A Nightless Day of Activity

Last week I posted the text from a Bible class curriculum that I have been creating for our church. Below are the notes from the class that preceded the lesson on "Refilling." It prepares for the lession on "Refilling" by focusing on "Decluttering." The two obviously go together: our lives are often too cluttered to allow us time to be refreshed by God's presence. We need to declutter before we can refill.

Mark 6:6b-13, 30-31
The first part of this passage ties closely with our theme from last week: emptying. Jesus instructs his disciples to travel light. Take only what is absolutely necessary; forget about food or money or stores for tomorrow; rely on God for security, sustenance, and success. The disciples had to empty themselves of any excess before being sent out to preach and heal.

And preach and heal they did! They drove out many demons, anointed many people, and healed many sick. It was a frenzy of ministry, and they were excited to tell Jesus about it when they gathered around him again. But the frantic pace didn’t slow when they returned: there were so many people coming and going that they didn’t even have a chance to eat!

Have you ever missed a meal due to an over-booked schedule? How often does that happen?How does your life compare with the frenzied pace of life the disciples seemed to be living?Where does the frantic pace creep into your spiritual life?
Note: the disciples weren’t busying themselves with selfish timewasters. They were pouring themselves into ministry. What contributes more to your busy pace? Selfish timewasters (TV, internet, etc.) or selfless service?

Hear Jesus’ words to his disciples: “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” We need to hear those words. Too often our lives are lived at warp speed: we add more gadgets to make ourselves more efficient so that we can do more work. Any time we free up we fill with noise. Where is silence in this clutter? Where is rest? Our lives are meant to be lived in a rhythm of work and rest (see the creation story!), not a nightless day of activity. Jesus called his disciples to establish that rhythm, and we need to welcome rest back into our lives.

Why are we resistant to decluttering or rest?

Maybe we think it’s a selfish, irresponsible escape from duty. Maybe we worry that things will fall apart without us. Maybe it just sounds lazy. Rest isn’t productive (in the ways we normally measure porductivity), and we prize productivity. We receive significance and meaning from what we accomplish; and if we rest, we won’t accomplish as much. We’ll lose a sense of significance from having less to show for ourselves.

Engaging in rest, therefore, is a way of dying to self. We let go of that part of ourselves that strives to find meaning and value in a list of our accomplishments. When we rest, we loudly declare: "My accomplishments are not what makes me valuable! I am valuable not because of what I do, but because of what God has already done."

What are some ways you can declutter or rest?

Notable Sighting

Last night as we hurridly drove to church for a night of meetings and worship, a state trooper pulled up behind me and flashed his lights. "Well," I thought, "I guess my children have to witness their father receive a ticket at some point. Now they won't think I'm perfect." But when I slid over into the right lane, the trooper shut off his lights and proceeded to leisurely pass our mini-van. (And yes, it slightly pains me to admit I drive a mini-van. You should know, however, I still have a pick-up I never get to drive.)

As I puzzled over the trooper's strange behavior, a black Chevy Tahoe also started to slowly pass us. "What tiny windows," I thought at first. Then, "And how strange that those people in the back seat are sitting backwards." And lastly, "Hey, I think I recognize that person sitting backwards and looking out that tiny window." Tali confirmed it: "That's Laura Bush!"

Tali also saw and recognized the woman sitting next to the former-First Lady, though she couldn't name her at the time (since Tali is completely uninterested in the world of Baylor athletics). We later learned that George and Laura Bush were accompanying Kim Mulkey, head coach for the Baylor women's basketball team, to the Ferrell Center for the clash between the highly ranked Oklahoma and Baylor women's basketball teams.

We didn't see former-President Bush, but, based on the next car that passed us, I assume he was in the Tahoe facing forward and unseeable through the tiny windows. Another black Tahoe with rear-facing back seats followed the first, and in this car sat several men with shooter's ear muffs and imposing rifles. To make the scene even more surreal, they drove down the street with the windows down, stern expressions on their faces, and the butts of their rifles hanging out of the windows.

Security was obviously still high, but it seems secrecy is no longer a top priority for the former-President and his "secret" service entourage. I guess once you leave office you get downgraded to cars without tinted windows.

We are the Branches (Part 2)

(Below is a second selection from a sermon of mine. See the first part here.)

Spring is a beautiful time of year, and we mark its arrival in different ways. For some, spring is announced by the call of a bird returning from its winter in the south. For others, seeing the ground finally peek through the winter-long blanket of snow signals the beginning of spring. For most everyone, however, spring is marked by sprouts of new growth on winter-bare trees. Vibrant green leaves shoot from grey branches, and buds open into bright, scented blooms. The dreary winter landscape is transformed into the dramatic colors of spring.

We need times of spring in our spiritual growth. Times of dramatic, joyful bursts of life. I hope everyone reading has experienced that kind of spiritual newness. It often catches us unawares.

Sometimes it’s just a moment: we’re singing a song and suddenly we hear all those around us and it’s like we’ve been transported into God’s heavenly presence and the angelic chorus is singing all around us; we reflect back on our life, catch a glimpse of God’s artful plan for us, and cry humble tears of gratitude; we see a reddening sunset or a star-filled sky or a delicate bloom or a souring mountain and we fall to our knees in awe of the Creator; we hold a child or grandchild tightly in our arms and know, suddenly and more certainly than ever before, God is good. Moments of renewal, sudden freshness.

Sometimes it’s a season of growth. A summer of youth activities, a couple of months in which prayer seems easier and more urgent, several weeks in which God’s word seems to daily reveal something new and wonderful about Him, a period in which the Spirit seems to be empowering us to break free from old habits. God feels so close.

We need spring-like spiritual growth—the sudden, vibrant, joyful surges of life—but, of course, that’s not what typifies our spiritual lives. The leaves turn red and fall. Winter comes. We’re not in heaven, yet. We can’t enjoy the permanent, unmediated presence of God. At times He will feel far away. Sin will seem too powerful. Prayers will be dry; singing will be hollow. Doubt will assail us. Winter is cold and lonely.

But the winter tree, the leafless one surrounded by snow—it isn’t dead. It’s very much alive and assuredly growing . . . but slowly. It’s a different kind of spiritual growth.

John of the Cross, a sixteenth century monk, warns about this stage in our spiritual lives: “At a certain point in the spiritual journey God will draw a person from the beginning stage to a more advanced stage. . . . Such souls will likely experience what is called ‘the dark night of the soul.’ The ‘dark night’ is when those persons lose all the pleasure that they once experienced in their devotional life. This happens because God wants to purify them and move them on to greater heights.” Winter is the time for cleansing, purifying, pruning.

Such slow growth may not be the most vibrant, but it is the most lasting. The shiny green leaves will come and go, but the trunk will keep slowly, steadily broadening and strengthening. This is truly the transformative growth. It’s the kind of growth that can’t be seen in the moment, but after years have passed, you’ll sit under the canopy of a mighty shade tree and marvel when you think of the sapling you planted so long ago. You’ll see a picture of yourself in an old photo and marvel at what God has done over the long years. You’ll praise him for the bursts of spring and the prunings of winter.

I hope you’re enjoying some spring-like spiritual growth right now. I hope you're experiencing that kind of explosion of spiritual life. But if you aren’t, don’t worry. Even the branches attached to the vine are pruned in winter. Even those who are abiding in Christ must be cleansed. Rest in the blessed assurance that the loving vinedresser is at work, and he is trustworthy.

We are the Branches (Part 1)

(Below is part of a sermon reflecting on John 15. A second selection will follow tomorrow.)

The old, blue eyes squinted into the rising Mediterranean sun and peered down a long line of vines. They had only recently been stripped clean of their clusters of round, dusty, deep purple fruit. Only recently his family had celebrated the culmination of a year’s worth of hard work with feasting and drinking and thanking God.

No sooner does the sun set on the celebration, however, than the dawn of next year’s work arrives. He squeezed his hand tightly around the handle of the pruning knife. This part he liked the least. You spend all year tending and nurturing the vine, cheering the new growth in the spring, encouraging the vine’s maturation through the summer, praying for just enough rain, just enough sun. In the fall, you finally reap the rewards of your long effort, basking in the joy of harvest. Then winter comes. Time for pruning, time for cutting back and cutting away, time for cleaning the healthy branches and burning the dead. But it must be done.

He drew in a quick breath, taking in the fragrant seaside air, and raised his knife to his beloved vine.

Jesus said, "I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already pruned because of the word that I spoke to you. Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me."

Note the progression in the metaphor: the vinedresser doesn’t kill the branch he cuts off; he merely completes the process that has already begun. The branch is already fruitless—it is already separated from its source of life. The vinedresser simply finalizes the separation for the health of the whole vine.

How does this happen to us? Why would anyone who has experienced the love of Christ, who has had it flowing through her veins, want to be separated from it? Surely it’s not an active desire. It must be something that happens gradually, almost stealthily, over time. Maybe it’s a grief that cuts deep enough to almost sever the branch from the vine. Maybe it’s a sin so persistent that it poisons the branch like a mold. Maybe a drought of apathy threatens to suck the life from the branch. Whatever the reason, don’t give up.

God can do wondrous things with dead stumps. Isaiah sings about the shoot of new life that will come up from the stump of Israel that had been left for dead in Exile; fruit will again blossom from the dormant roots. God can do it. He did it with Israel. He can do it with you and me.
The vinedresser also has work to do on the fruit-bearing branches. Dead wood is cut away in the winter, but even in the spring useless growth is pruned back in order to nurture the vine. Even those who abide in Christ’s love require God’s continued cleansing.

Here’s a place where our English translation lets us down a little. Jesus says, “every branch that does bear fruit he prunes,” and the verb used there is katharizo, a verb that—outside its technical usage in the field of viticulture—is usually translated, “he cleans.” The word is echoed in the next verse, though we might miss it in the English translation: “every branch that does not bear fruit he cleans so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you.”

We need continual cleansing, and it is accomplished through Christ’s convicting word. His command, “Love one another as I have loved you,” and his perfect demonstration of that love on the cross, cuts us to the quick and exposes our sin—it brings to light the parts we would rather leave in the dark, the diseased parts of the branch that need to be removed.

Where do you need to hear that convicting word? What needs to be pruned? I’ve often heard that one shouldn’t pray for patience: the answer to that prayer is sometimes unpleasant. I think I have a prayer we should offer with even more trepidation:

“God, prune me. It must be done, but I know it is going to hurt. I want to be healthy, I want to bear a bumper crop of fruit, but I know cleansing is needed. The fine, spring pruning is needed; the severe, winter stripping is needed. So, I trust myself to your hands, the hands of the vinedresser who tirelessly and lovingly cares for his vine. Be gentle, but do what must be done.”

Pepperdine Plug

It's nice to hear praise for one's alma mater. See John Stackhouse's recent post about his trip to Pepperdine to give the distinguished Frank Pack lectures (you'll have to excuse him for referring to them as the Frank Park lectures).

He lists Pepperdine as one of three schools (the other two being Hope College (MI) and Notre Dame) that "have become significantly more Christian, rather than letting that heritage and mission slip away." No higher praise could be offered!

#1 Christmas Album

This box set was actually released in 2006, but I just discovered it this year . . . and I'm glad I did!

If you're already familiar with the music of Sufjan Stevens, good for you. If not, then you need to take a listen. He's got a great, folky sound that can be both peppy and haunting. Combine those qualities with nice harmonies and creative instrumentation, and you've got a great album. It's also a fantastic value: the box set of five EP's (over two hours of music!) sells for a measely $16 on iTunes.

I've forced myself to stop playing the album (since it is now almost February) and keep it a special Christmas treat, though I plan to leave the beautiful arrangements of "Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing," "Amazing Grace," and "Holy, Holy, Holy" in my playlist all year round.

If you can't wait until Christmas for your Sufjan fix, I recommend one of his other albums: Come On Feel The Illinois. It's the second installment in his ambitious plan to make a CD for every state in the nation (his first effort honors his home state of Michigan). I listen to it while I'm driving, walking, reading, thinking, writing: it seems to enhance every activity.

The Shadow

Below is the text from this week's Bible class curriculum that I have been preparing at our church. We are currently engaged in a congregation-wide study that ties together the sermons and all of our adult classes (including junior and senior high). We are basing the study loosely on Darryl Tippens' recent book Pilgrim Heart: The Way of Jesus in Everyday Life. Each week, I prepare the Bible class curriculum and the teachers meet on Wednesday night to discuss it together.

Each teacher has the freedom to shape the material for his audience, but we all commit to reach the same point: a challenge to engage in a concrete activity during the week. Each class breaks into small groups at the end, and class participants commit to call one another during the week and ask about the weekly challenge. This week's focus is "Refilling," part two of a two-week focus on rest. Last week we focused on "Decluttering" and asked people to carve out a two-hour block of time and get away from the clutter of life. This week we are challenging them to carve out the same two hours, but use that time to give attention to God.

David Hunter, our preacher, is teaching on Sabbath in his sermon; my class is meant to compliment his lesson. Last week we were getting away from something; this week we are going to be with someone. With that long introduction behind us, here are the notes I gave our teachers:

(NB: Thanks to my good friend, Luke Tallon, for starting my thought in this direction. See his post about his new daughter's name, Avra.)


What comes to mind when you think of the word “shadow”?

Often the word has negative connotations: things lurk in the shadows, hiding from the light, waiting to pounce on us. Shadows are tucked into dark corners where one sneaks to avoid the light. The biblical authors utilize this imagery. To be in God’s presence is to be bathed in pure light that chases away all darkness, all shadow (see Job 12:22; 1 John 1:5-7; Rev 21:23-25). Everything is exposed; nothing remains hidden.
Sometimes resting in God’s presence is like being washed in light. Our souls are revealed; the darkness therein is driven back. We feel enlightened and illumined.

Are you a person who prefers light and airy spaces, or dark and cozy ones?
What type of mood does most church architecture set? Light or dark? How does that affect your worship?
In which type of setting do you feel closer to God? Why?

Maybe you’ll experience the light of God’s presence this week during your rest time: you’ll come back filled with light. I want to offer another image, however, a different way of understanding “shadows,” that may appeal to those who prefer the dark, cozy places.

Psalm 91 reads, “Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. They will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’ He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.” Rather than being a den of darkness, the shadow is a place of protection. In the shadow, one is sheltered, covered, and shielded from the “terror of the night” and the “pestilence that stalks in the darkness.” The shadow is a place one can rest, a refuge from the arrows of life. And once protected, those in the shadow can thrive. Under the shadow of her wing, the mother hen cares for her young and nurtures them to maturity. God longs to shelter you there (Luke 13:34), to protect you and nourish you in his shadow. May we find rest and joy there; may we rejoice with the psalmist, “I sing in the shadow of your wings” (63:7).

This week, we are going to rest with a purpose. We won’t simply be taking a break; we’ll be engaging in sacred idleness. We’re not merely stepping back from the world; we’re fleeing to the shadow of God’s wings to find protection and nurture. We’re emptying our schedules to be filled by his presence.

Language is a Toy

Language is a toy meant to be enjoyed through play.

Rarely do I reflect on the divine blessing of language, but it must rank high among the beauties that God has created. With a few sounds, the flesh can express the ethereal: joy, grief, anger, love. Ands it's not just that the words point to meaning; the sounds themselves mean something. Language is a metaphor of the incarnation: an indissoluable fusion between the body and spirit. I worry sometimes, however, that we allow language to become a mere purveyor of information, a tool worth little more than the pack animal that carries the precious cargo. Language is certainly useful, but it has a beauty to be enjoyed in its own right--enjoyed in novels and plays and poetry, in punchlines and irony and alliteration.

Language is a toy, not just a tool. Enjoy God's blessing by indulging in a little play today.