What Stew Can Do, or How to Make a Baby

I've been rolling a metaphor around in my head recently, and finding it useful in my attempts to articulate several different things. I think it began - at least in its current form - with another metaphor, in a discussion I had several months ago with my friend Nancy, about being and doing. We talked about stew: the steaming, savoury stuff of winter afternoons. "What does stew do to make itself taste better?" asked Nancy. It cannot toss in a few more carrots or (in my kitchen) more garlic. It cannot reduce the amount of salt that's been added. It can't even change the temperature from a simmer to a boil. A stew is in fact rather limited in what it can do. The real power, the real artistry, is in the skill of the cook. He or she knows just what the stew needs - and when (because soggy vegetables are an abomination) - to make it delicious.

So what can a stew do? Well, it can...stew. It simply must be, and trust that eventually it really will turn into a delicious stew, a worthy meal to nourish the hungry. And stew, to fully accomplish its purpose, must be served to others. There is always the element of doing. But half-stewed stew - lukewarm and crunchy, flavours as yet unmingled into perfect harmony - is a work in progress and not ready to be served.

This forced me to take a closer look at the ideas of being and doing. I had been talking to Nancy about how I "ought" to be reading my Bible more regularly. Her retort caught me off guard: "Well, I guess that's just one more thing you're failing at." Her issue, of course, was not with the idea of reading the Bible more, but with that little word "ought." I had taken the life-giving, soul-nourishing, spirit-refreshing act of Bible-reading and turned it into one more bothersome little "chore" that needed to be done. To be sure, there is a place for duty in the Christian life, but it is a starting place, a way for the beginner to set foot on the Way or for the doubter to walk forward into renewed or deepened faith. Duty, like the Law, is a form that tells us what we must do. But what God most desires of us is that we do what we do because we want to do it, because we can't help but do it, because our love of Him is so great.

"I desire to your will, O my God; your law is within my heart." My struggle is to keep moving from duty to desire, to let God's law work its way into my heart. Or maybe it's the other way around: my heart works its way into the law, transforming my motives and perspective. The question is, how does one move from duty to desire, without making that goal into yet another duty?

Sacrifice and offering you did not desire,
but my ears you have pierced;
burnt offerings and sin offerings you did not require.
Then I said, "Here I am, I have come—
it is written about me in the scroll.
I desire to do your will, O my God;
your law is within my heart." --Psalm 40:6-8

For me it has meant trying to release myself from the guilt trips of what I "ought" to be doing. I am learning to say No a little more often, at least until I can say Yes with sincere desire. I am giving myself space and time to discover what it means to abide in Jesus. Eugene Peterson describes it as, making "yourselves at home with [Jesus]" (John 15, the Message). Clement of Alexandria used the phrase "keeping company with God." The point is to focus on my relationship with God (what it means to be a child of God), not my "results" (the stuff I do that authenticates that relationship). Relationship will ultimately point me to God, as the giver of His love and His blessings, which includes the gift of my status as His child. Results, in their best form, should naturally flow out of that relationship and draw us closer to God and point others toward Him. In their worst (and more common) form, results will begin and end with us - striving in our own strength to do what we feel we have to do to find favour with God.

It is this connection between relationship and results that got me looking for a metaphor. As soon as someone talks about being, another feels compelled to speak up for the necessity of acting out ("doing") our beliefs. Emphasize faith and another will defend works. Each perspective is valid, and the two truths are perfected when held in tension. But how can we hold that tension?

I have always been a doer, largely because I like lists, I like to check things off. I like the feeling of control that comes with doing. Also, being freaks me out a little bit. It's so abstract, and I am a concrete kind of thinker. What does it mean to be in Christ apart from what I do? What kind of intimate human relationship would be even remotely satisfying for either individual if results were the main theme of its existence? How much more so with God? Surely He must occasionally wish we would ditch the deeds long enough to hang out with Him and get to know Him better, to find out what's on His heart, and let Him show us what's in ours. Faith and works must indeed go together but not in such a conscientious way as I'd always thought. I shouldn't be making works happen, they should just be happening on their own without so much forced effort on my part.

Here's where my new metaphor comes in. Picture two lovers, a husband and wife bound together by love and commitment. Because they are in love, their time together is characterized by joy and contentment and comfort. Because of the time they spend together and their promise to each other, their relationship is secure against all threats. There is no place they would rather be than in each other's presence. Eventually, during their most intimate expression of love for each other, a child is conceived. Over the course of nine months, their love will blossom and deepen in recognition that this child is the wonderful - and inevitable - "result" of their love for each other. Further, if we were to ask the couple about what they did to "make" the baby, they would probably not start speaking about zygotes or the dividing of cells. They would speak of the act of love that is at the centre of their relationship. Ultimately, this child "happened" because they love each other, not because they consciously thought about matching up sperm and egg.

I think this is similar to how we are meant to be in relationship with God. As our love for God grows and matures, our deeds will be the inevitable result of that love. If we obsess about "making" deeds happen, we have missed the point entirely. If we instead will pour our energies into loving God and growing in our relationship with Him, those deeds will begin to happen without so much thought or effort on our part. Our deeds will be the fruits of desire instead of duty.

In his essay entitled Lilies That Fester (from The World's Last Night and Other Essays), C.S. Lewis talks about words such as refinement and religion, and how people who speak in such terms are in fact the ones least likely to be defined by them. That is, the one who speaks most about piety is the least likely to be truly pious, the one who speaks most passionately about culture is the least likely to in fact be cultured. He writes, "The talk is inimical to the thing talked of, likely to spoil it where it exists and to prevent its birth where it is unborn." (33)

And so it is with deeds. The more time you spend talking about doing them - what you should be doing, what you don't need to do, what you don't want to do, what others are doing or not doing - the less time you're spending in your relationship with God, which is the only source of truly good deeds. I have found this to be true in many areas of the Christian life, just one example being the obsession of some believers about submission (a flawed result of imposed duty rather than a generous outpouring of love). Darrell Johnson's book Fifty-Seven Words brought up another one. In the fifth petition of the Lord's Prayer, believers are told to pray and ask God to forgive their debts, "as we also have forgiven our debtors." Many have struggled with the apparent suggestion that we might not be forgiven by God if we haven't first forgiven others who have sinned against us. Consequently, we can get lost down the familiar rabbit trail of insecurity or indignance about faith versus works.

As Darrell points out, the issue is not about a formula we must complete in order to earn favour and forgiveness with God, rather it is about whether or not we truly understand forgiveness. He quotes John Stott (who so often makes profound statements with few words): "God forgives only the penitent, and one of the chief evidences of true penitence is a forgiving spirit." Like the unmerciful servant of Matthew 18, if we dare to ask God to forgive our mountain and yet refuse to forgive another's molehill (so to speak), we have missed the point entirely. If we don't understand forgiveness enough to give it, how can we pray to receive it? The two are in fact one and the same.

I think that's almost the end of my ramblings, for today anyway. I guess my point is that our human tendency is so often to try and reduce the complexities of relationship with a simple formula for results. Rules are so much easier and more efficient than the demands of relationships. They may limit the chance of messing up (with regard to the letter of the Law, anyway), but they also limit the potential for true Love to do its - His - own work in us. Why play with a ragdoll of our own making when we're able to give birth to real babies with God? Or, to borrow from Jesus' analogy, why fiddle about with plastic fruit when He can produce real fruit in us - as we learn what it means to abide in Him.

"Live in me. Make your home in me just as I do in you. In the same way that a branch can't bear grapes by itself but only by being joined to the vine, you can't bear fruit unless you are joined with me. I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you're joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant."
- John 15:4-5, The Message

Share

Back On Track, Book #5

Amazing Grace, by Kathleen Norris
--progress: 138/384
A World Lost, by Wendell Berry
--progress: 99/151
 
Yikes! It's been almost three weeks since I've written. I've been thinking a lot, however, and I've tried writing but found my thoughts to be too full of blather to share. I suspect that our recent social engagements are perhaps less responsible than our recent spate of television watching. We don't have a TV, mind you, but itunes has been so kind to provide the latest episodes of LOST and a Christmas gift card to Best Buy has (over)fed our movie habit.

I've also been a bit overwhelmed by how many others' good thoughts are already out here in cyberspace. What can I contribute? I've been feasting at others' tables recently, and enjoying it. See my links (bottom right of the blog) for a few recent favourites - among them http://www.frontporchrepublic.com/.

Lastly, I've been a bit overwhelmed by my own thoughts - there is so much swirling around in there, it's hard to stay focused. This presents a good opportunity for me to learn to articulate and prioritize the many strands of consciousness floating about in my head. I've taken to commenting on a few blog articles here and there, just for practice. It's risky, though, to be disagreed with, or even attacked by total strangers. I tend to get a bit riled. I'm less concerned with strangers disagreeing with me than thinking I'm stupid and just blowing me off. I tend to like a good argument when it can be done in a friendly sort of way.

Anyway. Enough. I will begin writing again. Today, if possible. As hard as it is to even feel like writing sometimes (let alone to find time for it), it is so good once I start.

Lastly, you may have noticed that I have listed Book #5 - A World Lost, by Wendell Berry. I was in the mood for a novel, and I happened to have this one on my shelf, unread. So far, so good. Stay tuned.

Thanks for those of you who stop by to read my ramblings and share a few of yours. I appreciate it!

Becky

Share

The Answer To All Our Prayers

Fifty-Seven Words That Change The World: A Journey Through The Lord's Prayer, by Darrell W. Johnson
progress: completed

I first met Darrell Johnson at Regent College. Because the courses he taught were primarily in the area of pastoral studies, I unfortunately never had the opportunity to take one of his classes (I was working on a Master of Christian Studies with an emphasis on Christianity and the Arts; strangely, if I were to go back at this point in my life, I might consider switching to the Master of Divinity). He once gave a guest lecture in my class on the Book of Revelation, and I remember thinking what an amazing teacher he was; he taught in a way that jived with the way my brain works. I also got to hear a number of his talks in Chapel, and realised what a great preacher he was. Then, towards the end of my time at Regent, Steve and I were in a Community Group for young married couples with him and his wife Sharon. The two of them spent an hour a week encouraging us in our marriages and welcoming us into their lives, as well as their home (I still have Sharon's delicious recipe for Bacon and Spinach Salad). He became an example to me of what true pastoring looks like: he was smart, humble, approachable, vulnerable, and available, among other things. Not to mention the fact that when Bono came to Vancouver and happened to stop by Regent, it was Darrell he stopped by to see. It turns out he'd attended Darrell's previous church in southern California a few times, and liked what he'd heard. How cool is that?

So when I read a book by Darrell, I expect to be educated, informed and challenged. I read his Discipleship on the Edge: An Expository Journey Through The Book of Revelation (buy it here with my heartiest recommendation) two years ago and he did the impossible: he made the Book of Revelation make sense, in a practical and life-transforming way. I had been interested to read his book on the Lord's Prayer and was pleasantly surprised to find a used copy at a Value Village store in Edmonton. Coincidence? I'm inclined to call it Providence.

I've never felt very "good" at prayer, if such a thing can be measured, and so it was with great relief that I read Darrell's reminder that this is the one specific request for instructions made by the disciples and recorded in the Gospels: "Lord, teach us to pray." They didn't get it, either! Certainly, they prayed, but they saw something uniquely different in Jesus' prayers. Darrell writes, "Others in Jesus' day were praying 'Holy One,' or 'Almighty,' or 'Rock,' or 'Lord of Hosts.' Jesus was praying 'Father.'" (105) The disciples saw that all that Jesus was and all that He did sprang out of His relationship with His Father, and the key to that relationship was prayer. He writes

"I understand the disciples' request to mean more than, 'Jesus, teach us some new spiritual techniques that will help us stay awake when we pray and make us feel that your prayers matter.' I take their request to mean, 'Jesus, will you teach us how to relate to the one you call 'Father' the way you do?'

"So Jesus teaches his disciples - and us - to pray fifty-seven words that are brilliant in their simplicity. These fifty-seven words change the way we understand God, ourselves, and the world. Indeed, they are fifty-seven words that, when prayed with even a modicum of faith, end up changing the world. (12)

As we pray the Prayer, we begin to discover what's on God's heart, and what He is doing in our world. And more than that, we are somehow granted the privilege of becoming partners with Him: "We are joining the living God in bringing about the realization of his heart's desire for the world." (14) As with the Book of Revelation, the veil is being pulled back to reveal the mighty happenings that are going on behind the scenes. "Our Father in heaven" is a reminder that God - our Father! - is indeed on the throne of the universe, working out His good purposes throughout the course of history. "On earth as it is in heaven" tells us that heaven is invading earth, and we are invited to participate in the Great Reversal of all that is wrong in our world.

Darrell expounds on each of the six petitions, and sums it all up with the amazing revelation that Jesus himself is the ultimate answer to each of the requests. He is the ultimate hallowing (revealing) of the Father's name (which is His character). He is the King, ushering in the kingdom of God, a new world order. He is the Son who lived His entire earthly life in complete submission to the Father's will. Jesus himself is our "daily bread," the true nourishment of our souls. He is the Redeemer, who cancelled our debts and paid them off with His own blood, and the Reconciler who empowers us to forgive others. Lastly, He is the one who once and for all defeats the Evil One, who would lead us astray. "The answer to the Lord's prayer is as sure as the Lord himself." (112-113)

There is so much wisdom here, so much time needed to soak it all in. What Jesus is saying in this prayer is essentially, "You want to get to know the Father? Get to know me. Walk with me. Work with me. Abide with me. Begin to look like me." Therefore, while I am convinced that God welcomes my honesty in prayer, my requests of what I think I need, His deepest desire is to show me that what I most need is Him. It's a lesson that's been breaking into my heart for quite some time now - I'm finally starting to get it. As with any intimate relationship, God wants to be loved for who He is, not just for the benefits of His friendship. He gives generously, and nowhere does He gives so generously as when He gives Himself. As Brother Lawrence would say, there is no greater blessing than finding ourselves in His presence, and losing ourselves in His love.

Share

Mystery and the Idolatry of Ourselves

Amazing Grace, by Kathleen Norris
progress: 88/384

After finishing my very difficult article on wrath yesterday afternoon, I returned to reading Book 3 - Amazing Grace by Kathleen Norris - and was pleased to read her comments on mystery so quickly after writing my own thoughts on the subject. In her  article on "Annunciation," she writes about the discomfort modern Christians have with the concept of mystery, and their (our) tendency to resort to comforting and therapeutic language when worshipping. She uses words like "trite" and "impoverished." The consequence of this unwillingness to to be content with mystery and replace it with shallow interpretations in turn shifts the focus from God, whom we worship, to the worshippers themselves. She writes,

"Such language reflects an idolatry of ourselves, that is, the notion that the measure of what we can understand, what is readily comprehensible and acceptable to us, is also the measure of God." (72)

The question is, what kind of God would we have if we could fully understand Him with our own limited and broken thinking? He'd look a lot like us, in all the worst ways. We would be attempting to create God Himself into an idol of our own making. Yikes.

***

"'When you realize there is something you don't understand, then you're generally on the right path to understanding all kinds of things.'" — Jostein Gaarder (The Solitaire Mystery)

Share

Wrath: The Fluid That Love Bleeds

Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer, by CS Lewis
progress: completed

In Chapter XVIII, Lewis challenges Malcolm's view of God's wrath, which denies that God experiences wrath as anything akin to an emotion (he uses the phrase "fit of temper"), rather it is an inevitable, impersonal response of holiness to unholiness. Malcolm compares it to what happens when one touches a live wire: "The live wire doesn't feel angry with us, but if we blunder against it we get a shock." (96)

"My dear Malcolm," writes Lewis in his typical winsome way, "what do you suppose you have gained by substituting the image of a live wire for that of angered majesty? You have shut us all up in despair; for the angry can forgive, and electricity can't." (96)

It's no secret that most believers are not entirely comfortable with the idea of God's wrath, especially as it relates to God's love. Those who are zealously at home with God's wrath tend to scare the rest of us off - the hellfire and brimstone may frighten us into repentance, but it does little to encourage us into relationship with God. Some would much rather ignore the fact of God's wrath completely, insinuating perhaps that God's love cancels it out. Still others, such as Malcolm, attempt to reimage wrath into something more tolerable and less terrifying.

Malcolm and Lewis both agree that God's wrath can only be understood in terms of analogy; as with all divine attributes, the human versions are too polluted and self-aggrandizing to do more than offer guesses as to what the perfected version of wrath (or love or jealousy or holiness) is truly like. Lewis reminds us of the danger of becoming overconfident in our attempts at defining God: "Every idea of Him we form, He must in mercy shatter." (82) Nor should we ever think that our finite minds can ever fully comprehend the character and ways of God, who is infinite - in the end we must accept as incomplete our attempts to define and systematize God's personality, and bow down before His divine Mystery, believing that what He has revealed of Himself is enough.

Malcolm mistakenly attempts to reduce God's wrath to a sort of predictable, scientific reaction of a divine Force instead of the personal, relational response of the Persons of the Trinity. What Lewis points out is that if we strip away the nuances of relationship, will, and emotion from our idea of wrath, we must also strip it away from our idea of love and all the rest of God's attributes. He cannot be a Force in one area and a Person in another. Wrath may be gone, as he says, but forgiveness, too.

Surely the attributes of love and wrath inform each other? No man could be said to truly love his wife if wrath was not a possiblity. Can you imagine a lover responding with indifference to the other's confession of unfaithfulness? Surely such "love" would be proven a fraud? Lewis writes,

"Anger - no peevish fit of temper, but just, generous, scalding indignation - passes (not necessarily at once) into embracing, exulting, re-welcoming love. That is how friends and lovers are truly reconciled. Hot wrath, hot love. Such anger is the fluid that love bleeds when you cut it...Wrath and pardon are both, as applied to God, analogies; but they belong to the same circle of analogy - the circle of life, and love, and deeply personal relationships. All the liberalising and 'civilising' analogies only lead us astray. Turn God's wrath into mere enlightened disapproval, and you also turn His love into mere humanitarianism. The 'consuming fire' and the 'perfect beauty' both vanish. We have, instead, a judicious headmistress or a conscientious magistrate." (97)

I believe that God's love and wrath are intimately connected to each other; we need them both if we are to have any hope of understanding God and His ways. The problem arises when we draw too heavily from human examples of either: human love can be shallow, selfish, and temporary; human wrath can be unfair, unwarranted, and cruel. In humans, wrath and love can rarely if ever coexist. With God, they must, for He never contradicts Himself. He IS love (always and forever), and yet He is also revealed in Scripture as a God of wrath and vengeance. He loves us and yet - and so - He pours out the wrath we deserve on His beloved Son, on Himself. What can we make of this? It is mystery.

We dare not play favourites with His attributes lest we pollute them all. Without wrath, God's love would become sentimental and uninvolved. Without love, His wrath would be cruel and inescapable. God loves, God avenges, God judges, God forgives. He is love, He is just, He is holy. It's a tightrope act that we are called to walk, constantly holding these truths in balance. Only then can we have any hope of becoming wise.

"The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom..." - Proverbs 9:10a

"The one who fears God will avoid all extremes." - Ecclesiastes 7:18b

Share