the New Testament, time and time again you’ll read about Jesus healing and teaching in the synagogue. And in the next paragraph, you find something like “but the Pharisees went out and plotted how they might kill Jesus” (Mt 12:14) or “and they plotted to arrest Jesus in some sly way and kill him” (Mt 26:4).

I can almost picture it. Jesus is teaching and healing in the Synagogue, and there they are. Leaning against the back wall. Tony the Fist, Jimmy the Wrench, Guiseppe the Snitch and Big Al – plotting out their revenge. And just like the mob, once you’re “in” the family, it’s very tough to get out. John 12 tells us “many even among the leaders believed in him. But because of the Pharisees they would not confess their faith for fear they would be put out of the synagogue.”

This makes the story in Mark 5:21-43 all the more powerful. Jairus is a Synagogue ruler. He’s a member of the “family.” He’s got powerful friends. He always receives the place of honor at banquets and the most important seats at social gatherings. He has influence, status, and political clout. But he also has a daughter who is dying. From the story, it appears as though he waited as long as he dare in hopes that she might recover without Jesus. She is now next to death. He can wait no more. And while it may betray his allegiances, he cannot escape the fact that Jesus is his daughter’s only hope. Nothing else matters now. And so “he fell at [Jesus’] feet and pleaded earnestly with him, ‘My little daughter is dying. Please come and put your hands on her so that she will be healed and live.’” That must have taken incredible courage.

She dies before they reach Jairus’ house. (I wonder if Jairus had a moment of regret upon hearing the news that his daughter had died. Did he risk it all for nothing?) But Jesus continues on toward their home. And when He arrives, He takes Jairus’ daughter by the hand and says, “Little girl, I say to you, get up!” And she did! It was all worth it.

For the courage of Jairus. That I would be willing to swallow my foolish pride, lay aside everything I hold dear and throw myself at His feet knowing that He is my only hope.

God in Exile

Every mental picture that I have of "exile" are ones of totalitarian, cruel, iron-fisted rulers mistreating their subjects, lording it over them - a place rife with abuses and injustices. My daughters just watched Prince of Egypt again last Friday night. The scenes of God's people in forced labor, being whipped, beaten and mistreated. That is my mental picture of exile. It's horrible and torturous. Not a place you want to be.

But Jeremiah 24 (part of my mostly-daily reading) shows another side of exile. In this text, Jeremiah sees a vision of two baskets of figs. One is filled to the top with luscious, full, juicy figs (like the picture). The other with figs too rotten to eat. Personally – not being a huge fig fan – neither basket sounds overly appealing to me. But that’s not the point :-) God reveals to Jeremiah that it is the metaphor of the healthy figs that describe his people in exile in the land of the Babylonians. It is there where God's hand of favor rests. It has left the Holy City. God has moved.

And the rotten figs are the picture of those resisting exile. Those holding on to the once-holy city of Jerusalem - a place now broken by their stone-hard hearts - brought low by their own abuses and injustices. But yet they refuse to leave. They hold on to the words of the temple jester-prophets all crying out "Peace, peace. All is well. God is with us." And all the while God is in exile carving out a new future, a new hope.

It's ironic. The real place of exile is actually Jerusalem ... where they hold on to distant memories, past blessings, broken systems, and to their own self-deception - refusing to see that God has left.

And so – Jeremiah may have a word for you. If you find yourself in a place of exile, fear not. It may not mean you are outside of God's hand. It could, in fact, mean that you are a luscious juicy fig - in the place of God's blessing.

Wise Crackin' Megan

We went for a family walk this afternoon along the paths in our neighborhood - occasionally stopping to peer into the mostly empty creek for tadpoles, frogs and water-bugs. At one point along our journey, Kyra, Meg and I had a one-legged race to get back to Mom. Kyra won narrowly over me ... and Megan took third place.

In a shining display of fatherly love and compassion, I turned to Meg and said, "I guess that makes you third, the golden TURD."

She glared at me with half-squinted eyes and without missing a beat, said "I oughta sock you in the nose, Hopscotch!"

That's my girl.

Love's Preparation

Last week, I received an email from a friend of mine who is a Canadian worship leader / song-writer / recording-artist. He's in a season of writing for his next album and wanted to ask vocational worship leaders (like myself) for thoughts on what the church needs to hear.

More and more, the songs that connect strongest with me are ones that effectively connect worship (love on its knees) with mission (love on its feet). Scot McKnight – in a provocative post titled Spiritual Eroticism – traces the arrival of "courtly love" sometime during the medieval age. It was during this era when the emotionally charged high generated by the fantasy of a distant love became more desirable than the love within marriage. “The essence of courtly love” he writes, “was to become intoxicated with love, to fall in love with love. It was to prefer the fire of love over the Beloved and delight in the experience of love over the presence of the Beloved.”

If you know me at all, it probably would not surprise you to hear that I'm very passionate about creating an excellent and engaging worship experience. With this passion, it can be possible to slip into courtly worship. Worship that generates greater love for the experience of worship than it does for the object of our worship. The former love has very little power to transform. But the latter could change the world. The former tends to live out its full expression within the confines of a worship service. But the latter propels us far beyond.

In my email reply, I quoted a review of Leeland's upcoming studio album release. The description excites me:

Leeland's third studio album, Love Is On The Move, is a worshipful expression that continues the band’s mission of calling believers toward an active role in being God’s hands and feet on earth so that His kingdom can continue to press into the world. “Worship, justice and action are not separate,” explains Leeland. “They are united. They work together. When you have an amazing encounter with God and you experience His love during worship, the fruit of that should be your life overflowing with action and love - justice - to the world around you."

Worship is love's preparation to be. Love's preparation to do.

Darrell

It's been well over a month since I posted anything. It's not that I haven't had anything to say. In fact, I think it's a bit of the opposite. Lots to say ... but much of it is unformed, still being digested. And so - rather than break the blog-silence by stumbling through half-formed thoughts, I want to tell you about my friend Darrell.

He's a facebook friend of mine. At 63 years young, I think he may be my oldest facebook friend. He's not quite an octogenarian - but he's moving in that direction. He's a fly-fishermen and likes to take his grandson to nascar. Currently he serve as district office administrator for NC East District Wesleyan Church (AND I just found out he has his own blog!! Pretty hip for an old guy!). Leading up to District Conference on July 16, Darrell and I were in regular email communication putting together final details for the day's events.

You need to understand - at a district level, he's kind of the number three man in charge - behind only the District Superintendent and the Assistant District Superintendent. They make up the triumvirate of power within the NC East District (triumvirate is a new word I learned in a book by N.T. Wright ... a word I've been itching to use!!)

Well - two days before the conference, I sent him an email with a few questions confirming microphone needs, content for the projectors and balloting details. The first line was supposed to read: Hello Darrell.

But instead it read: Hell Darrell.

Not something you want to say in an email to the district office. Bad form. But at the end of his reply, he wrote:

PS - I love the “Hell Darrell”
God bless
Darrell

Darrell - if you're reading this, you're a good man. I'm honored to be your facebook friend.

Foretastes

On the second leg of our flight home from San Frasisco (Salt Lake City to Raleigh/Durham) Rachel and I watched Juno – an endearing and quirky movie about a sixteen year-old highschool girl (Juno MacGuff) and her family as they help her journey through a surprise pregnancy and the accompanying adoption. Apparently I was overdue for a good cry. I had an aisle seat – exposing more fully my weepy condition. The guy across the aisle in 26D seemed genuinely concerned. It was a little awkward.

While this film had no intentions of making a statement on faith or beliefs – it had some inspired moments where great love shone through. And if we believe that all men and women are created in the image of God, it isn’t a stretch to believe that sometimes men and women – even those far from faith – express love in a God-like manner seemingly beyond their ability or capacity. This movie had some of those moments. Moments where we can see – albeit faintly – glimpses of a greater love (and perhaps even the Author of this greater love).

There is a scene in the latter stages of the movie where things with the soon-to-be adoptive parents are falling apart. Without giving the story away, the prospective father lets it known he wants out of the marriage … and he does not want the baby. Juno is standing in their house and watches as the hurt flies and everything falls apart.

As she heads home, her thoughts narrate “I never realize how much I like being home unless I’ve been somewhere really different for a while.”

This line hit me hard. And it’s been rolling around in my head ever since Wednesday night’s flight. Like Juno, we too (all of us) have been somewhere really different for a while. And I think – in our most honest moments – we too would admit that we long for home. We thirst for the land of no-mores. No more pain. No more sorrow. No more death. No more heartache. And the longing is heightened by “those moments in our own lives when with only the dullest understanding but with the sharpest longing we have glimpsed Christ” (Frederick Buechner) lived out in others and sometimes even in ourselves.

Foretastes.

But our hope and longing is not just a human hope - that when our lives end we will be thought of fondly for a little while for the little good that we have done. Our hope is that these foretastes will one day be brought to completeness and fruition in unimaginable ways. Our hope is that one day He will return (and He will). And so we do not labor in the vanity of human hope. We labor as those ushering in the first-fruits – the foretastes – of a kingdom that will last forever.

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.