Over the past few days a number of factors have come together to forcefully hammer home to me the idea that Christianity is so much more than what we've made it. That the church has been pedaling lies and heresies, pretending that the point is to get as many people as possible to stand up in the front of a church.
A coworker of mine recently told me she was struggling with her faith. Her faith was at best nominal; she had stood up in a church service, but since has not really been living in the faith and certainly the fruit of the Spirit is not very visible in her life. She is going through some hard times and she told me she was struggling with her faith because of this. My first response was to say, "that is not how this works. God doesn't just make you happy or make life easy, He promises joy, but it is a joy in the midst of hardship and suffering." But then, as I thought about it I realized that that would probably go against any theology she had heard in her church or anywhere else.
We have prefected our sales pitch for Christ and the damn lie we are selling goes something like this, "Come to Jesus and your life will be good and God will solve all of your problems and you'll be happy all the time." We've sold out the joy of the Lord for a cheep imitation, a happiness that is temporal and unattainable and unlovely. God have mercy on us for making him into a cheep gimmick and lie, a happiness machine who's sole purpose is to make us contented. God forgive us for our despicable habit of forcing Him to meet our needs and pretending His sole purpose is our happiness. Let us reject the heresy that when Christ died He, "thought of me above all." He saved us, yes, and He loves us, yes, but as the Rev. Readhead said, "The chief end of all being is the glory of God." The reason for Christ's incarnation, death and Resurrection is the glory of God, the reason for our existence is the glory of God. We are His people for His glory, He is not our God for our glory.
I am tired...tired of a church that deals in heresies in the attempt to gain numbers. Give me five committed people, people who will follow Christ through hell itself for His honor and glory over five hundred who are simply looking for God to bless them and make them happy. Let us be done! Let us end the sham and the mockery, or do we think God will be mocked now when He was not so long ago? Do we think that He is not the same God who judged His people when they turned away and chased Idols in the land of Canaan? Could it be that we have made God into the alter for our idol of happiness? The abomination is now in our churches and fills our land, it is in the mouths of our TV preachers and in our books and movies, "God exist for your happiness! His whole point is to give you all the good things!"
Don't get me wrong, here. God gives Joy to His people, and every good and precious gift comes from above, but that is not His call to us. It is his promise but His call is vastly different. "Come" he says, "Come and deny yourself, take up your cross and follow me." Follow through the pain of this world through the comfortless nights and weeping days, and I will be your comforter and guide, your strength and help, for My glory!
Ad maiorem Dei gloriam!
Friday, April 24, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
The sun peaked over the eastern mountains, its first few rays scouting out the valley before it sent an army of light pouring through the trees and into the heart of the mountainous land. The sunlight was born on waves of wind and its invasive forces tried to find every inch, every corner of clear land.
Deep in the forested valley a man stood behind his cabin, rhythmically chopping wood for his fire. Chop...Chop...stack. Chop...Chop...Stack. He stopped and turned to see the invader come pouring into his clearing, bathing the cabin and all that surrounded it in burnished gold, creating a world of brilliance. His nostrils flared as he tried to take in the wonderful smell of wild and clear places, the cent of pine and oak and ceder, and the musty smell of a dead and growing vegetation. This was the life he loved, what he wanted since his earliest childhood.
The city he had grown up in was beautiful, or so he was told. It was a small city with lots of 'stuff' to do, but he had never loved it. It was so busy, everyone running around as if today were the last day of their lives, everyone in such a hurry to have fun that they were always tired, always weary. He had always longed for something different, to live in the rhythm and pattern of nature. Just as the chopping of wood had a pattern, a natural beat, so to did the life he now lived.
It is true, he did feel bad for his family...he had not had the heart to tell them what he was doing, so instead he had just walked away. He had sent them a post-card from New Brunswick, but that was the last time he had been anywhere near a post office, since then he had simply wandered the forest until he arrived here, at a place he could call home. Here there was silence, he could listen to the quite of for hours, and hear in it the voice of God. He could live in the rhythms of life that were meant to be followed, not rushing to much, yet doing what was needed in its time and season.
"God put man in the garden of Eden!" he liked to say, "not the metropolis of Edenville. If we were supposed to hide from nature in worlds made of wood and stone we would have been put in a world of stone and concrete." It was this philosophy that lead him, this that drew him from the city he had spent his life in and pulled him...no dragged him...out here, into the wilds of Canada.
Deep in the forested valley a man stood behind his cabin, rhythmically chopping wood for his fire. Chop...Chop...stack. Chop...Chop...Stack. He stopped and turned to see the invader come pouring into his clearing, bathing the cabin and all that surrounded it in burnished gold, creating a world of brilliance. His nostrils flared as he tried to take in the wonderful smell of wild and clear places, the cent of pine and oak and ceder, and the musty smell of a dead and growing vegetation. This was the life he loved, what he wanted since his earliest childhood.
The city he had grown up in was beautiful, or so he was told. It was a small city with lots of 'stuff' to do, but he had never loved it. It was so busy, everyone running around as if today were the last day of their lives, everyone in such a hurry to have fun that they were always tired, always weary. He had always longed for something different, to live in the rhythm and pattern of nature. Just as the chopping of wood had a pattern, a natural beat, so to did the life he now lived.
It is true, he did feel bad for his family...he had not had the heart to tell them what he was doing, so instead he had just walked away. He had sent them a post-card from New Brunswick, but that was the last time he had been anywhere near a post office, since then he had simply wandered the forest until he arrived here, at a place he could call home. Here there was silence, he could listen to the quite of for hours, and hear in it the voice of God. He could live in the rhythms of life that were meant to be followed, not rushing to much, yet doing what was needed in its time and season.
"God put man in the garden of Eden!" he liked to say, "not the metropolis of Edenville. If we were supposed to hide from nature in worlds made of wood and stone we would have been put in a world of stone and concrete." It was this philosophy that lead him, this that drew him from the city he had spent his life in and pulled him...no dragged him...out here, into the wilds of Canada.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Thoughts on a Good Friday
He became depravity incarnate. All our grief and all our shame rested on Him. He bore the scars of our wars, the nakedness of our poverty. The good suffered so evil would die, the innocent payed the price for the guilty. His flesh was torn in our murders until his life paid the final price for our rebellion.
Who is God, but the Lord?
Who reigns over all the earth and all the expanses of the universe?
Before the earth was formed, He reigned and before the Universe was created.
Through out all time His justice has shown forth,
His righteousness is beyond question.
The king justly executes those who rebel against him,
Treason's right reward is death,
Yet He showed a mercy beyond comprehension,
He died in the traitors place,
Payed with His own blood the price of our rebellion.
Who is like our God?
What King dies for those who reject Him?
What Monarch pays with their life blood the crimes of enemies?
What have we done to be worthy of such love?
Nothing, for He payed that which should not have been payed.
His stripes healed those who should have died of their disease.
He is worthy, but we are without honor.
He is of greatest worth, but we are but dust.
For this cause we come, and call on His name.
And say, with those who have gone before,
"Now, in my life, may the Lamb receive the just reward for His suffering."
Who is God, but the Lord?
Who reigns over all the earth and all the expanses of the universe?
Before the earth was formed, He reigned and before the Universe was created.
Through out all time His justice has shown forth,
His righteousness is beyond question.
The king justly executes those who rebel against him,
Treason's right reward is death,
Yet He showed a mercy beyond comprehension,
He died in the traitors place,
Payed with His own blood the price of our rebellion.
Who is like our God?
What King dies for those who reject Him?
What Monarch pays with their life blood the crimes of enemies?
What have we done to be worthy of such love?
Nothing, for He payed that which should not have been payed.
His stripes healed those who should have died of their disease.
He is worthy, but we are without honor.
He is of greatest worth, but we are but dust.
For this cause we come, and call on His name.
And say, with those who have gone before,
"Now, in my life, may the Lamb receive the just reward for His suffering."
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Here sit I, in a chair, before a computer with whirling fans and tiny sparks that carry data from circuit to circuit in an ever expanding chain. The light on my desk is easy to turn on and off and I have no need of hard work to see in the darkness of night. I live in an age of idleness and easy answers, where the push of a button brings us images for our entertainments, food for our consumption and with a few brief actions we can move around the country. I live in a land that is soft and easy, one where I need only expend a minimal amount of energy in order to care for myself; but my heart is not here.
I am too much of a dreamer to love the simple life that I live. I long for ancient days of fell deeds and valiant action, days when brave knights fought for the hands of fair maidens. I am willing to confess to a certain strain of romanticism that hearkens for a time of beauty and courage and honor, a time I know never existed. The stories that have fallen through the cracks of time to carry with them the promise of such ancient yesterdays illuminate my mind like the flames of Mt. Vesuvius. I am drawn into a narrative that shines light onto my existence and that demands from me a specific life, one where failure is no option and death must be sought before a loss of honor.
The tales of this past world, this other land, so foreign from our own, have shaped much of my view of the world. I find myself dreaming of being a knight in shining armour, riding a swift white stallion into the heart of danger and darkness to rescue a fair maiden, a beautiful princess who stands in fear of her life. I know, from some of my female friends, that they continue to dream that one day their knight will appear, drawing them into a beautiful world of justice and peace. I know these dreams for they are the inverse of my own...yet I know a danger in them too.
Some day, if the Lord wills it, I will get married, and it may be that some beautiful woman will stand at the front of a church and picture armour covering my tuxedo. It may be that I will look on her as a fair maiden, beautiful and graceful, and fully holding of all the virtues to be found in womankind. But then, imagine her horror when, a few short months later, she discovers that far from marrying a knight in shining armour, she has tied herself to a foolish boy, dressed in aluminum foil and riding a stick horse, for such she will surely find. And regardless of how wildly I wave my wooden sword in the air, or how firmly my shrill voice pipes defiance at the evils of the world, I know that I am unlikely to ever kill a dragon. And imagine my anger when I discover that far from a perfect and gentle maiden, I have married an independent and willful woman, who has needs and desires of her own. How will my unrealistic view of marriage affect me in days to come, how will it tear apart my soul should I not bring it under my control? How will the myths of the past affect my future?
I am too much of a dreamer to love the simple life that I live. I long for ancient days of fell deeds and valiant action, days when brave knights fought for the hands of fair maidens. I am willing to confess to a certain strain of romanticism that hearkens for a time of beauty and courage and honor, a time I know never existed. The stories that have fallen through the cracks of time to carry with them the promise of such ancient yesterdays illuminate my mind like the flames of Mt. Vesuvius. I am drawn into a narrative that shines light onto my existence and that demands from me a specific life, one where failure is no option and death must be sought before a loss of honor.
The tales of this past world, this other land, so foreign from our own, have shaped much of my view of the world. I find myself dreaming of being a knight in shining armour, riding a swift white stallion into the heart of danger and darkness to rescue a fair maiden, a beautiful princess who stands in fear of her life. I know, from some of my female friends, that they continue to dream that one day their knight will appear, drawing them into a beautiful world of justice and peace. I know these dreams for they are the inverse of my own...yet I know a danger in them too.
Some day, if the Lord wills it, I will get married, and it may be that some beautiful woman will stand at the front of a church and picture armour covering my tuxedo. It may be that I will look on her as a fair maiden, beautiful and graceful, and fully holding of all the virtues to be found in womankind. But then, imagine her horror when, a few short months later, she discovers that far from marrying a knight in shining armour, she has tied herself to a foolish boy, dressed in aluminum foil and riding a stick horse, for such she will surely find. And regardless of how wildly I wave my wooden sword in the air, or how firmly my shrill voice pipes defiance at the evils of the world, I know that I am unlikely to ever kill a dragon. And imagine my anger when I discover that far from a perfect and gentle maiden, I have married an independent and willful woman, who has needs and desires of her own. How will my unrealistic view of marriage affect me in days to come, how will it tear apart my soul should I not bring it under my control? How will the myths of the past affect my future?
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Human Nature
I walk with weary feet
and constant dread
along the paths of the living
dead.
Who of body and soul
Show no real care
But live for the moment in
despaire.
And having the promise
Of all knowledge
Have eaten of the cursed
tree
And eating have been damned
To always know
But never, never
understand.
and constant dread
along the paths of the living
dead.
Who of body and soul
Show no real care
But live for the moment in
despaire.
And having the promise
Of all knowledge
Have eaten of the cursed
tree
And eating have been damned
To always know
But never, never
understand.
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