The God you can taste

Okay, we all fall in ‘ruts,’ so to speak, and This Guy deserves as much condemnation as the rest.

I find myself in a sort of ‘theological rut’. Kind of like Walter in “The Big Lebowski,” everything always seems to circle back ’round to one particular area of theology, specifically, one idea.

The record I think stands easily which judges this one of the most well-trod ones in the history of our dear tradition. I think I’m safe in asserting that the amount of traffic it has gotten proves its relevance to the core of the Christian message.

Theologians, historians, and everyone else important refer to this concept as dualism.

A Greek idea originally, it holds esoteric, “spiritual” stuff as better than (if not wholly superior, in every sense of the word, to) fleshly, this world stuff. Some forms of it actually hold the universe (including, but not limited to, God, Satan, and all aspects of creation) to be at war with itself, the “spiritual” stuff vs. the “fleshly” stuff.

Pop quiz: Don’t think, just answer. Choose any two.

Which honors God more, praying alongside the latest Chris Tomlin hits or loving your spouse well?

Which would God prefer you cultivate, your prayer endurance or whether you work as though unto Him?

Which does God like more, those Chris Tomlin hits or Beethoven’s 5th?

Remember, don’t think, just answer. I’m wanting honest answers here, not the “right” ones. Besides, I’m not waiting around on you. Feel free to email your results.

So this morning during Communion, for the first time ever, as best I can recall, it really did hit me as I was eating the cracker that something truly profound, truly otherworldly happens during that sacred meal.

I know of no way I can get you there to that pew from earlier in the day, but the power of Communion, throughout the history of Christianity, has manifested in one particularly powerful way:

It reminds us that God is not ashamed of these bodies of flesh and this dirty, unclean, unpretty physical world made up of stuff that doesn’t always behave itself.

See, Christianity has stumbled time and time again in its history, guided by some charismatic leader who whipped some group into a frenzy over how deeply, fundamentally ashamed they ought to be at their weaknesses (like needing to go to sleep), their temptations (like being attracted to the opposite sex), and their attractions (like enjoying beautiful art).

Communion reminds us of the God unashamed of what His creation says about Him.

Communion reminds us of the Incarnation (as well as Christ’s Passion).

Communion reminds us of the God so real to us we can taste Him.

For all of our weaknesses, failures, nastiness, unfaithfulness and outright defeats… God is right there with us.

Whom, or What, have we been admonished to remember when we come to that table?

Jesus.

“God with us”.

Maybe that’s what that cracker tasted like this morning… God with us.

I should get some more of that.

Who did I think I was?

Okay, two rules:

1) This will be short,

B) this will be the beginning of more regular postage.

Promise.

Sitting at IHOP a couple of days ago and I found myself reading and meditating deeply upon Romans 8. I decided then and there, in true keeping with the ‘anything goes’ espirit de summer, to pay no attention to amount ingested, how “far I got” from my starting place at Romans 8:1, or to even be conscious of “how many verses I read this morning”.

That triggered the realization in me that there is a lot packed into our Scriptures.

Why rush?

When I taught at the School-Which-Shall-Not-Be-Named, there was an, ahem, very ardent Republican lady with whom I occasionally crossed paths. We would always share good banter, never anything serious or heavy (at least to me; I’m sure I wasted valuable real estate on her “God Please Open These Sinners’ Eyes” list).

Well, all in good fun (I think…), this lady one time told me that she and I were one day soon going to sit down and talk politics, Bible-to-Bible, and hammer out which position, hers (ardent GOP) or mine (not-ardent-for-either), was “more Biblical”.

The reason this exchange stuck in my mind is that, almost immediately, I realized that I don’t know my Bible well enough to make that argument on one side or the other.

I didn’t then and I don’t now.

Nor do I think I ever shall.

I hope I’m never that convinced of my own grasp of God’s Word, as well, I really do hold that if we have even a moderately high view of Scripture, as we go through life we’ll invariably be confronted with our own shortsightedness with regard to it. We’ll grow, change, and even laugh at what we used to believe they said about God.

So back to the Maison des Pancackes.

I’m reading Romans 8 and all I can do as I go is ask the inspired writ as I go, “what does this mean?” and “why?” or even “why not?”.

Alongside. Every. Verse.

Just yesterday I returned to church after about a five-week uhhh, sabbatical from there.

The question I asked myself almost as soon as I got done talking to Ryan was, “what in the world was I doing, thinking I knew God, the Bible, and His world well enough to imagine I was getting the whole picture doing Christianity by myself?

Who did I think I was?

As most who know me well are aware, I’m sort of a student of church history and what those who’ve had the same Book and Savior as us have done with It. The more I study and think deeply upon just what we are to do with this “Jesus Thing,” I stand ever more convinced of the need for deep and profound humility before God, our tradition, and the Scriptures.

The Spirit of God, alongside the Scriptures, has been at work in God’s people for some two millennia now-and we haven’t exhausted the meaning or power of Holy Writ just yet.

I’m not sure I should alter Augustine this way, but he famously said that “When you’ve found yourself a god you understand, you have built yourself an idol.”

I wonder if it’s okay to say something similar about the Scriptures?

I know I err more often than not on the side of epistemic impotence, but I really did shudder at my friend’s presumption of knowing the whole of Scripture that well, and it made me wonder if she had not in fact erred on the side of building herself blueprints for an idol.

May the Scriptures never conform… to anything.

Not a song, political platform, doctrinal presupposition, or anything else.

May they define, not deviate.

May they always shape, mold and polish.

And may they always inspire thanks to our holy God.

Quote of the day

I ran across this whilst reading my devotional this morning:

“The alternating beats of the Christian heart are receptivity and response-receptivity to God and response in work from us.”

-E. Stanley Jones

The roused mama bear on the bus

So my dear friend Amanda said in comments on one of the posts below that she’d be interested to hear what I learned from having my car towed at the Amos Lee show (besides where not to park!).

Two things come to mind that I’d do well to share.

We Christian folk have a very well-oiled way of presenting holiness and life change to the world (even when authentic), until someone manages to glance us from just the right angle. (Think of a Jenga tower, perched precariously, but not realized until you look at it from an unusual angle.)

Well, my unusual angle was money, specifically, someone taking it from me and there being NOTHING I COULD DO ABOUT IT (i.e., the car being towed).

You see, I exercise EXTREME discipline on how I handle my money. (This is in part due to so many years in school. A good thing, too, I’ve decided.) I keep up with every cent. I consider a trip to Starbucks a luxury I can do without, and I’ve been known to skip lunch entirely rather than eat out at work. (I suspect I share that in common with Los Geidls as well!)

So you can imagine the simmering potpourri of rage and cauldron of bubbling hatred (yes, I chose those specific words on purpose) that engulfed me as I was working out the details to get my car back.

Well, the car was in far south Dallas (geography tidbit: I live in far north Dallas) located conveniently-not-close to a bus stop. My roommate just so happened to be going out of town that weekend (to propose to his girlfriend now fiance!), so my main avenue for help on that front was gone.

It pains me to admit that I was loathe to even ask him for help anyway, however.

No one at work knows about the Towing Incident, nor do anyone in my family.

You see, I’m too proud, in a place deep, deep down, to cop to having needed help. A lesson I’ve revisited time and time again since college has been that mankind’s sin problem manifests powerfully in the deep confidence all of us have to affirm which says that we can “do it by myself”.

Whenever I get too sold, too sprung, too confident in my own ability to get things done (in this case, taking an extremely complex trip on three buses and two trains, in addition to walking a mile or so) without any help, I know I’m not walking by the Spirit.

Or when my silent mantra, deep within my soul, becomes “can’t let them know I need help”.

And whenever someone messes with my money, son, you’d best watch out-I’m like a momma bear protecting her cubs. Cute, fuzzy, and inviting… until you get to know her from an authentic angle.

Get to know her well and get to find out what she cares about more than well, you.

So I used my long sojourn to get the car back to do a bit of reflection (as well as put in some time with an old legend) and to plan for a bit of spiritual discipline.

You see, I’m not normally a vituperative, combative guy… but the folks who’d towed my car, well, they deserved the worst I could unleash upon them, I reasoned.

I’d found my mind wandering to entirely justifiable places, where I’d say some, well, highly creative (yet non curse words!) things to Those People about their lot in life, how they made their living, and what I hoped for the fate(s) of their children.

On one of those buses, however, I decided to contort myself into a God-honoring place that would prove gracious to the towing people.

And, somehow, I did it.

Heck, I even managed to squeeze out a ‘God bless you’ to the lady. (Bet she hadn’t heard that in a while!)

So, I guess the lessons learned on this little adventure were twofold: when exerted toward the use of different ‘muscles’ or seen from a different angle, the Dixonator is still very, very controlled by those parts of himself he’d rather lament in others.

Money does that.

So does needing a hand.

United Towing got far less than $209 dollars.

Realizing all of this makes me say perhaps, just perhaps, I’m the one that came out ahead here.

Randomness worth sharing

Of course, I’m a big fan of Pandora, but I’m also fascinated lately with Last.fm. Two things really take me about it: a), the fact that it ’scrobbles,’ or keeps up with EVERY SINGLE TRACK I play on my computer, and b) that I can pull up random songs, in my library or not, and play them on demand. Very cool. Come check in on me here.

Bought a huge wok this weekend. Might use it as early as this evening. Chicken, green onions, rice, sweet peas and some sort of sauce I’ve never heard of. We’ll see.

A week out of seminary and it feels an eternity ago. Wow.

Learned Was force fed some painful lessons about patience, grace, and foolishness the past few days in spending some $230 on getting my car towed from the Amos Lee show. Funny the utter hatred me being put out a few (hundred) bucks stirred. Ouch.

Catching up…

So I’m really a fan of my friend Ryan’s blog, as well as a few others. The main reason I enjoy Ryan’s so much is for the… how to put it… not-terribly-filtered nature of it. In it, he talks about life issues, whatever book he’s reading, theological stuff, you name it. I love it when an update comes through the Google Reader.

Perhaps, then, I’m going to take a cue from Ryan. I’ve tried more than once these past few years blogging to do as various folks like Ryan or los Geidls do. I’m realizing more and more of late that Facebook status updates, Twitter, and blogs function as a highly effective way to keep up with far flung friends.

So I’m gonna do better at this, as communication is a two way street.

Keep your eyes pointed here for more… me.

Don’t act so excited.

Feeling strangely fine

I was journaling just now and I sort of stumbled into a vein, one of those that I thought however few of you that still peruse ThisSpace might find interesting.

I find myself in a pensive, highly introspective mood today, this 23rd of April, the Year of our Lord 2009.

You see, I attended my last class at Dallas Seminary this morning.

Barring well, a very bad weekend, I’ll graduate in two weeks.

The emotions that last sentence stirs… wow.

I’ve said that more than once, both today and in previous weeks.

“Wow,” as in, “I actually made it”.

“Wow,” as in, “I’ve actually earned DTS’s stamp of approval”.

“Wow,” as in, “I’m actually crossing the finish line with a wind at my back”.

I suspect I’ll shed a tear or two once The Day has arrived, and that I feel to be entirely appropriate.

I’ve experienced some major ups and downs these five years.

Been crazy about obsessed consumed with smitten with two or three girls.

Worked through the battle that hope and depression have waged over me.

Learned (and forgotten most of) a new language.

Picked up a new trade.

Found effervescence again.

Done lots of other stuff that, all told, none of which engender much regret.

The right time has come.

I’ve found my meditation on life of late, over and over and over again, best likened to a TV show with the same fundamental premise but with a few actors gone, some new ones added. Some aspects, the same, others, not so much. A familiarity and a deep and abiding love for the basics (the scenery, the basic plot, the characters’ motivations) but the realization of just how many of the details have changed.

And the inevitable realization that the time to move on has come.

One or two specific guys with whom I started seminary (and are now long gone) and our old dorm (also long gone) have loomed large in those meditations.

Not really sure why; those guys, and that building, just sort of typify my time at DTS.

Perhaps it is easiest to measure time passed by what that passage has produced in others.

Yet I find myself convinced that I’m in such a better, and more healthy place, than I have been throughout these past five years.

I knew, on 17 May 2003 that things were not entirely settled in my world when I hastily parted ways with Hendrix College.

I knew, on 18 August 2004, when I loaded my dad’s truck down with most all of my worldly posessions to come to DTS that I was taking one of the most profound leaps of faith I’d ever taken.

And I know today, here on 23 April 2009, that I have finished-on good, gracious terms-fonder than ever before of our Lord, of those who serve Him and those given to His service.

I guess I’m sort of feeling like now is a very natural, fitting end to the TV series that has been DTS as my passionate soiree with formal education waltzes triumphant with dusk falling all around it.

And ya know what?

I’m feeling strangely fine.

Why I should be praying for you

Some time ago, I wrote a post called “Why I’m Not Praying for You”. It was sort of a reaction to hearing “I’m praying for you” tossed around all the time where I work.

I guess my reaction to “I’m praying for you” being bandied about like a limp Monday morning greeting was in part due to a personal conviction about four things below:

1. Prayer for others is humbling work. It is tough, you get no thanks for it, no one knows you care enough about them to engage in the discipline of prayer on their behalf (unless you tell them so), and it is also an intimate thing. Provided that someone really means it, the idea that someone is taking a concern of mine before the Lord’s throne can and should be a very moving proposition. As one who struggles with depression, I cannot help but take an “I’m praying for you, Dixon” very seriously sometimes when I hear it.

2. Prayer for others is hard work. Again, when someone says “I’m praying for you,” I’m assuming they are engaging, on my behalf, in a pretty tough spiritual discipline. If there is anything I hold true and dear about the practice of prayer, it is what a chapel speaker at DTS, probably in 2004 or 2005, taught, which was to consciously mean everything you pray. None of the rote cliches or song lyrics, but true, conscious, from-a-deep-and-vulnerable-place-in-my-heart experience. Doing that ain’t easy (which is probably the reason my own personal prayer life is so anorexic).

3. A promise of prayer for someone else engenders hope. This one is sort of tough to wrestle down, as who’ll ever know if you’ve been praying for someone? But do you really want to give them the false hope of community (not to mention that of the mountain-moving power of God on their behalf!) if you aren’t really bearing those burdens for them? Think long and hard about that.

4. Prayer for another creates community. We can take the easy way out and promise it (while not actually doing it) or we can be people who cherish authenticity in all that we do and… either pray when we say we’re praying, or break the habit of promising something we aren’t delivering. I for one love the power of prayer with regard to community building, yet I don’t pray as often as I’d like-so I just say, “I’ve been thinking of you” or “You’ve been on my mind”. I feel like it has roughly the same value in edification, even if not the same power before the Lord.

Now I’m a lazy bum.

I’ve ditched class both days this week and haven’t done my homework in two.

Our place is a mess, and my (bath)room is even worse.

Yet somehow the balance of what I have implied to people about my spirituality (how often I pray for others) feels very authentic; put differently, the amount of personal piety I have and that which I project to the world feels about even.

I’m a lazy bum, and I’ve just given you four reasons why I’m not praying for you.

As an old song says, “I’ve been looking in the mirror/and I think it needs a change”.

Have you noticed it too?