There's a stump in my front yard that's sending out leafy, green shoots.

After this pruning, I shall be fruitful.
After this burning, I shall be pure.

Resurrection is preceded by death, as its prerequisite. There is no other way.

Joy is on the other side of sorrow.
Rest is on the other side of labor.
Peace is on the other side of war.
Healing is on the other side of injury.

The only way out is through.
The longest way round is the shortest way home.

Life is on the other side of death.
Hope will light the way.

Let's lay down our petty luxuries,
Close our eyes to the shining foil with which we've gilded our makeshift wealth
(mudpies and cowpats disguised in gold candy wrappers);
Let's get dirty and muddy,
Let's ruin our clothes and reduce them to rags,
Let's make our hands hard and our eyes dim,
Let's dig for real, lasting riches
In the mud and the mire
(Wealth is on the other side of poverty
Plenty is on the other side of want).
And even if we don't find any
(But we will find all we need)
We haven't really lost anything.

What good is a grape hanging ripe on the vine?
Why not be crushed to make wine?

(Mending is on the other side of brokenness.)

Everything will be ruined.
Everything will be alright.

Life is on the other side of death.
Hope will light the way.

On the Dark Pleasures of Sleeping In

This tension between glory and apathy;
between the good fight and a good night's sleep;
between a maybe-wife-and-kids and my much-loved sittin'-around time;

and this question of what all the fighting is worth if it won't end while I live--

It pulls me apart at the seams.

All human action is ultimately self-motivated
(even the most selfless altruist in some sense wants to be altruistic),
and so often, I just run completely

out.

of.

fuel.

(My head is in the sand. I keep a white flag on my person at all times. I don't care. I'm not involved. I don't need it. I give up. Just leave me alone.)

(It doesn't matter to me if I don't win; just so long as I don't lose.)

"Keep your head low and your mouth shut" has always been my motto, but it's not really real life.

But what's so great about real life?

What do you get out of it?

And no use saying "It's not about that"--everybody's out for something. All human action is ultimately self-motivated; there's no other way.

But through the mud and muck and mire
(Like a treasure buried in the silt
Like the sun reflected off the windshield of a car)
Truth and beauty and goodness shine a light I can't ignore
(or not for long, anyway)
And on good days, I want to be out for that.

On good days, glory overcomes apathy.
On good days, the good fight is better than a long nap.
On good days, just sittin' around gets boring
(and anyway a wife would be so soft and smell so nice!)

But even on good days, it's still a fight just to not feel like I could go either way.

Lord Jesus, have mercy on me.

A Psalm

Let my cluttered, muddled mind praise YHWH!
Let my nearly constant confusion praise YHWH!
Let my useless daydreaming praise YHWH!
Let my social anxiety praise YHWH!
Let my inability to make conversation praise YHWH!
Let my crippling sense of futility praise YHWH!
Let my ruined childhood praise YHWH!
Let my neglectful father praise YHWH!
Let my haunting fear of imitating him praise YHWH!
Let my fear of rejection praise YHWH!
Let my fear of women praise YHWH!
Let my burning lust praise YHWH!
Let my idolatrous pantheon of pretty girls praise YHWH!
Let my shitty job praise YHWH!
Let my complete inability to wisely manage my time praise YHWH!
Let my broken family praise YHWH!
Let my misanthropy praise YHWH!
Let my total lack of ambition praise YHWH!
Let my chronic despair praise YHWH!
Let my frequent sense of meaninglessness praise YHWH!

Let all my many and various inadequacies praise YHWH!

Rejoice!
Rejoice!
Rejoice!

The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble bind on strength!

The full have hired themselves out for food, but those who were hungry are filled!

There is hope for a tree cut down, that it will sprout again, and its shoots will not cease!

Let everything that has breath praise YHWH!

Praise YHWH!

(Psalms 148, 149, 150; 1 Samuel 2; Job 14: 7-9; 2 Corinthians 12:7-10)

On Patriotism and Hero Worship (or, if you prefer, 'Inflammatory')

I have a very strange habit: Whenever I find something cheesy or overwrought or vapid or brainless, I kind of zone out and start testing the idea behind it in my mind. For example: Terrible, theologically bankrupt worship songs usually get me to thinking really seriously about theology. A more concise way of putting it might be to say that if something aims for my heart and misses, it frequently hits my head.

So a few nights ago, I found myself at the Stone Mountain laser show. It was gloriously Southern: I was surrounded by rednecks in camping chairs and on blankets, and vendors carrying overpriced glowsticks and light-up plastic swords; and a very 'Merican (woo!) spirit hung over the whole affair. The show itself consisted of what you would expect; lots of Georgia-themed songs, a bit about the Civil War that got all the Confederates in the crowd worked up. There was a scene depicting a couple of robots falling in love to the tune of R.E.M.'s "It's the End of the World as We Know It" that was unexpected and kind of cool; but the rest, though amusing, was pretty predictable.

Then, near the end, they played the full version of "Star-Spangled Banner" (which must have been six minutes long), set to scenes of people most Americans would probably call heroes--John F. Kennedy, George Washington, firemen, astronauts, soldiers, the NYPD, etc. And I stood up and put my hand over my heart, like everyone else, because however detached and over-rational I may be, I am an American. But I started thinking about patriotism and hero worship; and I just do not understand it.

Do not mistake me; I do not believe that there is anything wrong with admiring people who do extraordinary things, and even less with loving the place you call home. But I guess, at bottom, I don't really believe in heroes; and I will never in all my days assert that America is the greatest country in the world. In the first place, what kind of criteria do you use to determine that? I have only been to one other country, and I prefer America to that place; but translating that into America being superior would just be stupid. And as for hero worship: why? Do people not know that all of those men are dead and buried, or will be soon? And even if their lives were given for something we call 'noble', for peace or freedom or justice; even if their lives have made our lives better--we all are going to die, as well; and so will our children, and so will theirs. We are like the flower of the field, that blooms today, and tomorrow is gone, and its place does not remember it; or again, like the dew that vanishes before midday; or again, we are like the wind that passes, and comes not again. "All is vanity", said the Preacher; and he spoke the truth.

So with these thoughts flying back and forth over my mental landscape, I thought (lest I should fall again into that old black despair I used to love so much): To what should these energies be devoted? Nations and their heroes are not sufficient objects for the worship a man, even if they do frequently steal it. A man's country can be, and frequently is, positively evil; and as for heroes -- from dust they came, and to dust they have or someday will return.

Jesus, the Christ, is the only hero who has conquered death, and whose accomplishments and victories will benefit us long after we have withered away, and our place as forgotten us. He did not come from the dust, and He has not gone back there. His kingdom is the only nation that does no evil, and is always, in every way, admirable and worthy of a man's allegiance.

Christ's life was not a campaign. He did not rally for a revolution in a temporary government. He did not seize a seat of power and pass just laws that would pass away as soon as a stronger army than His decided they wanted His land. Rather, He came to write a new law on our hearts that will never pass away, even if every army in the world comes against it. His revolution was a revolution in our hearts and minds; and His cause was our salvation, not our temporary peace and prosperity. When He died, He did not "go the way of all the earth" -- He took sin on his sinless self, condemning it by dying; and rising in victory, He cancelled the debt we had incurred by sin, buying for His followers an eternal freedom, and not a temporary one.

As for His nation, it is not a geographical territory with fixed boundaries -- it is a kingdom in the hearts and minds of men that spans the globe. It is an empire of liberation, not conquering countries for resources, but men and women for their freedom. The Crusaders marched under the banner of the cross, but they were advancing the kingdom of the Pope, not of the Christ he claimed to serve. And the kingdom of Christ is unshakable: though all the armies in the world should fight against it, it cannot fall. It is a kingdom built on love and not strength; on freedom and not slavery.

May our eternal God and Father rescue us, lest ever we should worship or pledge our allegiance to anything less.

Send down roots and send out branches.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe I'm secretly a weird hippie.

Case in point: Lately, I have really admired trees. Not just that I think they're pretty and enjoy looking at them (though they are pretty, and I do enjoy looking at them); but I have wanted to be like a tree.

At this point, you've probably already made up your mind either that that's a great idea and we should all admire trees, or that I'm a weirdo and I should not be trusted. But I'm going to try to explain why I look up to trees in a figurative and not just a literal sense.

First, I admire their stability; I appreciate that they don't move. A tree stays right where it's planted. The trees outside my grandparents' house have been there since before I was born; and if there's no really horrific storm, and if no one decides to build anything, they will be there after I die. People are always getting up and running around; it seems like the place where we are is never quite good enough for us. But not so with trees. They just stand, silent and patient, where the Maker put them; they soak up the sun and the rain and they weather the wind and the storms, and they grow right where they are. I want to be like a tree. I want to be content where I am. Sun or rain, storm or calm, I want to grow where I've been put.

I admire trees because they have roots. Think about a big, old oak tree, with roots spread out for yards around it. It has roots deep underground; and no one can see them, but they're there. They hold it in place. When storms come and the wind blows, the oak still stands, because its roots hold it up. And no one sees them. It sends its roots down deep to nourishment, down and down to dirt and water, and it draws strength from them, and it grows. And it's not showy. No one sees. But it happens. I want to be like a tree. I want to send down roots to where there's good water, to where there's healthy earth. I want to send down roots so that when storms come, I don't get blown over or swept away.

I admire trees because they have branches. They have all that strength in their roots, but it's not enough--if they don't have leaves and branches, they'll die. So they stretch out their hands to catch the sun and draw nourishment and strength from it, too; and this they do in the open for everyone to see. If they were proud of their roots, and ashamed of their need for the sun, they would die; but they humbly reach up to the sky for their life. And in stretching out their branches, they make homes in their arms for birds and squirrels and bugs and all kinds of life, and give shade to everyone who passes under them. They reach out to get life, and they end up giving life, too. I want to be like a tree. I want to send down roots and send out branches. I want to reach out humbly and unashamedly for what I need. I want to be safety like home and gentleness like shade.

I admire trees that grow fruit. They do all the things I've already talked about, and they take their life, and they put it into something that's good, and wholesome, and pleasing to taste; and in doing it, they spread the life that they've drawn, both through their wholesome fruit and from the seeds in it that, hopefully, become more trees. I want to be like a tree. I want to spread goodness. I want to share life.

At bottom, I admire trees because I see in them many of the ways in which I should relate to Jesus. I want to stand still and be content and grow where He puts me; I want to send my roots down deep into His truth and His strength, and draw strength from Him; I want to send branches up in worship and adoration, and send branches out to do His work; I want to grow fruit to nourish and share life with others, and plant seeds to grow more trees for Him. I want and need all of these things.

"Blessed is the man
who walks not in the counsel of the wicked,
nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers;
but his delight is in the law of YHWH,
and on his law he meditates day and night.
He is like a tree planted by streams of water
that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither.
In all that he does, he prospers."
Psalm 1:1-3

Yes, please.

And that's why I admire trees.

A Prayer, after a Day in the Sun

O Father, make me as humble as the ground that uncomplaining supports my feet;
Make me as forgiving as the grass that does not curse me as it springs back up from my heavy, clumsy steps;
And Lord, give me the resilience to spring up when I am tread upon.
Make me as kind and gentle as the refreshing breeze that rushes past,
And as free as when it runs away to where you send it, with neither tearful goodbyes nor anxious, stubborn see-you-laters.
(Let me cling, my God, only to unchanging You, who give and take away and are always just and generous.)
Make me as lovely and lively and, at times, severe as the sun, that burns and blesses; let my brightness not be harsh to the lowly, and let it not be lenient to the proud.
Jesus, make me as open and honest as the sky
--It wears proudly the beauty You give it by day; and humbly and without shame it disappears to show Your stars by night.
O great God, I am amazed by your creation
--The sun and sky and trees and wind and grass and ground and bugs all telling Your story; all singing, in the voices You have given them, Your praise.
O merciful Lord, grant that I might join in their chorus.
Amen.

An Observation on Moses

(If you want to really follow along here, read Exodus, chapters 2-4)

I've just started reading in Exodus, and I've noticed something about Moses that I've never noticed before. Perhaps you'll find it interesting.

Moses comes to us as a man of action. The first time we see him (after he's grown up, that is), he catches an Egyptian slave-driver abusing a fellow Hebrew, and murders him. He doesn't ignore it and keep passing, or even stand by and watch--he gets involved. A little later, he comes upon two Hebrews fighting, and demands of the one in the wrong why he is striking his brother. Once again, he is not passive--he gets involved. After he flees to Midian, he finds the priest's daughters in trouble; they need to water their flocks, but the local shepherds are trying to drive them away. Once again, Moses puts his neck out--he saves the girls from the shepherds, and waters their flocks for them.

So that's three instances, in pretty rapid succession, that kind of show us the sort of man that Moses is. He's not the kind of guy to just sit back and watch things happen; he's bold, and he stands up for what he believes is right.

But a strange thing happens when God begins to speak to him from the burning bush. Suddenly all the fight seems to have gone out of him. God tells Moses to stand up to Pharaoh for the people of Israel; He equips Moses with everything he needs--He sends Moses in His name, and gives him the ability to perform miracles, and promises to give Moses the words to say to Pharaoh; but suddenly Moses goes limp. He doesn't want to get involved. He keeps looking for excuses. He wants God to send someone else.

What's happened here? Why is Moses suddenly so afraid? Earlier on, he killed a man, on his own volition, because he was abusing just one of his Hebrew brothers; but now he's not even willing to go and just talk to Pharaoh, with the authority of YHWH, to set all of Israel free.

Maybe he's just grown complacent over the years. Maybe he's gotten comfortable; he's got his wife, his kids, his job . . . it's not glamourous, but it's familiar. Stable. When we think about it that way, it kind of starts to make sense, doesn't it? It's so tempting to turn a deaf ear to God's call when that call leads us into unknown territory.

Moses actually doesn't give us a fantastic example in this case. He finally agrees to go, but only after God promises to give him his brother Aaron for a mouthpiece. While Moses is still on the way to meet him, God actually comes out to where Moses is lodging with the intention to kill him, because Moses has dishonored God's covenant with Israel, by neglecting to circumcise his sons (more evidence, maybe, that Moses has forgotten where he came from?).

There are plenty of lessons to learn here, but I'll leave that to the reader and the Holy Spirit. I've just been mulling over these things for a couple of days, and thought it might be of interest to others.

May the God of peace be with you.