BAPTISM

I love rain.  A good storm envelopes me in peace and opens me up to a Power greater than myself.  Not everyone is sympathetic with my mysticism, but I don't care. 

           

I love rain. 

I like to take walks within her embrace and to meander along until her drops become one with my sweat. 

I like to get drenched as I play in the puddles of nature's creation and to make my way through the blanket of wetness that soaks my body and fills my soul with joy.

           

I like to watch the palms move in the mist and a thousand other trees stand in exaltation as they, almost in unison, sway to the hymn of nature. 

           
And, I see God in the rain.  I feel Him in the mist and sense Him in the breeze.  He is near in the moving clouds and present in the little streams that make their way to join other streams as they move to destinations chosen either by nature or construction.

           

Rain mystifies me and reaches depths in my nature that ever remind me I am baptized in drops of water that flow, not from the sky, but from a well whose waters not only refresh my body but energizes my soul, a well of water whose depths know no limits, whose Source is God, and whose drenching is eternal life. 

I recently read somewhere this probing thought of Anglican Priest, Philip Gill.  He said, 

I am baptized!’ Apparently Martin Luther, the great 16th century figure of the reformation used to take great comfort from these words. When it seemed to him that the whole church had left the precepts of the Gospel, when he was under scrutiny from Church officials as to the truth of his beliefs, when his life was under threat and when he suffered self-doubt he would boldly claim, ‘I am baptized (http://www.whatchristianswanttoknow.com).

I am baptized.  I’m no Martin Luther but I am baptized.  I am baptized in the life of Jesus.  By a grace I do not deserve I have been invited to live in light of the baptismal waters that declare, “it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself up for me” (Galatians 2:20).

LIVING THE QUESTIONS

In his famous work, Letters To A Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke says something that those of the Christian Faith would do well to embrace. He tells us,  

Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.

We don't like unanswered questions much, do we.  We want answers and solutions and results. We want them so badly we create fabricated deadlines and criteria, so that we can have questions answered and uncertainty rejected.

Did you ever notice, though, how many questions God asks in our Scriptures?  Here are a few.  In the Garden of Eden, after Adam had sinned, God said, “Adam, where are you?” To Eve, after the Fall, he said, “What is this that you have done?” To Cain after Cain had murdered Abel: “Where is your brother?” To Jacob, as he fought with the angel of the Lord, “What is your name?” To Sarah when she disbelieved and laughed in her disbelief, “Why did you laugh?” To Moses, when Moses asked Him to part the Red Sea, “Why are you looking at me?" To Samuel, “How long will you grieve over Saul since I've removed the kingship from him?”

Jesus asked a lot of questions.  I never actually counted them but a friend of mine wrote a book a few years ago entitled 100 questions Jesus asked.  Here are a few.  After He had left His mother and father and made them worry themselves sick about him, “Why were you looking for me? Didn't you know I would be doing my father's business?” To his mother after she asked him to turn water into wine: “Woman, what is that between you and me?” To the man who told him that his brothers and mother were waiting for Him outside, “Who are my brothers and sisters?” To the woman taken in adultery, “Woman, where are your accusers?” To the man who wanted to know what the greatest commandments were: “Tell me who acted as a neighbor?” To John and James when they asked Jesus to make them special in heaven, “Do you think you can swallow the cup reserved for those who will stand at my right hand?” To the man who wanted Jesus to tell his brother to divide the inheritance properly: “Who made me a divider between you?” On the question of tribute, “Whose inscription and face is on this coin?” To Simon Peter, “Who do you say I am?” To Simon Peter, “Do you love me?” To Saul on the road to Damascus, “Why are you persecuting me?”  In the gospel of John chapter 14, Phillip asked Jesus to show them the father. Jesus said, “Have I been so long with you Philip and you don't know me? He who has seen me has seen the Father.”

Maybe Rilke is on to something when he says, "Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language."  Instead of rushing into answers maybe we ought simply to embrace the questions, meditate on them, process them, or, as Rilke says, "live the question."

Perhaps it would be a good thing to slow down a bit and not rush but live the questions until we actually live into wherever the questions leads.  Jesus shows us that well-timed questions can be more powerful than an explosive explanation point.  Maybe answers, too quickly arrived at and articulated, can miss the point.  Maybe life is a journey and that questions are essential to traverse the dangerous and uncertain terrain.  Maybe well-placed questions are more important than answers even.  After all, if we ask the wrong question what difference does it may as to what the answer is? 

Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.

BROKEN CHORDS AND AMAZING GRACE

Setting in church a couple of Sunday's ago, and listening to the message of the day, some thoughts came flooding into me.  That doesn't happen to me too often so I wrote them down as a quickly as I could so I wouldn't forget them.  Now I'm trying to read my handwriting to decipher what I wrote.  More difficult to read than hieroglyphics, as I make my way through my scribbles, the memories are flooding my thoughts again, only this time they are flooding my heart, too.  They are miscellaneous but somehow form a pattern, a glorious pattern of grace.

1. Jesus descends the mountain.
2. My brokenness is not beyond the reach of grace.
3. Chords that are broken will vibrate once more.
4. The stench of death will give way to the fragrant aroma of Christ.
5. The old will go; the new will come.
6. The brokenness will mend.
7. God comes into the mess and stamps His life on the whole thing we call our lives.

The mountain Jesus descended was the mount of Transfiguration.  Rather than stay on the mountain He came back down into His world where broken, lonely, needy people lived.  In other words, He comes right down into the middle of what we call life.

Once there Jesus embraces us with a divine and holy hug, and His very presence draws out of us the belief that our brokenness, even ours, is not beyond the reach of His grace.

The thought about Chords vibrating once more come from one of Fanny Crosby's song, Rescue the Pershing, written in 1869

Down in the human heart, Crushed by the tempter,

Feelings lie buried that grace can restore;

Touched by a loving heart, Wakened by kindness,

Chords that are broken will vibrate once more.

                                   
I've often wondered exactly what might have been on Crosby's mind when she wrote those words.  I know they speak clearly into my life.  There was a time when my life was broken, damaged, and besieged by my own sins.  There was no wholeness, just brokenness.  Then the grace came.  The mending took place. The healing occurred.  The miracle broke forth.  Chords that were broken began to vibrate once more. The music was restored.  Amazing grace spoke into my life and restored what had been stolen.

The next phrase comes from the story of Lazarus who was raised from the dead by Jesus.  He had been dead four days when Jesus asked that the tomb be opened.  The shocked family and friends reminded Jesus that Lazarus had been dead long enough for the stench of death to permeate the tomb.  Was it really wise to move the stone away?  They obeyed, however, and Jesus spoke the word of life into the deceased body of Lazarus.  The stench of death gave way to the fragrant aroma of Christ, and Jesus ordered that the grave cloths be removed from Lazarus.  A living man no longer needs the trappings of death.  The new aroma is the fragrant aroma of Jesus the Christ—the aroma of life and victory and grace and love and power and victory and compassion. 

The last three phrases speak for themselves.  When the fragrant aroma of Jesus dominates stories the old goes, and the new comes.  People experience first hand that brokenness does, in fact, mend, when that brokenness is placed into the hands Jesus the Christ.  I've seen it, and so have you, that moment when God comes into the mess and stamps His life on the whole thing we call our lives. 

The miracle of Jesus is so powerful that those who encounter Him tend to reorder their lives after Him and the grace He has lavished on them. In the chaos and mess of things, a glorious pattern of grace begins to take shape.  The stench off death no longer permeates.   The glorious and transforming fragrance of Christ fills the air. Graves cloths are no longer called for.  The signs of new beginnings emerge on the horizon. 

We become overwhelmed "that God should love a sinner such as I" ("Such Love," by C Bishop and Robert Harkness, 1929) and come into the mess, and stamp His life on the whole thing we call our lives.  What do we do with such a love?  Maybe Augustine speaks for us all when he prayed,

You called, you shouted, you broke through my deafness,

you flared, blazed, and banished my blindness,

you lavished your fragrance, and I gasped.

"I gasped."  Maybe this is the best spontaneous, unrehearsed, extemporaneous response available for one who expected judgment and, who, instead, found themselves caught up in God's amazing, poured out, and lavished grace.

In eighteen century England, Charles Wesley "gasped," and then wrote, 

Long my imprisoned spirit lay

Fast bound in sin and nature’s night;

Thine eye diffused a quickening ray,

I woke, the dungeon flamed with light;

My chains fell off, my heart was free,

I rose, went forth, and followed Thee.

My chains fell off, my heart was free,

I rose, went forth, and followed Thee.

ECHOES OF A RESURRECTION

In the book, The Gospel for the Person Who Has Everything, (Judson Press: Valley Forge, Pa, 1978) William Willimon speaks of people who say, "Well, I'm happy, contented, well fed, reasonably decent; and, after all, isn't that what religion is all about?"  To this Willimon says,

No, that isn't 'what religion is all about. In fact, it's just the opposite.  Many of the strong share with the weak the erroneous notion that self-fulfillment, self-gratification, and self-sufficiency are the only goals of religion.  For some pagan religions, such self-centeredness is the goal.  For Christianity, it is not.  Our Lord tells us that if we want to find ourselves, we must lose ourselves in something greater than ourselves.  In giving ourselves to others, we receive back the true selves that we were created to be (p. 56).

Willimon has hit on a sensitive cord for me.  All around me are people for whom life seems to be working so well.  They are healthy.  They are wealthy.  They have influence.  They are gifted.  They are skilled.  They are talented.  Everything seems to be working out fine for them, and their success seems to erode for them a sense of spiritual need.  How does the church communicate to people who seem to have it all, that they do, indeed, need God?

I suspect the answer rests somewhere in the mist, yet, fact, that anyone's life can changed in a heartbeat.  Even the wealthy die.  Even the healthy, assuming they reach old age, die.  None of us get out of this world alive.  Wealth won't save you in the end. Health won't save you in the end.  Possessions won't save you in the end.  Education, skill, talent, savvy are great for the journey, but they won't save you in the end.

There is another issue to be taken into consideration, though.  It is the fact that regardless of race, creed, color, status, power, ethnicity, creed (or anything else we can think of) everybody who has ever lived has sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.  In light of this Jesus said to His eleven remaining disciples, “Go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation. He who has believed and has been baptized shall be saved…" (Mark 16:15-16, NASB).  One of the people who did come to believe was a man of great authority and standing in the Jewish faith, Saul of Tarsus, who wrote under his new name, Paul, "I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes" (Rom. 1:16, NASB).

In the affluent culture of the USA, with money, healthcare, and abundance of food, one can get lost in an illusion that all is well.  Yet, everyday the headlines tell us that all is not well.  Life and death are going on all around us, twenty-four hours of every day.  In America, outside America, on every continent, in every nation, and every town, everyday our brains, and sometimes, our hearts, are inundated by the fact that death is no respecter of persons.   

How, then, should we live our lives?  With the speed of light we are all rushing toward the day of our death, but do we need to rush forward inoculated against the upcoming inevitable?  Are we so unaware of reality that we actually act as if we have forever on the earth?  Are we so insensitive that we define our value on the basis of what we do or what we have?  

I am told that the American actor, John Barrymore (1882-1942), once said, "Die? I should say not, dear fellow. No Barrymore would allow such a conventional thing to happen to him."  The British author, William Somerset Maugham died in 1965. At the time of his death he said, "Dying is a very dull and dreary affair.  And my advice to you is to have nothing whatever to do with it."  Henry Ward Beecher died on March 8, 1887.  He was a clergyman, social reformer, and a speaker known for his support of the abolition of slavery.  At the time of his death Beecher said, 
"Now comes the mystery."  Joke about it, laugh it off, or take it seriously, we are all moving toward the day of our death.

The New Testament says, "people are destined to die once" (Hebrews 9:27).  This is at once both sobering and electrifying.  To know that we don't have forever in this world should help us to make the best go at life we can make.  The fact that we shall at some appointed time make our exit should lead us to handle what is given us with the deepest of respect and humility.  Stewardship of life even comes to mind when one realizes that our days are numbered and that we will indeed pass away, leaving, whatever we leave, to the enjoyment of others. 

If we are blessed with the things of life so that we can share good things with others, may the grace of God lead us to be great givers.  If life is a struggle for us, and we find ourselves just getting by, may the grace of God lead us to be great givers?  There is a wonderful event described by Paul in 2 Corinthians 8:1-5.  He explains it this way: 

And now, brothers and sisters, we want you to know about the grace that God has given the Macedonian churches. In the midst of a very severe trial, their overflowing joy and their extreme poverty welled up in rich generosity. For I testify that they gave as much as they were able, and even beyond their ability. Entirely on their own, they urgently pleaded with us for the privilege of sharing in this service to the Lord’s people. And they exceeded our expectations: They gave themselves first of all to the Lord, and then by the will of God also to us.

The "severe trial" to which Paul referred was a famine that struck the land of Palestine, and during this challenging time many people entered into a great a depression. The famine was the result of a drought that had affected the Christians who lived in Jerusalem. When word of the drought and famine came to Paul, he began an effort to raise money in the Gentile churches for their Jewish brothers and sisters in the city that gave birth to the Church.  When he mentioned this great need to the churches in Philippi, Thessalonica, and Berea, they responded with great generosity, even though they, themselves, weren't wealthy.

As Paul shared the story with the Corinthians he said of the people who gave that "they gave as much as they were able, and even beyond their ability." (2 Corinthians 8:3).  Some have used this story to speak of how followers of Jesus ought to generous in the core of their life.  It is not equal giving but equal sacrifice that matters in the Body of Christ; and, it's not just about financial resources, either.  It is about an attitude in life where one actually believes "it is more blessed to give than to receive" (Acts 20:35, NASB).

If we are the recipient or the giver, all that we are and all that we might have should be embraced by the sacrificial self-giving of Jesus Christ.  God help us to take what we have and use it to His glory and honor.    

What an impact on the world it would be if gifted, talented, brilliant, wealthy, educated people could recognize their deep need of God, and live out the meaning of faith in Christ in their worlds.  That responsibility falls to all of us who follow Jesus but not all of us have the same influence.  Together, however, wherever the Church might be, the world would be dramatically impacted for the kingdom of God, should each of us, regardless of our position in life, take up our cross and follow Jesus.  If that happened the world-changing event of Acts chapter two would be re-enacted today, and one more time onlookers would have to confess, "These men who have upset the world have come here also… (Acts 17:6, NASB).

The world is being upset by a whole lot of folks these days.  What a marvelous turn of events it might be if the kingdom of God trumped them all, and a resurrected Lord would flood the world with His amazing grace, His transforming love, and His compassionate heart.  It is hard to comprehend, I know; but one can dream and visualize and hope and pray.  After all, there is a resurrection with which we must contend.

WHEN YOUR LIFE AND TIMES ARE IN THE HANDS OF GOD

In Chapter seventeen of book Three in The Imitation of Christ by Thomas à Kempis a conversation takes place between Jesus and a disciple.

Jesus says:  MY CHILD, allow me to do what I will with you. I know what is best for you. You think as a man; you feel in many things as human affection persuades.
 The Disciple says:  Lord, what You say is true. Your care for me is greater than all the care I can take of myself. For he who does not cast all his care upon You stands very unsafely. If only my will remain right and firm toward You, Lord, do with me whatever pleases You. For whatever You shall do with me can only be good.  If You wish me to be in darkness, I shall bless You. And if You wish me to be in light, again I shall bless You. If You stoop down to comfort me, I shall bless You, and if You wish me to be afflicted, I shall bless You forever.
 Jesus says:  My child, this is the disposition which you should have if you wish to walk with Me. You should be as ready to suffer as to enjoy. You should as willingly be destitute and poor as rich and satisfied.
 The Disciple Says: O Lord, I shall suffer willingly for Your sake whatever You wish to send me. I am ready to accept from Your hand both good and evil alike, the sweet and the bitter together, sorrow with joy; and for all that happens to me I am grateful. Keep me from all sin and I will fear neither death nor hell. Do not cast me out forever nor blot me out of the Book of Life, and whatever tribulation befalls will not harm me.

Can we trust ourselves to God that way?  Can we let everything go to God, and with a spirit of release embrace the story that comes to us?  Does God have to bless us to get our affection?  Does God have to "come through every time" for us to accept that He is here?  Maybe I should personalize this a bit.  Can I let everything go to God that way?  Does God always have to be satisfying me in order to gain my love? 

à Kempis makes me think of Habakkuk of old, who confessed to God, "Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, although there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.  The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of the deer, en enables me to tread on the heights" (Habakkuk 3:17-19, NIV).

You know, there are times when life just doesn't make sense.  Pain trumps the day.  Chaos trumps the order.  Evil wins, and mocks the very thought of good.  There's not enough money.  Health suffers.  Relationships remain broken.  Everything that can fall apart falls apart.  If it can go wrong, it does. 

What do we do when life hits us in the emotional sternum and leaves us writhing in pain?  Gripe at God?  Run away from God?  Curse the day we were born?  Many do.  Habakkuk didn't.  When life could not get much worse, Habakkuk rejoiced in His God.  Chose to be joyful in the face of the grief.  Found God's strength in his story, and embraced the fact that even in the mystery God was still God, and that, in the rough and hostile environment of an ugly mountain, he still had the agility of a deer treading on the heights.

It doesn't make sense.  Faith doesn't, I suppose.  Or, maybe, faith is the only thing that makes sense when things are falling apart.  And, truth is, things are falling apart most of the time in our world, aren't they?   How shall we live?  What shall we do?  How shall we survive?  How do we be Christian when everything around us calls our faith into question?  How do we go forward when every step is a challenge of mammoth proportions.

In his book, You Gotta Keep Dancin' (David C. Cook, 1985) Tim Hansel writes of faith in crucible when he wrote,

Most of the Psalms were born in difficulty. Most of the Epistles were written in prisons. Most of the greatest thoughts of the greatest thinkers of all time had to pass through the fire. Bunyan wrote Pilgrim's Progress from jail. Florence Nightingale, too ill to move from her bed, reorganized the hospitals of England. Semi paralyzed and under the constant menace of apoplexy, Pasteur was tireless in his attack on disease. During the greater part of his life, American historian Francis Parkman suffered so acutely that he could not work for more than five minutes as a time. His eyesight was so wretched that he could scrawl only a few gigantic words on a manuscript, yet he contrived to write twenty magnificent volumes of history.

Sometimes it seems that when God is about to make preeminent use of a man, he puts him through the fire.

I'm not smart enough to know how to read every situation that comes down the pike but I do know that life does not have to do us in.  The God who held Habakkuk together is still present, this time in the resurrection power of Jesus Christ.  Our days are held in the arms of grace, and the dark night is filled with the light of Jesus.  Don't give in.  Look up.  Jesus is Lord.  Maybe the prayer of our heart, when life is perplexing, confusing, and painful, be the prayer of à Kempis, " I shall bless You forever."  Better yet, may our prayer be that of Habakkuk, " I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior."

It's not necessarily easy; but who said faith was easy?  It is reality, though, when your life and times are in the hands of God.