Yellow Finch

1 Corinthians 13:12, "Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."

I have been amused lately by a little yellow finch (I think  - I'm not up on my birds; its yellow and its little and its the only little yellow bird that I know so...its a yellow finch).  

Every morning I sit out in my swing to do a bit of studying and I hear this ruckus. It is this little bird slamming into a parked car across the street. He starts from the tree and heads for the side mirror. It bangs into it a few times then floats up to the windshield wear he bangs a few more times. He's been doing this for the last week...every day. 

He has found a new friend, an enemy, or a mate. There is hope, fear, or relief. Unfortunately the relationship will go no further because...well...quite frankly, its his own reflection. What a stupid bird! 

Unfortunately, I find I have the same malady. How often do I bang my head against immovable objects (metaphorically speaking) thinking that they will produce something new?  Hope. Fear. Relief. All the while they are merely a reflection of me. There is nothing new here except that I see myself for the first time and...I don't recognize who I have become. 

I'm trying to figure out if that is a good thing...

It may just be for the birds. 

The Nature of Things

"The land produced vegetation:  plants bearing seed after their own kind and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good." 

I just finished a dazzling and dizzying work by Eastern Orthodox reformer, Alexander Schmemann, For the Life of the World.  Ever since I first felt the divine nudge to study Eastern Orthodox theology I have enjoyed the works of Schmemann and this work was not disappointing. Schmemann's main interest was in Eastern Orthodox liturgy and the reverse reflection of liturgy giving meaning to theological concepts rather than theology giving meaning to liturgical concepts. 

As good Baptists we celebrated communion on the first Sunday of the month (as we know the apostles did and with mini wafers and miniature wine goblets as chasers). I continue to struggle in how I represent this wonderful concept to my church family. It is easy to simply opt for the Zwinglian commemorative definition. We remember the death of Christ like we remember our monthly cable bill is due. My intent here is not to trivialize but to distinguish. I can't live without my cable ; - ).  

It does beg the question of whether I can live without communion (the Eucharist) and in even calling for the question reveals how little I and honestly, most of the church understand about this divine sacrament/ordinance. 

I could go up one more tier to the Calvinistic/Reformed position where Christ is somehow mystically present but it still doesn't press into the reality and necessity of participating in such a glorious act. 

Alexander, being Orthodox, holds to a transubstantiation position where the elements become the literal body and blood of Jesus. But I have misspoken and he would force me to reread his work if he were sitting next to me. Theology does not inform liturgy but liturgy informs theology. His point:  it is a divine mystery that is connected to the very nature, the true nature of things. And this language of mystery and worship (liturgy) is what defines the act and gives definitions to our feeble attempts with words. 

The bread, from the grain of the earth, reflects the divine Eucharist or Thanksgiving for which it was originally designed. It was to be used to bless man and produce thanksgiving from the lips of man. 

The wine or grape juice, the fruit of the vine, reflects the Eucharist for which it was designed. To bless and produce thanksgiving. 

The true nature of all things was to bless and produce worship. And from this position of liturgy, things, both human and non-human, find their point of reference and meaning. 

It is in the divine mystery of symbol that we are connected to the Creator, the person of Jesus. In my hand I hold the bread of Life that represents the blessing of God to man and my Thanksgiving for such a blessing. It is the idea that not only the bread and the wine have been restored to their true reality and nature but that through the love of Christ, I have too. 

In my hand...this little square piece of often stale cracker and this little bit of juice represents a fully restored creation - declared and anticipated in its future reality through the willing sacrifice of the Son of God. 

Now that's better than cable television. 

Fence Posts

"But I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt. You shall acknowledge no God but me, no Savior except me" (Hosea 13:4). 

When I was preparing to teach a course on Theology of Mission I was struck by how many times this phrase occurs and especially how it was connected to "next steps" for the Jewish people. 

Their future actions or confidence in the their future actions were supposed to be anchored in the miraculous movement of God - the Exodus. 

This is the God who turned the Nile into blood, who brought flies and frogs and boils and darkness and death. 

This is the God who divided the waters, set the captive free, and destroyed the enemy in a watery grave.

How quickly they forgot this God of miracles.  How quickly man's inability eclipses God's ability. 

When I was a kid my dad dairied and later on as an adult I took up the farming profession myself. I am familiar with fences. They keep things in; they keep things out. They always seem to need fixing. 

When you put a fence in you start with an anchor post which is usually the size of a telephone pole and the next post on either side is anchored to that with twisted wire. From that point on the fence is stretched. So you can see how important it is to have a solid anchor. It is the place you point to as your beginning. 

It is also interesting to note that fence posts are generally set about fifteen to twenty feet apart. It's short enough to keep the wire tight but long enough to keep from digging too many holes. 

I have often thought about that process in my own faith, especially when doubt arises about my own abilities in the kingdom of God. Once again the fault lies in my inability to remember that "God brought me out of Egypt." He brought me through the desert of Sinai. He guided me along the Dead Sea and the Jordan River. He protected me and gave me victory over Og and Sihon. He delivered the city of Ai and the pagan kings. 

Each of these, although taken from the narrative of the people of Israel, are my story; the names and places are just different. This is a visual line of God's faithfulness, a line affirming his presence and power. 

When I begin to doubt or lose my way I only need to look back...and hopefully not too far...to see a faithful post that God has erected in my fence. He is building something. He was faithful there...and there...and there...and there...and there...  He gives me enough space to stretch and anchors me when I start to become weak. 

My life is a succession of stretching and posting, stretching and posting. Pull...set.  Pull...set. God is growing me; God is grounding me. God is growing me; God is grounding me. And all the while the greatest tension is on that corner post - God himself. He is anchoring it all. 

"I am the LORD your God who brought you out of Egypt." Unfortunately there I times when I think it was Delta or United. 

Arise, My Darling, My Beautiful One

"My lover said to me, 'Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me...'"  Song of Songs, 2:10. 

This week three people died that were close to those I care for.  I couldn't help but to remember a message that I gave for a dear woman in Alpena, Michigan. 

May it ministry to you as it did to me when I wrote it. 

Barb Thompson was a unique woman. The first time I wanted to make a house call to see her she told me not to come. A phone call every once in a while would be O.K.  Later I found out it was because her hair wasn’t done up and she couldn’t find her teeth. Then she made the mistake of being admitted to the hospital, a public hospital, where pastors don’t have to call but can drop in for a visit. Her hair wasn’t done then and her teeth were in a cup but she found out that I wasn’t there to see her hair or her teeth but her sweet spirit.

Barb had a strong faith in God but it didn’t mean that she never wavered or fell pray to doubt. Often the most stalwart Christians find themselves in a crisis of faith. “Is what I’ve been holding on to all my life going to sustain me through this?” It has brought me through life but will it get me through the process of death? On this side of suffering we proudly say “yes, of course!” But when in the throws of pain and suffering the pride and surety of what we know often leads to a greater humility and we pray, “God give me the faith that I need. A faith that is not in theory but one that will withstand the flames of pain, the darkness of night, the coldness of a solitary journey. This is, indeed, a path that I must walk alone; alone, without family and friends, even though their presence is here; alone but not without the hand of God. “For though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

Barb Thompson was a unique woman and she wanted me to preach from a unique passage at her home-going; a passage out of the norm for me, but one that I have grown to love as well.  As I read this passage I want you to imagine Barb lying in her bed, laboring to breath, on the verge of moving from this world to the next.

The Song of Solomon or the Song of Songs, chapter 2, verse 8 begins,

“Listen! My lover! Look! Here he comes, leaping across the mountains, bounding over the hills. ⁹ My lover is like a gazelle or a young stag. Look! There he stands behind our wall, gazing through the windows, peering through the lattice. ¹⁰ My lover spoke and said to me, "Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me. ¹¹ See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. ¹² Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. ¹³ The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me."

Barb chose a passage picturing, not a king calling to his servant, not a lord calling out to his vassal, but a lover calling out to his bride. Jesus, the lover of her soul, was calling out to Barb, “Arise my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me.” It was Jesus calling her home to heaven.

The Scriptures describe the groom not waiting afar but leaping and bounding over the hills to get to the one he loves. He always takes the initiative to come to those he loves. He is one looking for his bride. He said to Barb, “The time is perfect. The winter is past and the rains are over.” The times of life that seem to be barren and described as dormant or dead are passing. You are passing into eternal life, Barb, my love. The time of transition is over. The winter is turning into spring; to a newness the likes of which you’ve never seen. Look at the fruit of your life. As King Hezekiah said, “My life is like a tapestry cut off from the loom.” It is a finished masterpiece; the beautiful work of the master in my life.  Look at the newness and wonder that surrounds being with your beloved. Flowers have appeared on the earth.  Singing abounds. The birds are cooing in contentment. The trees are bearing fruit and the vines are casting forth their sweet fragrance. No more will you gasp for air, Barb, but you’ll breathe deep the fragrances of heaven. No more will you worry about the cares of life for yours will be perfect contentment. No more will your labors be met with weeds and thistles, with hardships and obstacles, but you’ll produce the perfect fruit of the spirit. “Arise my darling, my beautiful one, come with me.”

In the beginning God walked in the cool of the evening in the midst of his creation and called to his beloved. Sin had entered that world and instead of Adam and Eve longing to hear the voice of God, they hid from it. When the people of Israel were delivered from Egypt and gathered to Mount Sinai God wanted to call to them but they said to Moses, “You talk to him, you go to him.  We’ll wait here.” They were afraid.  A sinner meeting a holy God is a fearful thing.

How is it then that Barb could choose a passage like this for her memorial service? It was because the sin was cared for and the fear was gone. Barb believed in the cleansing redemptive power of the blood of Jesus, her Savior, her Beloved. She believed that perfect love casts out all fear. Why should I be afraid of someone who gave his life for me, to save me from sin and self? Why should I fear the lover of my soul? I long to hear the sweet voice of my beloved calling, “Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me.” 

May I ask you a very personal question this afternoon? What if you were the one lying on that death bed, struggling to breathe, knowing that your last breath would be near? Would you welcome the call to come away or tremble in fear? Why be afraid of the one who took the sting out of death, who robbed the grave? He called Barb to himself last Saturday and his voice is still calling today. It may not be because death is near but it is inescapable, and God, who loves you so incredibly desires to cast out that fear and give you hope, the hope of eternal life. It comes through embracing his son, Jesus Christ, as your savior, your redeemer, the lover of your soul. 

I know that many make professions of faith but never bear the fruit of such a profession. A true confession of knowing Christ always produces fruit. So may I ask you to do a little self-examining today? Are you depending on a prayer said many years ago regarding a Savior that you barely know or are you looking for the long awaited lover of your soul, your groom? So when the time does come, you, like Barb, will listen with anticipation to hear him say, “Arise my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me. Come home.”