To the few who might come by and care, I've moved over to wordpress. The addy is my (shortened) first name smooshed up against my last name dot wordpress dot com. That blog is going to be more directed than this one was (so I hope) and I'll probably be looking for contributions as I go along. After looking around there, let me know if there's anything you might be willing to offer the readers I may garner there...
Cheers!
14 June 2007
13 April 2007
Prospects
At this point I've decided to take a year after graduation from seminary to research and write some of my own stuff. I think the pace of seminary has exhausted me and I'm finding myself needing some space to move in. While seminary has been great in many respects, there are some ways in which it doesn't seem to make the study of theology an enjoyable endeavor. Unfortunately, for this reason I feel like I've lost some of the motivation and excitement about scholarship. I don't think it's because I find theology boring now or anything, but because there isn't a community here that engages theology at the points where I'm most interested in theology. The conversations happening at the seminary are more about protecting traditional reformed doctrine rather than engaging the contemporary theological landscape. Also, the readings assigned in class seem to be meant to establish a rootedness in our particular tradition, but don't encourage us to dialogue with theologians outside our tradition. I realize it's difficult to do both well at the same time, and the nature of a conservative seminary causes it to default to the former, but my own attempts to do both well have tired me. All that among various and other sundry things--so it sounds thrilling to do some writing jobs (which I have lined up) and to take the time to read beyond the horizons of the reformed tradition in the next year so I can set out a good proposal for research at the doctoral level.
Today was the first day in about three months that I felt like contacting more professors and potential supervisors about the areas of research that I'm interested in. It was actually relaxing to put some of my ideas out there. Previously, it's been stressful and I've felt like I've had to overstate myself so I 'stand out.' But if I--as me--don't stand out, then okay. But if I do, then that's what I want to get in on. Not on some false pretenses that I put forward. I've been challenged a lot lately to be increasingly comfortable in my own skin. Today I felt some of the benefits of that.
Today was the first day in about three months that I felt like contacting more professors and potential supervisors about the areas of research that I'm interested in. It was actually relaxing to put some of my ideas out there. Previously, it's been stressful and I've felt like I've had to overstate myself so I 'stand out.' But if I--as me--don't stand out, then okay. But if I do, then that's what I want to get in on. Not on some false pretenses that I put forward. I've been challenged a lot lately to be increasingly comfortable in my own skin. Today I felt some of the benefits of that.
02 March 2007
Soundtrack Appreciation
I've always enjoyed making my studies more dramatic through the use of instrumental soundtracks from various action movies. They tend to create an arc that keeps me focused and provides natural study breaks--often timed well to my reading selections as well, surprisingly enough. Theology usually feels dramatic to me, but when it has Hans Zimmer movement behind it, there's a different aura altogether in following a line of reasoning.
But as Steve and I work late into the night on a soundtrack for a 3 minute short, I have a newfound appreciation for original scores. The complexity and movement that makes movie music good almost feels unnatural -- things shouldn't move that fast, it can't build too quickly, there's not enough tension for this scene, etc. Creating music for something other than the music is no easy task. Rather, the music here plays an illustrative role; it has to enhance and support what's happening on screen but not distract from it. Assembling music that fits the mood is difficult because fittingly representing the some aspect of the complexity of humanity in the space of 3 minutes--or 120 for that matter--is just hard.
Previous to working on the soundtrack this evening, I was completing an ethical position paper for a class I took this January. I found myself very wary of how I was wording things and cautiously choosing my terms. I could tell that, on this particular topic, it seems that the words Christians use ought to be more like the soundtrack to our ethos and pathos. Our speech has to be fitting and supportive--even enhance at times--but can never distract from the life being lived. In reality, it seems that we try to make up for the lack of good action on screen by pumping out high energy or overly emotive descriptions of how things are; we make our speech primary when it should play a supporting role. This is odd in the same way that dropping the Gladiator soundtrack under the first Lord of the Rings would be odd. It's not entirely inappropriate, it's just a bit heavy-handed for the kind of epic movie that Lord of the Rings is. And it's not designed for that. Rather, our words must be tailored to our lives, representative of our lives and bringing new light and nuance to our own complexities.
But as Steve and I work late into the night on a soundtrack for a 3 minute short, I have a newfound appreciation for original scores. The complexity and movement that makes movie music good almost feels unnatural -- things shouldn't move that fast, it can't build too quickly, there's not enough tension for this scene, etc. Creating music for something other than the music is no easy task. Rather, the music here plays an illustrative role; it has to enhance and support what's happening on screen but not distract from it. Assembling music that fits the mood is difficult because fittingly representing the some aspect of the complexity of humanity in the space of 3 minutes--or 120 for that matter--is just hard.
Previous to working on the soundtrack this evening, I was completing an ethical position paper for a class I took this January. I found myself very wary of how I was wording things and cautiously choosing my terms. I could tell that, on this particular topic, it seems that the words Christians use ought to be more like the soundtrack to our ethos and pathos. Our speech has to be fitting and supportive--even enhance at times--but can never distract from the life being lived. In reality, it seems that we try to make up for the lack of good action on screen by pumping out high energy or overly emotive descriptions of how things are; we make our speech primary when it should play a supporting role. This is odd in the same way that dropping the Gladiator soundtrack under the first Lord of the Rings would be odd. It's not entirely inappropriate, it's just a bit heavy-handed for the kind of epic movie that Lord of the Rings is. And it's not designed for that. Rather, our words must be tailored to our lives, representative of our lives and bringing new light and nuance to our own complexities.
19 February 2007
Can I Think for Myself?
It's getting late and I'm trying to process some of what I'm readnig in Richard Niebuhr's book Christ & Culture. If nothing else, I find myself torn as I approach this book. It's sort of paradigmatic in how I feel about a lot theological issues--I really respect people who land all over the spectrum of opinions regarding how Niebuhr works out his ideas and it's hard for me to hear my own voice in my head because I hear so many others. I certainly want my thoughts and opinions to be impacted by my teachers, pastors, leaders, friends, theologians, various authors and just those who see things differently than I do, but sometimes I get lost in the faux dialogue that they all have with each other in my head. There's a sense in which I can't find my own thoughts in the drone of theirs. It usually takes me stepping away from the book/lecture/article/program to get the space to hear my own thoughts on it, though. Not that my own thoughts aren't influenced by theirs, but more that there's still a mediating factor in how I think sometimes. I haven't fully reckoned with their positions such that I can integrate their insights into a position of my own. Something that seems to come out here is my fear of being wrong or having an overly-simplistic view of something. I tend to want to nuance my understanding of things so that I can fully see and present all sides involved in the discussion. This desire sometimes conflicts with another desire of mine: to come to a conclusion. And this makes me tense up while I'm reading and gives me a headache--like right now. While I say claim to love the process of doing theology and the perpetual conversation it involves, I think I'm still very much learning how to let my philosophy and theology be in a state of development and growth, to be in progress so that conclusions can be fluid and subject to change. This, along with trusting that God guides me in the process helps me relax while I read, and enjoy rather than dread evaluating ideas.
Well, on with it now.
Well, on with it now.
Penumbra
Penumbra. In short, this is the fuzzy edge of light around stars. It’s the shining of the stars, but it’s come to mean anything that had indistinct edges due to a spilling out of light. It’s light that lets our vision be clear. We see best when light shows us distinction, line, curve, shape, depth, movement. Basically, we see when we can see. But all this has to do with the object and the environment—the stuff outside that we perceive. What happens when our vision is bad? Without glasses or contacts or some form of aid, everything has penumbra for me. I’ve often wanted to paint the perfectly circular blur of brightness that car headlight and tail-lights form. When I was little I liked to take my glasses off when we would drive at night—everything had a perfect shape with a distinct center out of which came sharp spokes of light that all ended abruptly in the same blurry manner at the perimeter. There were larger ones, brighter ones, red ones, green ones, yellow ones—some were affixed in front of houses, others along streets.
There was a sui penumbra to all this—my own penumbra, a penumbra that originated in me and not the things out there. It’s not that the lights themselves were indistinct the way the stars seem indistinct to us—but my eyes couldn’t (and still can’t) see the distinction, can’t see the squareness of headlights—only the perfect roundness of the light. All light was shaped the same, even if the colors were different. Whereas light usually brings better perception, in these cases—when I let myself see with my natural, unaided eyes—light precluded perception. I couldn’t tell distance or speed; movement and motion seemed imperceptible—everything was both threatening and safe at the same time and in the same way. Knowing I was in the car with some licensed adult driving made that collapsing of categories okay since there were other things that guaranteed my safety in the midst of these various sui penumbra. But if I were to drive without my glasses now, it would be a simply terrifying experience for everyone involved—it would be foolish and cause untold trauma for me. I wouldn’t know how to feel about which lights—I wouldn’t know when to feel safe or when to feel scared, when to drive straight and when to use an evasive maneuver, I wouldn’t know when I could safely pull out of my driveway and when to wait for traffic to pass. Even if I know not to pull out in front of a semi in my little red, 1990 Eagle Talon, I wouldn’t know when the opportunity was presenting itself so that I could apply that piece of wisdom.
Seeing rightly and living rightly are inter-dependent matters. I can have wisdom, and I can know how to feel when a semi is barreling down on me, and I can desire to protect myself and my passengers, but if I can’t see the world around me for what it is, I can’t apply that knowledge correctly. My thinking can be directed rightly, I can have wisdom and understanding about what to do in certain situations, I can have the skills necessary, and I can even desire the right things—but if I see with penumbra all around, then life gets very scary, frustrating, and confusing and my opportunities to exercise foolishness instead of wisdom increase manifold. In this way, I feel blind. What good is seeing at all if it doesn’t let me interact accurately with reality?
The only times this penumbra goes away—or becomes insignificant—are when I get really close to the light source or the object I want to observe. When I remove the distance factor, then I see reality—I see the body of the star and not the bursting of light all around the gaseous entity that’s emitting the light. When I let myself get close, I can accurately assess reality. It’s either risking like this or—sometimes the better option until I start to see better—ask someone who can see!
There was a sui penumbra to all this—my own penumbra, a penumbra that originated in me and not the things out there. It’s not that the lights themselves were indistinct the way the stars seem indistinct to us—but my eyes couldn’t (and still can’t) see the distinction, can’t see the squareness of headlights—only the perfect roundness of the light. All light was shaped the same, even if the colors were different. Whereas light usually brings better perception, in these cases—when I let myself see with my natural, unaided eyes—light precluded perception. I couldn’t tell distance or speed; movement and motion seemed imperceptible—everything was both threatening and safe at the same time and in the same way. Knowing I was in the car with some licensed adult driving made that collapsing of categories okay since there were other things that guaranteed my safety in the midst of these various sui penumbra. But if I were to drive without my glasses now, it would be a simply terrifying experience for everyone involved—it would be foolish and cause untold trauma for me. I wouldn’t know how to feel about which lights—I wouldn’t know when to feel safe or when to feel scared, when to drive straight and when to use an evasive maneuver, I wouldn’t know when I could safely pull out of my driveway and when to wait for traffic to pass. Even if I know not to pull out in front of a semi in my little red, 1990 Eagle Talon, I wouldn’t know when the opportunity was presenting itself so that I could apply that piece of wisdom.
Seeing rightly and living rightly are inter-dependent matters. I can have wisdom, and I can know how to feel when a semi is barreling down on me, and I can desire to protect myself and my passengers, but if I can’t see the world around me for what it is, I can’t apply that knowledge correctly. My thinking can be directed rightly, I can have wisdom and understanding about what to do in certain situations, I can have the skills necessary, and I can even desire the right things—but if I see with penumbra all around, then life gets very scary, frustrating, and confusing and my opportunities to exercise foolishness instead of wisdom increase manifold. In this way, I feel blind. What good is seeing at all if it doesn’t let me interact accurately with reality?
The only times this penumbra goes away—or becomes insignificant—are when I get really close to the light source or the object I want to observe. When I remove the distance factor, then I see reality—I see the body of the star and not the bursting of light all around the gaseous entity that’s emitting the light. When I let myself get close, I can accurately assess reality. It’s either risking like this or—sometimes the better option until I start to see better—ask someone who can see!
11 February 2007
A short not so meditative post on Christmas decor
Having just taken down our Christmas decorations, I think I'm feeling like spring can officially start. In Florida, it feels like winter just started in mid-January. It didn't get cold until then, save for the bit of a cold front that came through on Christmas day sparking some tornadoes. Now it's cold, but it feels like we should be moving on. It was in the eighties for the entire time we had our Christmas decorations up.
02 January 2007
A Sudden Return and a Barth Quote
I've been gone for a long time. Mostly because I can't get my thoughts organized enough to want to post them. We've just had some good friends come through town, though--Liz and Micah Hoover--and I'm feeling somewhat inspired to post briefly.
Most of what I think about these days comes directly from what I'm reading. Today I'm reading Karl Barth's Church Dogmatics vol. 4 on reconciliation. Barth brilliantly flirts with orthodoxy and lands himself within the bounds of the Reformed tradition in most instances. If we remember the context and time in which he was writing, I think we can appreciate his theological acumen for what it is. In the midst of the section I'm in, he says something that caused me to stop. It's something we say a lot in the Reformed tradition--our actions, attitudes, emotions, etc. towards God are to come out of gratitude, not guilt or some sense of inducing his favor towards us. But here's how Barth says it:
"The thing which we maintain when we describe the covenant as the covenant of grace is that the covenant engages man as the partner of God only, but actually and necessarily, to gratitude. On the side of God it is only a matter of free grace and this in the form of benefit. For the other partner in the covenant to whom God turns in this grace, the only proper thing, but the thing which is unconditionally and inescapably demanded, is that he should be thankful. How can anything more or different be asked of man? The only answer to karis (grace) is eukaristia (thankfulness). But how can it be doubted for a moment that this is in fact asked of him? Karis always demands the answer of eukaristia. Grace and gratitude belong together like heaven and earth. Grace evokes gratitude like the voice an echo. Gratitude follows grace like thunder lightning. Not by virtue of any necessity of the concepts as such. But we are speaking of the grace of the God who is God for man, and of the gratitude of man as his response to this grace. Here, at any rate, the two belong together, so that only gratitude can correspond to grace, and this correspondence cannot fail. Its failure, ingratitude, is sin, trangession. Radically and basically all sin is simply ingratitude--man's refusal of the one but necessary thing which is proper to and is required of him with whom God has graciously entered into covenant."
Most of what I think about these days comes directly from what I'm reading. Today I'm reading Karl Barth's Church Dogmatics vol. 4 on reconciliation. Barth brilliantly flirts with orthodoxy and lands himself within the bounds of the Reformed tradition in most instances. If we remember the context and time in which he was writing, I think we can appreciate his theological acumen for what it is. In the midst of the section I'm in, he says something that caused me to stop. It's something we say a lot in the Reformed tradition--our actions, attitudes, emotions, etc. towards God are to come out of gratitude, not guilt or some sense of inducing his favor towards us. But here's how Barth says it:
"The thing which we maintain when we describe the covenant as the covenant of grace is that the covenant engages man as the partner of God only, but actually and necessarily, to gratitude. On the side of God it is only a matter of free grace and this in the form of benefit. For the other partner in the covenant to whom God turns in this grace, the only proper thing, but the thing which is unconditionally and inescapably demanded, is that he should be thankful. How can anything more or different be asked of man? The only answer to karis (grace) is eukaristia (thankfulness). But how can it be doubted for a moment that this is in fact asked of him? Karis always demands the answer of eukaristia. Grace and gratitude belong together like heaven and earth. Grace evokes gratitude like the voice an echo. Gratitude follows grace like thunder lightning. Not by virtue of any necessity of the concepts as such. But we are speaking of the grace of the God who is God for man, and of the gratitude of man as his response to this grace. Here, at any rate, the two belong together, so that only gratitude can correspond to grace, and this correspondence cannot fail. Its failure, ingratitude, is sin, trangession. Radically and basically all sin is simply ingratitude--man's refusal of the one but necessary thing which is proper to and is required of him with whom God has graciously entered into covenant."
06 October 2006
A Prayer to Christ
A poem by Gregory of Nazianzus
(trans. Brian E. Daley, SJ)
Where's the injustice? I was born human--well and good!
But why am I so battered by life's tidal waves?
I'll speak my mind--harshly perhaps, yet still I'll speak:
Were I not yours, my Christ, this life would be a crime!
We're born, we age, we reach the measure of our days;
I sleep, I rest, I wake again, I go my way
With health and sickness, joys and struggles as my fare,
Sharing the seasons of the sun, the fruits of the earth,
And death, and then corruption--just like any beast,
Whose life, though lowly, still is innocent of sin!
What more do I have? Nothing more, except for God!
Were I not yours, my Christ, this life would be a crime!
(trans. Brian E. Daley, SJ)
Where's the injustice? I was born human--well and good!
But why am I so battered by life's tidal waves?
I'll speak my mind--harshly perhaps, yet still I'll speak:
Were I not yours, my Christ, this life would be a crime!
We're born, we age, we reach the measure of our days;
I sleep, I rest, I wake again, I go my way
With health and sickness, joys and struggles as my fare,
Sharing the seasons of the sun, the fruits of the earth,
And death, and then corruption--just like any beast,
Whose life, though lowly, still is innocent of sin!
What more do I have? Nothing more, except for God!
Were I not yours, my Christ, this life would be a crime!
23 September 2006
Think DC Talk
then think Nu Thang. and then think Free at Last.
then focus your thoughts on Sir Mix-a-Lot.
and click on this link
Click!
then focus your thoughts on Sir Mix-a-Lot.
and click on this link
11 September 2006
Food & Life Arizona, the Magazine
We have a subscription. Who knew?
Steve and I have returned to Florida now after a long foray around the Eastern half of the United States. It's hard to measure the distance we've traveled because we repeated a few drives too many times for my eyes to care to stay open.
Perhaps sometime we'll make it to Arizona together. Enjoy some food. I found out we have a subscription because Steve has a friend who is an editor for them. The pressing question in this issue: What do Arizonans do to cool off in September? Among the viable solutions for someone who has a subscription to this magazine in Florida is a simple Watermelon Champagne Sangria recipe--the others include restaurants that are too much of a drive away for now. If you too would like to cool off like an Arizonan in September then gather for yourself 2 cups of chopped seedless watermelon, a peeled and sectioned orange, two peeled and sliced bananas, a cup of halved seedless grapes, and--of course--some champange. You'll toss the fruit altogether so it gets to know each other, then you'll divorce the fruit compilation into six champagne glasses and pour some nice dry champagne into each one.
If you were wondering, this recipe was provided by the National Watermelon Promotion Board because, well, people need to buy more watermelon so help out your local watermelon farmer and get yourself all the necessities for a cool September evening in Arizona...or wherever really. If you were an Arizonan in September, what would you do to cool off?
Steve and I have returned to Florida now after a long foray around the Eastern half of the United States. It's hard to measure the distance we've traveled because we repeated a few drives too many times for my eyes to care to stay open.
Perhaps sometime we'll make it to Arizona together. Enjoy some food. I found out we have a subscription because Steve has a friend who is an editor for them. The pressing question in this issue: What do Arizonans do to cool off in September? Among the viable solutions for someone who has a subscription to this magazine in Florida is a simple Watermelon Champagne Sangria recipe--the others include restaurants that are too much of a drive away for now. If you too would like to cool off like an Arizonan in September then gather for yourself 2 cups of chopped seedless watermelon, a peeled and sectioned orange, two peeled and sliced bananas, a cup of halved seedless grapes, and--of course--some champange. You'll toss the fruit altogether so it gets to know each other, then you'll divorce the fruit compilation into six champagne glasses and pour some nice dry champagne into each one.
If you were wondering, this recipe was provided by the National Watermelon Promotion Board because, well, people need to buy more watermelon so help out your local watermelon farmer and get yourself all the necessities for a cool September evening in Arizona...or wherever really. If you were an Arizonan in September, what would you do to cool off?
07 August 2006
Two and Counting
So far, we have averted two late night Taco Bell runs. A simple $30 investment did the trick and it shall pay dividends for years to come. Though we toiled through many mornings and evenings of back-breaking pancake flipping, scrambled egg shoving, and bacon fat pooling, we have found just what we were looking for. With their Family Size griddle with removable grease tray and bacon-warmer tray, Black and Decker has saved us from the chiropractor. We made a "breakfast for dinner" meal for Steve's parents while they were here--14 pancakes, 8 eggs, 10 strips of bacon. Besides the griddle's warm-up time, it all took less than 20 minutes. How satisfying.
31 July 2006
Psalm 139: Pt. 7, Concluding Reflections
David began with an acute awareness of the Lord’s knowledge of him, knowing that God searches him and knows him. But that isn’t useful unless the psalmist knows what God sees.
Thinking about this, I remembered the first time I saw The Truman Show. There’s this guy who lives in this completely falsely constructed world for the purpose of being entertainment to millions of viewers who watch, scrutinize, and discuss every aspect of his daily life—and I thought to myself, how humbling and helpful would it be for Truman to hear what all those people thought of him, saw in him and about him that he was blind to; it would be an almost inexhaustible resource for personal betterment and growth, in areas he never knew he needed it. He just lived honestly and ignorantly in front of millions of people who could’ve given some very constructive criticism. Well, all of us have an audience who sees and closely observes all of our most unaware living. He knows us perfectly, and while God’s providence is at work in all our lives, there’s something qualitatively different about knowing that we’re known by God and asking him to show us what he sees. This invitation makes us severely vulnerable and requires a submission that none of us are accustomed to, but will invariably (when we listen) result in following God to his heavenly palace where we will dwell with him. This is not an intimacy to be taken lightly, or considered nonchalantly. While we cannot escape from God, his presence is most significant and meaningful when we acknowledge it and choose also to be present with him. The most frightful truth in the world is that God knows us—that the darkness can’t hide us, that God saw our unformed body in the secret place. While these truths are absolutely terrifying, they’re also more wonderful and dignifying than any other truth I could realize in my life—better than a stellar Curriculum vitae, more impressive than many well-invested funds, more impactful than a global ministry I founded. And it’s the truth and acknowledgment of God’s knowledge of me, presence with me, and care for me that is foundational to my willingness to listen to his law, walk in his ways, think his thoughts, be comforted by his presence, and to follow him in the way everlasting.
Thinking about this, I remembered the first time I saw The Truman Show. There’s this guy who lives in this completely falsely constructed world for the purpose of being entertainment to millions of viewers who watch, scrutinize, and discuss every aspect of his daily life—and I thought to myself, how humbling and helpful would it be for Truman to hear what all those people thought of him, saw in him and about him that he was blind to; it would be an almost inexhaustible resource for personal betterment and growth, in areas he never knew he needed it. He just lived honestly and ignorantly in front of millions of people who could’ve given some very constructive criticism. Well, all of us have an audience who sees and closely observes all of our most unaware living. He knows us perfectly, and while God’s providence is at work in all our lives, there’s something qualitatively different about knowing that we’re known by God and asking him to show us what he sees. This invitation makes us severely vulnerable and requires a submission that none of us are accustomed to, but will invariably (when we listen) result in following God to his heavenly palace where we will dwell with him. This is not an intimacy to be taken lightly, or considered nonchalantly. While we cannot escape from God, his presence is most significant and meaningful when we acknowledge it and choose also to be present with him. The most frightful truth in the world is that God knows us—that the darkness can’t hide us, that God saw our unformed body in the secret place. While these truths are absolutely terrifying, they’re also more wonderful and dignifying than any other truth I could realize in my life—better than a stellar Curriculum vitae, more impressive than many well-invested funds, more impactful than a global ministry I founded. And it’s the truth and acknowledgment of God’s knowledge of me, presence with me, and care for me that is foundational to my willingness to listen to his law, walk in his ways, think his thoughts, be comforted by his presence, and to follow him in the way everlasting.
30 July 2006
Psalm 139: Pt. 6, vss. 23-24
Search me, O God, and know my anxious heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.
See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.
The crux of the Psalm comes in verses 23-24 as the psalmist invites God to know his anxious thoughts because he knows he can’t get away from God. He invites God to test him, because he is not a good test for himself. If he is to hate properly those who hate God then he must first be searched by the Lord, intimacy between him and the Lord must grow. I think here again of Jonah who made the mistake of not aligning his thoughts with God’s. When the Lord relents of his anger against Ninevah, Jonah gets angry and still desires the hellfire and brimstone God originally threatened. Whereas Jonah should have invited God’s examination of his heart, the Lord asks Jonah in 4:4, ‘Is it right for you to be angry?’ and Jonah simply walks away and takes a seat somewhere to stew. Consequently, the psalmist must be certain that he’s on the right side with his intense anger, so he invites his judge to examine him closely—and as he examines him, to lead him in the way everlasting so that, as he aligns himself with God and seeks to think God's thoughts after him, he would truly perceive the heart and character of God. Only the confidence that comes from knowing that God knows us and lets us know him can quiet the type of anxious thought that David has wrestled through in this psalm.
test me and know my anxious thoughts.
See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.
The crux of the Psalm comes in verses 23-24 as the psalmist invites God to know his anxious thoughts because he knows he can’t get away from God. He invites God to test him, because he is not a good test for himself. If he is to hate properly those who hate God then he must first be searched by the Lord, intimacy between him and the Lord must grow. I think here again of Jonah who made the mistake of not aligning his thoughts with God’s. When the Lord relents of his anger against Ninevah, Jonah gets angry and still desires the hellfire and brimstone God originally threatened. Whereas Jonah should have invited God’s examination of his heart, the Lord asks Jonah in 4:4, ‘Is it right for you to be angry?’ and Jonah simply walks away and takes a seat somewhere to stew. Consequently, the psalmist must be certain that he’s on the right side with his intense anger, so he invites his judge to examine him closely—and as he examines him, to lead him in the way everlasting so that, as he aligns himself with God and seeks to think God's thoughts after him, he would truly perceive the heart and character of God. Only the confidence that comes from knowing that God knows us and lets us know him can quiet the type of anxious thought that David has wrestled through in this psalm.
29 July 2006
Psalm 139: Pt. 5, vss. 19-22
The second stanza that we're getting to now is a response to the previous reflection, with the first part (19-22) being a resolution to be like God and the second (23-24) as a request for an ever-deepening intimacy with God.
If only you would slay the wicked, O God!
Away from me, you bloodthirsty men!
They speak of you with evil intent;
your adversaries misuse your name.
Do I not hate those who hate you, O Lord,
and abhor those who rise up against you?
I have nothing by hatred for them;
I count them my enemies.
In verses 19-22 David pleads with God to rid the world of all the wicked, all those who misuse his name, who hate him and rebel against him—make this world what it was always supposed to be, David pleads to God. It’s harder to see the Lord when we know so many misuses for his name; it’s difficult to perceive his goodness when there are those who seek your blood, who want to ruin your name; it's difficult to believe God is always present with us when people can be so wicked to us. But counting God’s thoughts, as David speaks of doing in verse 18, includes hating those who hate God. We only understand this by seeking to know God's heart both for the world and for himself. Israel is the new humanity he's gathering in the Old Testament, the community of people who are called to image and represent him in spite of their sinfulness. Being like God includes owning God's enemies as one's own enemies, viewing the world through the lens of God's own righteousness. This frees the people of God to express their moral indignation, to feel justified in their anger when the things in this world and in their lives go horridly wrong. It's hard to know exactly what had happened to David that he so implores God to crush his enemies here, but it seems that the desperation that we hear and sense in the rest of the psalm is rooted in the way these bloodthirsty men sought after David; he needed the truth of God's intimacy with him in all ways and at all times and in all places. Being confident in this truth elicits a particular response: God-likeness.
We are likewise called to think God’s thoughts after him. On this side of the cross, this still includes moral indignation for deeds done in violation of God’s good name and character; but God’s thoughts towards the wicked look different now in light of Christ’s work on the cross and subsequent resurrection. As the new humanity that God is gathering under the new covenant in Christ, we are now the community of people called to image and represent him in spite of our own sinfulness. We still own God's enemies as our enemies, but God interacts with his enemies differently now. While David was calling on him to crush his enemies, he has crushed his Son and is being patient because he wants that none should perish. (God's patience is why we ourselves came to be a part of this thing called his Church.) Viewing the world through the lens of God's righteousness now means seeing evil for what it is but knowing what will become of it. We still call God to action when we see the bloodthirsty, when we hear words of evil intent, we rise up against those who hate the Lord--but we do it as those who were once enemies of God and now know the love displayed on the cross. We know that God's righteousness now is worked out in mercy, compassion, and patience, but when he decides to make all things new in the return of Christ his righteous wrath will be applied like never before. Through his great power in judgment and his discernment of human hearts, the whole world and everyone in it will show forth his glory and holiness continually. As his people, we participate now in glorifying him with the expectation of seeing his glory fully revealed. We pray now for the wicked and give ourselves in love to the wicked because we are called to live in this age like Christ, but we know that there will be a time when such things will be unnecessary and the pain the wicked afflict will be a thing of a very distant past. Then we will see how God will finally respond to his people's prayers of desperation and for deliverance, such as David's supplication in Psalm 139.
If only you would slay the wicked, O God!
Away from me, you bloodthirsty men!
They speak of you with evil intent;
your adversaries misuse your name.
Do I not hate those who hate you, O Lord,
and abhor those who rise up against you?
I have nothing by hatred for them;
I count them my enemies.
In verses 19-22 David pleads with God to rid the world of all the wicked, all those who misuse his name, who hate him and rebel against him—make this world what it was always supposed to be, David pleads to God. It’s harder to see the Lord when we know so many misuses for his name; it’s difficult to perceive his goodness when there are those who seek your blood, who want to ruin your name; it's difficult to believe God is always present with us when people can be so wicked to us. But counting God’s thoughts, as David speaks of doing in verse 18, includes hating those who hate God. We only understand this by seeking to know God's heart both for the world and for himself. Israel is the new humanity he's gathering in the Old Testament, the community of people who are called to image and represent him in spite of their sinfulness. Being like God includes owning God's enemies as one's own enemies, viewing the world through the lens of God's own righteousness. This frees the people of God to express their moral indignation, to feel justified in their anger when the things in this world and in their lives go horridly wrong. It's hard to know exactly what had happened to David that he so implores God to crush his enemies here, but it seems that the desperation that we hear and sense in the rest of the psalm is rooted in the way these bloodthirsty men sought after David; he needed the truth of God's intimacy with him in all ways and at all times and in all places. Being confident in this truth elicits a particular response: God-likeness.
We are likewise called to think God’s thoughts after him. On this side of the cross, this still includes moral indignation for deeds done in violation of God’s good name and character; but God’s thoughts towards the wicked look different now in light of Christ’s work on the cross and subsequent resurrection. As the new humanity that God is gathering under the new covenant in Christ, we are now the community of people called to image and represent him in spite of our own sinfulness. We still own God's enemies as our enemies, but God interacts with his enemies differently now. While David was calling on him to crush his enemies, he has crushed his Son and is being patient because he wants that none should perish. (God's patience is why we ourselves came to be a part of this thing called his Church.) Viewing the world through the lens of God's righteousness now means seeing evil for what it is but knowing what will become of it. We still call God to action when we see the bloodthirsty, when we hear words of evil intent, we rise up against those who hate the Lord--but we do it as those who were once enemies of God and now know the love displayed on the cross. We know that God's righteousness now is worked out in mercy, compassion, and patience, but when he decides to make all things new in the return of Christ his righteous wrath will be applied like never before. Through his great power in judgment and his discernment of human hearts, the whole world and everyone in it will show forth his glory and holiness continually. As his people, we participate now in glorifying him with the expectation of seeing his glory fully revealed. We pray now for the wicked and give ourselves in love to the wicked because we are called to live in this age like Christ, but we know that there will be a time when such things will be unnecessary and the pain the wicked afflict will be a thing of a very distant past. Then we will see how God will finally respond to his people's prayers of desperation and for deliverance, such as David's supplication in Psalm 139.
28 July 2006
Thomas Cranmer to Peter Marty (1555)
An excerpt from a letter Cranmer, while imprisoned, wrote to fellow reformer Peter Martyr Vermigli:
"I have not deemed it right to pass over this one thing, which I have learned by experience, namely, that God never shines forth more brightly, and pours out the beams of his mercy and consolation, or of strength and firmness of spirit, more clearly or impressively upon the minds of his people, than when they are under the most extreme pain and distress, both of mind and body, that he may then more especially shew himself to be the God of his people, when he seems to have altogether forsaken them; then raising them up when they think he is bringing them down, and laying them low; then glorifying them, when he is thought to be confounding them; then quickening them, when he is thought to be destroying them. So that we may say with Paul, 'When I am weak, then am I strong; and if I must needs glory, I will glory in my infirmities, in prisons, in revilings, in distresses, in persecutions, in sufferings for Christ.' I pray God to grant that I may endure to the end!"
Thomas Cranmer was burned at the stake in Oxford on March 21, 1556.
"I have not deemed it right to pass over this one thing, which I have learned by experience, namely, that God never shines forth more brightly, and pours out the beams of his mercy and consolation, or of strength and firmness of spirit, more clearly or impressively upon the minds of his people, than when they are under the most extreme pain and distress, both of mind and body, that he may then more especially shew himself to be the God of his people, when he seems to have altogether forsaken them; then raising them up when they think he is bringing them down, and laying them low; then glorifying them, when he is thought to be confounding them; then quickening them, when he is thought to be destroying them. So that we may say with Paul, 'When I am weak, then am I strong; and if I must needs glory, I will glory in my infirmities, in prisons, in revilings, in distresses, in persecutions, in sufferings for Christ.' I pray God to grant that I may endure to the end!"
Thomas Cranmer was burned at the stake in Oxford on March 21, 1556.
Psalm 139: Pt. 4, vss. 13-18
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand.
When I awake, I am still with you.
In verses 13-18, David hasn’t neatly intellectualized what he knows about God, but has enacted his theology in a forthright and frighteningly pragmatic way—listen to what he says in verse 14, ‘I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.’ Whereas in other psalms, David points to the birds of the air or the creatures in the sea, to God’s historic fidelity to Israel, to God’s goodness in dwelling among Israel as reasons to praise God, here David recognizes that he need go no further than his own hand and foot to have compelling reason to praise God. This connection is not incidental following on the previous 13 verses. We are given a beautiful description of the meticulous care that God took in creating David. All of those other things David could shut his eyes to, he could ignore them, he could refuse to consider them as he looked for reasons to praise God—or reasons not to praise God, as it were. When we get enough anxiety in our lives, such things aren’t readily apparent to us—the ways God’s been faithful, how he drew us to himself in the first place, the great gifts he’s given us, the amazing and generous spouse we have by our side. While we really are capable of shutting our eyes and our hearts to all these things, whenever you find yourself and wherever you find yourself, the point of commonality is you. And David couldn’t shut his eyes or ignore that.
When we think there is nothing good around us, when we are blinded by our own sin or our own bitterness or the insults of those around us, we cannot avoid our very selves— the wonder of our bodies, the sensation of being our inmost being. The sequence of thought so far is that: “God sees the psalmist at all times, even in the dark, and he sees into the depths of his being, into his conscience—and that is no surprise since God was responsible for its creation.” We are known and that is both unavoidable and praiseworthy; when we can think of no other reason to praise God, his care in creating us is more than sufficient. Indeed God took the care to write all the days ordained for David before one of them came to be—he knows David’s life backwards and forwards, and not just because he’s read ahead but because he wrote it himself. For these reasons, God’s thoughts seem wonderful to David, worth savoring and cherishing. And this is how David knows that God is with him and that he is with God.
Verses 1-18 is a song of trust (a motif of a petition psalm)—David has drawn us into his own existential sense of God’s relationship to him—knowing him, near to him, and caring for him; ultimately trustworthy and good.
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand.
When I awake, I am still with you.
In verses 13-18, David hasn’t neatly intellectualized what he knows about God, but has enacted his theology in a forthright and frighteningly pragmatic way—listen to what he says in verse 14, ‘I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.’ Whereas in other psalms, David points to the birds of the air or the creatures in the sea, to God’s historic fidelity to Israel, to God’s goodness in dwelling among Israel as reasons to praise God, here David recognizes that he need go no further than his own hand and foot to have compelling reason to praise God. This connection is not incidental following on the previous 13 verses. We are given a beautiful description of the meticulous care that God took in creating David. All of those other things David could shut his eyes to, he could ignore them, he could refuse to consider them as he looked for reasons to praise God—or reasons not to praise God, as it were. When we get enough anxiety in our lives, such things aren’t readily apparent to us—the ways God’s been faithful, how he drew us to himself in the first place, the great gifts he’s given us, the amazing and generous spouse we have by our side. While we really are capable of shutting our eyes and our hearts to all these things, whenever you find yourself and wherever you find yourself, the point of commonality is you. And David couldn’t shut his eyes or ignore that.
When we think there is nothing good around us, when we are blinded by our own sin or our own bitterness or the insults of those around us, we cannot avoid our very selves— the wonder of our bodies, the sensation of being our inmost being. The sequence of thought so far is that: “God sees the psalmist at all times, even in the dark, and he sees into the depths of his being, into his conscience—and that is no surprise since God was responsible for its creation.” We are known and that is both unavoidable and praiseworthy; when we can think of no other reason to praise God, his care in creating us is more than sufficient. Indeed God took the care to write all the days ordained for David before one of them came to be—he knows David’s life backwards and forwards, and not just because he’s read ahead but because he wrote it himself. For these reasons, God’s thoughts seem wonderful to David, worth savoring and cherishing. And this is how David knows that God is with him and that he is with God.
Verses 1-18 is a song of trust (a motif of a petition psalm)—David has drawn us into his own existential sense of God’s relationship to him—knowing him, near to him, and caring for him; ultimately trustworthy and good.
27 July 2006
To the Tune "Song of Divination"
Ode to the Mume Blossom
by Lu You
Beside the broken bridge and outside the post-hall,
A flower is blooming forlorn.
Saddened by her solitude at night-fall,
By wind and rain she's further torn.
Let other flowers their envy pour.
To Spring she lays no claim.
Fallen in mud and ground to dust, she seems no more,
But her frangrance is still the same.
by Lu You
Beside the broken bridge and outside the post-hall,
A flower is blooming forlorn.
Saddened by her solitude at night-fall,
By wind and rain she's further torn.
Let other flowers their envy pour.
To Spring she lays no claim.
Fallen in mud and ground to dust, she seems no more,
But her frangrance is still the same.
Psalm 139: Pt. 3, vss. 7-12
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
I I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your right hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,"
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day
for darkness is as light to you.
In verses 7-12, David now openly asks, ‘Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?’ There’s almost an anxiety to his inquiry—he knows the answer, but it seems like he still feels he must ask the question. Some might call this a rhetorical question, as though he’s setting himself up to give an answer everyone already knows; but it seems more like a plea of desperation. Almost like thinking through a multiple choice question, David considers his options: the heavens, but you are there; the depths, but you are there, the wings of the dawn, no; if I could just make it to the far side of the sea, but no; darkness just doesn’t cut it, and night shines like the day before him. So, none of the above. But what do you say to answer that question, where do you go to escape God’s Spirit, to flee from his presence? We all ask this question, and pose our own answers. Jonah had his own answer, too. The first three verses of the book of Jonah tell us that “The word of the Lord came to Jonah son of Amittai: ‘Go to the great city Ninevah and preach against it, because its wickedness has come up before me.’ But Jonah ran away from the Lord and headed for Tarshish. He went down to Joppa where he found a ship bound for that port. After paying the fare, he went aboard and sailed for Tarshish to flee from the Lord.” He flees and flees and flees, until he finds himself in the belly of a big fish and realizes that even the darkness is not dark to the Lord. So where do you go to flee? Where do you find the darkness that isn't dark to the Lord?
But do you, like David, know just how wrong your answer is? David artfully and honestly walks us through his own fear and trembling—even the darkness cannot conceal him from God’s penetrating sight. There is no depth of despair or height of ecstasy that the Lord is blind to; indeed he truly sees everywhere we are, everywhere you are.
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
I I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your right hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,"
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day
for darkness is as light to you.
In verses 7-12, David now openly asks, ‘Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?’ There’s almost an anxiety to his inquiry—he knows the answer, but it seems like he still feels he must ask the question. Some might call this a rhetorical question, as though he’s setting himself up to give an answer everyone already knows; but it seems more like a plea of desperation. Almost like thinking through a multiple choice question, David considers his options: the heavens, but you are there; the depths, but you are there, the wings of the dawn, no; if I could just make it to the far side of the sea, but no; darkness just doesn’t cut it, and night shines like the day before him. So, none of the above. But what do you say to answer that question, where do you go to escape God’s Spirit, to flee from his presence? We all ask this question, and pose our own answers. Jonah had his own answer, too. The first three verses of the book of Jonah tell us that “The word of the Lord came to Jonah son of Amittai: ‘Go to the great city Ninevah and preach against it, because its wickedness has come up before me.’ But Jonah ran away from the Lord and headed for Tarshish. He went down to Joppa where he found a ship bound for that port. After paying the fare, he went aboard and sailed for Tarshish to flee from the Lord.” He flees and flees and flees, until he finds himself in the belly of a big fish and realizes that even the darkness is not dark to the Lord. So where do you go to flee? Where do you find the darkness that isn't dark to the Lord?
But do you, like David, know just how wrong your answer is? David artfully and honestly walks us through his own fear and trembling—even the darkness cannot conceal him from God’s penetrating sight. There is no depth of despair or height of ecstasy that the Lord is blind to; indeed he truly sees everywhere we are, everywhere you are.
26 July 2006
To the Tune "Pure Serene Music"
Passing One Lonely Night at Boshan
by Xin Qi-ji
Around the bed run hungry rats,
In lamplight to and fro fly bats.
On pine-shad'd roof the wind and shower rattle,
The window paper-scraps are heard to prattle.
I roam from north to south, from place to place,
And come back with gray hair and wrinkled face.
I woke up in thin quilt on autumn night.
The boundless land I dreamed of still remains in sight.
(and so with the Christian life...)
by Xin Qi-ji
Around the bed run hungry rats,
In lamplight to and fro fly bats.
On pine-shad'd roof the wind and shower rattle,
The window paper-scraps are heard to prattle.
I roam from north to south, from place to place,
And come back with gray hair and wrinkled face.
I woke up in thin quilt on autumn night.
The boundless land I dreamed of still remains in sight.
(and so with the Christian life...)
Psalm 139: Pt. 2, vss. 1-6
O Lord, you have searched me
and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue
you know it completely, O Lord.
You hem me in--behind and before;
you have laid your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.
In verses 1-6, David affirms that the Lord knows him. David observes how the Lord knows when he sits and when he rises, when he goes out and when he lies down. By book-ending the events of his day-to-day life, David is recognizing that God knows all his places and all of his times. There’s a profoundly mundane feeling to this Psalm that makes it so palatable to us. We can’t read this and not think about our alarm clock going off in the morning, preparing for the day’s activities, and arriving home evening after evening. Listening to David’s own self-consciousness of God’s knowledge of him in his own mundane living, we’re challenged to conceptualize the pervasive presence of God in our own day-to-day life. The Lord is present in my life, and that is both terrifying and dignifying.
and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue
you know it completely, O Lord.
You hem me in--behind and before;
you have laid your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.
In verses 1-6, David affirms that the Lord knows him. David observes how the Lord knows when he sits and when he rises, when he goes out and when he lies down. By book-ending the events of his day-to-day life, David is recognizing that God knows all his places and all of his times. There’s a profoundly mundane feeling to this Psalm that makes it so palatable to us. We can’t read this and not think about our alarm clock going off in the morning, preparing for the day’s activities, and arriving home evening after evening. Listening to David’s own self-consciousness of God’s knowledge of him in his own mundane living, we’re challenged to conceptualize the pervasive presence of God in our own day-to-day life. The Lord is present in my life, and that is both terrifying and dignifying.
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