FEB. 13, 3:35 P.M. -- WE REFLECT ON THE FALSE SELF
As we concluded the day's lectures at the Academy of Spiritual Formation's first day, we were asked (and you get to come along for the ride) to ponder this:
In the light of the meaning of "glory" (the deep inner nature that defines a person -- God), what does it mean to glorify God?
What has been the deepest hope of your life?
Where do you see evidences of the False Self in your life?
What is God calling you to now?
I found it amazing that as I begin a five-week sermon series on Christian Hope this Sunday, I find myself at a five-day academy whose first day is dedicated to Christian Hope. Amazing, huh?
I was taken by the fact that our lecturer pointed out that Christian Hope is not about eternal destination. That, Bob Mulholland said, is a by-product. Instead, Mulholland said, our hope is that we will become Christ-like.
And that is my deepest hope. I am a sinner, still. I fall, not necessarily daily any longer, but I would say that every other day is about right. I fall to different sins, to ego and pride and to looking at things I shouldn't look at or feeling things I shouldn't feel or putting that false identity front and center.
Paul, Mulholland said, did that on occasion as well. Paul said we have all fallen short of the glory of God. What he meant, I learned this afternoon, was that the image, the nature of God that is His glory, is what we are all hoping against hope (as Paul wrote in the fourth chapter of Romans) to discover in us. But we all fall short. We all fall short of the nature of God. We are not, therefore, perfect in terms of glory, or nature. I fall short.
That would be my deepest hope today. That is why I'm here, in Woodworth, that goes beyond continuing education points and any other reason. I pray that the nature of God would over time begin to replace that false self I've tried so desperately to have removed.
Mulholland asked the question (and I ask you dear reader), "if we are going to lose our self (as Jesus suggests we do), what are we replacing it with?" Ponder that this evening. You might not be at a physical spiritual retreat, but turn off the television, find a Bible, read some of the scriptures on glory (Col. 3:16; Col. 4:3; Col. 1:25-27: John 1:14; John 17:5, etc.) and ponder the question.
I've always seen those types of questions so meaningful because they point me to a position in life that I know I must obtain, but like Paul in Romans Chapter 7, that's who I want to be but that's not who I am. Yet.
As we head toward evening prayers, toward evening discussions, toward evening silence, I look for that glory of God in a new, fresh, crisp, different manner. I pray you do as well.
Shalom.
FEB. 13, 10:15 A.M. -- WE REFLECT ON SABBATH
Our questions to ponder...
Where in your life and work do you have "too much of a good thing, too many logs packed in too tightly?"
What do you know about breathing space? What practices do you use to help you build open spaces between the logs?
How do you decide which logs to burn and which to lay aside?
What warmth and light want to emerge from your fire?
I'm staring out a sliding glass door onto the lake at the Wesley Center in Woodworth, La. It is gently firmly raining right now, and there is no edge, no horizon to the sky. There are no clouds, no spacing of blue and somber gray. It only is, if you know what I mean. The sky has been assaulted by water, like a dam overflowing.
I've been told to ponder, so ponder I am doing, and what I've discovered on but the first whole day of replenishment is that I don't do spiritual replenishment well. To do that well, well, I would have to stop, to step back, to let go, to let my mind very purposefully stop. No next sermon. No next sermon series. No next bill to pay. No next hospital visit to make. No calendar to calendar.
I'm not saying I'm incapable of being lazy. No, not at all. I'm built that way naturally. What I do is nowhere near manual labor, and it never has been. I'm a writer, pastor, thinker. No bricks have been laid in my life.
But what I'm saying is that stepping back and letting the logs have separation per the question above, or letting work be separated from life or life from sabbath simply doesn't come naturally to me. Does it to you? Are you able to let the natural rhythm of day and night replicate peace and tranquility in the manner that Jesus did? Have you learned at some point in your life to take time to be, uh, holy? Have you found a place to be in the moment? Have you a place at all?
Mark 6 tells us, gently, to rest. Like a dog set to track, Jesus says, "Find it."
"The apostles returned to Jesus from their ministry tour (doesn't that sound familiar to me, by the way) and told him all they had done and taught. (LOOK CAREFULLY AT THE NEXT SENTENCE, VERSE 31 IN MARK 6) Then Jesus said, 'Let's go off by ourselves to a quiet place and rest awhile. He said this because there were so many people coming and going that Jesus and his apostles didn't even have time to eat."
Instead of having a party to celebrate the magical ministry tour of the apostles, apart from Jesus, the Messiah says basically, let's go off by ourselves and do, well, NOTHING. Let's find some quiet, dig a spiritual hole where we can place all our spiritual baggage, where we can bury all our spiritual pain, where we can get rid of our ego and pride and stuff that gives us such terrible spiritual back aches. Let's sit back and absorb. Let's separate the logs some so that when the fire is stoked, the explosion of worthy of God's big bang.
Have you done this lately? I suspect not. I know that's why I'm here. Not to find myself. I've got plenty of myself. No, I'm here to find more of Jesus, in that quiet place where the Messiah is King of Kings and perhaps most importantly is Prince of Peace.
We're in a silent period at the retreat again. I'm in my "hotel," and the only noise is my typing, the occasional gulp of my fifth cup of coffee this morning and my chewing on some fine peanuts. Oh, and the heater is pumping some warm dry air into the room.
I'm thinking deeply about that rain falling, so soft, so gentle, so cold and so much of it. The rain is helping me slow down for I do not want to run out into the cold, dampness to return to our "chapel." In other words, without the help of the rain, I might never have gotten into this room and simply stopped my busy-ness to think about the sabbath God wants us all to take.
What about you? Do you find time during your day to rest, stop, think, ponder? Jesus tells you and I some simple but direct information: "Let's you and I go off b y ourselves to a quiet place and rest awhile." Let's rest. Let's be quiet. Let's be silent, in fact.
FEB. 13, 7 A.M. -- THE GRAY DAY BEGINS
I poured myself a cup of coffee that steamed as if it were fog coming off the moors this early morn. I squeezed some honey into the cup for reasons I'm unaware since I never do that. It simply seemed the thing to do.
We had been silent since 9:30 p.m. on Sunday, at the end of a long, long day. I had preached at two churches, two sermons, driven then from Covington, La., to Woodworth, La., about 31/2 hours. When we finished our second bit of worship of the evening, we walked up stairs to our rooms in blessed silence. The day, the evening, the first time of worship, communion, teaching, and discussion before silence was done.
I awoke during the night with a terrible throat, a cough, that scared me and kept me awake for an hour. Still, I awoke mostly refreshed, though the coffee put a dent into the sleeplessness as well.
I read these words while sipping the coffee: "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. ...By faith we understand that the universe was created by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things that are visible."
Part of what this retreat is about is dividing into covenant groups. My group has some very interesting persons, among whom are a couple of liberals whom might not normally be ones who would spring to mind as coffee mates. God has a sense of humor about such, I think. Our "politics" and our "theology" I don't think would mesh normally. But here we are, with a cold north wind and drops of rain blowing in, and covenant time scheduled within the hour.
The assurance of things hoped for is what we're striving to achieve today. We're going to have worship, in song, in psalm, in prayer. We're going to talk about things that interest us and motivate us. We're going to seek those hoped for things. Why? I think it's because none of us believe we've gone far enough down the road of salvation that we still don't need to stick out our thumb and get a ride or two. That's the assurance we seek, that God, our Father, our adoption-minded, agape-oriented parent still wants to run down the road to us, gathering us as prodigals all, and letting marvelous barrels of love come pouring onto us.
That cleared my hurting throat, dried my damp shoes and prepared my heart and mind for some grits and some bread of life. That's assurance, by any other name.
I will be writing at numerous times today, so grab it as many times as you choose.
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