Baptism and the brain

From Wikipedia we find these references to baptism:

Baptism signifies: [Romans 4:11-12] [Colossians 2:11-12] [111]

• death of the old self,[Romans 6:3-11],
• cleansing from the guilt and corruption of human sin,[Romans 5:12] [5:18]
• salvation (being saved) from the wrath of God to come,[Romans 5:9-10]
• adoption as "sons of God",[Galatians 4:4-5]
• identification (solidarity) with Jesus Christ himself.[Acts 9:1-6] [Colossians 3:3-4]

From an article by Curt Thompson, M.D., author of  Anatomy of the Soul,
we read these words:

Current neuroscience supports the idea that spiritual disciplines line us up to allow God to change us in ways for which we hunger and thirst. As we meditate, pray (especially contemplatively), fast, seek proper solitude, confess, submit, study, and engage in other such disciplines, we create space for change. In this sense, when Paul writes in Romans 12:2 that we are to no longer “be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect,” he’s not kidding. This transformation of which he speaks is not metaphor.

Paul was no neuroscientist, he wrote that which neuroscience would now confirm: that the transformation that God began with the resurrection of Jesus is now being extended and grounded in our very brains. This is where hope resides. This transformation of our minds is no mere abstract concept conjured up by a first century apostle. No, it is God physically at work through His Spirit, doing the very thing Jesus claimed he would do. Real change. Real hope—for our relationships with our friends (and enemies), our spouses, children, neighbors, and the creation. God’s Kingdom come on earth (or, as it were, in our brains) as it is in heaven. http://thepoint.breakpoint.org/features-columns/articles/entry/12/15831

I was born into and raised in the community of the Presbyterians. I have spent 30 years as a communing member of 3 different Presbyterian congregations. This foundation and a 16 year visit into the Methodist denomination, have convinced me of my need for divine intervention. When one looks in from the outside at the Presbyterians usually the first 2 associations that come to mind are predestination and infant baptism or in more glorious terms, the sovereignty of God and salvation through grace. But, unlike most born and raised in this denomination, I was not baptized as an infant. Nor was I baptised when I made a profession of faith when I was “born again” in my teen years. I was baptized as a child.

I think I was around 4 years old. I remember the small chapel with green carpet and soft low lighting. I remember it was a cold, wet, and blustery day, maybe a Sunday afternoon. I remember standing to the right of my mother and father as they brought my new sister in their arms and handed her to the minister for baptism.

From the Presbyterian Book of Church Order we read:
Although our young children do not yet understand these things, they are nevertheless to be baptized. For the promise of the covenant is made to believers and to their seed, as God declared unto Abraham: "And I will establish my covenant between me and thee and thy seed after thee throughout their generations for an everlasting covenant, to be a God unto thee and to thy seed after thee." In the new dispensation no less than in the old, the seed of the faithful, born within the church, have, by virtue of their birth, interest in the covenant and right to the seal of it and to the outward privileges of the church. For the covenant of grace is the same in substance under both dispensations, and the grace of God for the consolation of believers is even more fully manifested in the new dispensation. Moreover, our Saviour admitted little children into his presence, embracing and blessing them, and saying, "Of such is the kingdom of God." So the children of the covenant are by baptism distinguished from the world and solemnly received into the visible church.          http://www.opc.org/BCO/DPW.html#Chapter_IV

I remember the sense of mystery and otherliness that saturated the room. My older brother and sister were there and likely an elder to witness the sacrament. But, somehow, I knew it was not about them. It all seemed very important. Likely, I had been sternly instructed that I should stand very still and be quiet. The fact that I had to wear a dress had already pressed heavily upon me the gravity of the event. I was told that the minister would place water on my head. First, my parents placed my baby sister in the arms of the minister. Words were spoken and questions were asked and answered. Then she was given back to them. Next, it was my turn. I don’t recall if the minister asked me any questions. I don’t know that I said anything. But, I remember His hand on my head.

Now, more than 50 years later, I continue to experience the mystery of the covenant forged between me and God through identification with Christ in his death and resurrection. I know now that that moment in the chapel when I was just a child was not so much a turning point, but instead a moment in time in which eternal truth was declared. I know that when I was baptized is not as important as is the fact that I have been and am baptized. And within my union with Christ, I am being transformed. As we read in Curt Thompson’s article, what began with Christ and into which I have been united, there is a very real and new life that was birthed and is being shaped. In active participation in the sacraments and spiritual disciplines and through fellowship within the kingdom of God I am being changed. It is possible, in fact promised, that I will be changed. Though the evidence of my transformation has not been seen in an instantaneous miracle, it has, nonetheless been amazing and miraculous. I know that my Creator is still at work in my mind and body and spirit. I know He will finish what He began.

This morning I reread the story of the taking of the Promised Land by God’s children led by Joshua. My journal entry of notes on Joshua 11 looked like this:
   ….a huge army;
  …..numerous as the sand;
   ….all the Kings joined forces together to fight against Israel;
   THE LORD SAID: DO NOT BE AFRAID OF THEM, because I will hand them over slain.

Later, in chapter 24, I read these words:
“I sent the hornet ahead of you, which drove them out before you—also the two Amorite kings. You did not do it with your own sword and bow. 13 So I gave you a land on which you did not toil and cities you did not build; and you live in them and eat from vineyards and olive groves that you did not plant. 14 Now fear the LORD and serve him with all faithfulness.”

I saw yet again, the confluence of the very real Divine Life and the very real Human life. I saw again the impossibility of gaining salvation and victory over sin by human effort alone. I heard the call again to yield to the collision that brings death and then life. I hear again, “Now, Fear the Lord.”

Over the years, I have come to recognize the power in the discipline of confession, and not just confession of sins, but confessions of faith. I believe it is true that much happens when we declare, shout out, sing and speak praises, proclaim, acknowledge, and ascribe glory to the Lord. After years of reading scripture and listening and hearing the Word of God proclaimed through preaching and teaching, there is now evidence of it’s impact on my mind. I think differently, I speak differently, I feel differently, and I live differently because I am under the influence of a very real covenant relationship with the One who redeemed me.

I confess with my mouth and declare aloud that baptism has engaged all of me to Christ. At the same time that I am one with Him and He with me, it is this covenant relationship that does not allow me to live in isolation or separated by self protection. In fact, I can not. In my baptism I am immersed in the fellowship of all God’s children. I am being transformed. We are being transformed.

When I stand to sing with the congregation something happens. When I join with believers and say the words of the Apostle’s Creed and pray the Lord’s Prayer there is a creative, transforming power that is in us and amongst us. There are times I perceive it  physically and emotionally and sometimes I simply choose to believe. When I stood as a witness to my grandson’s baptism and remembered my own, I believed with all of me that God had placed His hand in the water and, through His baptism, continues to work with us as the potter with the clay.

I continue to feel His hand on my head, the cleansing water washing my conscience, the words of acceptance and blessing, and the declaration of my adoption into his family. I believe he lives with me and in me. I believe He moves and has His being even in my brain, in the space between the synapses, in the electrical charges, and in the mix of serotonin, dopamine, norepinephrine, melatonin and other chemicals. Even at times when it seems I have been left at the mercy of these chemicals and that surely they have joined to form a huge army, numerous as the sand, I hear, “Do not be afraid, because I will hand them over slain.” I remember, I know, I feel, and I live immersed in Him and He is greater than my heart, my mind, and my spirit. Even as I wait and circle in and move through this wilderness, I know the results of His and my sufferings will produce satisfaction. The very real work of transformation will be completed.

Life Out of Death

The light slides across my front yard from a different angle this afternoon and takes on a color that is unique to this time of year. In spite of my grief over the loss of light as we march toward winter, I have to say that what light we do have is beautiful. The movement of the light through the trees half laden with leaves no longer green, stirred the sluggish waters of my soul to declare with my mouth that there is One greater than me. And He is worthy of praise just because He is.

I dug out my running tights and laced up my shoes for what I thought would be an obligatory 30 minute jog down and back on the greenway trail behind my house. I needed exercise, but these days it feels huge to get unstuck from my lethargy long enough to get started out the door.  But, today I made it through the door and to the trail. Surprisingly, I kept going past the end of the trail and onto the pipeline right of way that eventually takes me to the river. It was a beautiful afternoon with the rich variety of autumnal colors and smells drawing me on and into conversation with the One who made the seasonal cycles. I had a lot of not so new things on my heart and mind.

I have been reading a book written by Kent Gilges, entitled A Grace Given. On the front of the book are these word: “There is a blessing sent from God in every burden of sorrow. There is hope in that, hope even in a dying child.” The author tells the story of his first born daughter, Elie, who as an infant had a tumor growing in the middle of her brain. The story weaves through doctors offices, hope springing out of despair through a promising surgery, a near deadly seizure, a long hospital stay, a pilgrimage to Lourdes, France, and countless encounters between Elie and her parents, grandparents and others impacted by her dying self over her 10 years of life. Gilges says this of his daughter: “More than a handmaiden, Elie herself is the hand of God, the dove that descends. A child purely innocently and utterly dependent is the gateway to divinity. Elie has been a centering point for God in our family.” pg. 192

I thought about death and dying on my walk/run through the woods along the pipeline. My father died this past spring after  living with cancer for a year and a half. That year and a half was bitter sweet and brought my family many blessings out of sorrow. The greatest blessing we gained was time...time to live and breathe and have our being together. My Father was our centering point for God in our family. He knew where he had come from and where he was going. We were blessed to be with him.

The grief I have experienced since his death and made complicated by other losses coinciding has been dressed in the familiar expressions of depression. For most of my life I have felt the vacillating force and moulding weight of depression. Winston Churchill named his depression “the black dog on my back”. Depression, in it’s endless shapes and forms and degrees of power, seems to always want to destroy one’s life. Sometimes the threat is very real. Depression can be dark and mysterious, wild and potentially deadly. But, today, on my walk, the “black dog” just trotted alongside me, almost manageable. I even felt free to think that this force of death has been for me a “gateway to divinity”.

Today’s display of autumnal creativity comes because of death. In the same way that reduced light and increasing cold yields brilliant variations in color as the leaves finish their season of life, I found myself allowing for the truth that there are some beautiful results of the lessening light and the cold passages through my seasons of depression.

I watched a movie last night in which a woman was caught up by a tsunami and the raging waters carried her through the small town. At one point she crashes headfirst into a submerged structure. Her life ebbs away and the waters drag her under. What she “sees” as she is dying cannot be described to others after being resuscitated. Yet, she has been transformed. Her death and encounter with that which is beyond death transfigures her. Others think she is crazy. She is forced into a place that isolates her. In a similar way, depression, in its greatest strength, is like being overwhelmed and dragged down and under with a sense that your life is ebbing away. You feel isolated and alone. You feel blind and powerless, helpless and desperate. You struggle and thrash. Sometimes fear runs rampant and screams at you in many voices at the same time. And then sometimes you crash. The struggle is over. The fighting stops. It is in this passing through to surrender that you see the light and afterwards nothing is quite the same.

Of course life with depression is full of these life/death/life experiences. Sometimes the “dying” lasts for days or months or longer. All the while, you are reminded that the “black dog” can never be tamed completely in this life. But, of course, you have to try. You have to pay attention. Consistent efforts to discipline must be practiced. Medications must be dispensed. You research the best ways to train him. You pay out lots of money for the latest whisperer class. You blame your husband for creating the monster. You blame anyone and everyone and every circumstance. Mostly, you blame yourself.

But, it is possible the black dog, the powerless child, or the drowning self leads you to a place that otherwise you might never see. You catch a glimpse of life after death...full of faith, hope, and love as everlasting truths. Promises become greater than reality. Then, you know. You have to believe. Not to believe will give power to death. In believing, you begin to see the One who creates beauty through the dying. You know Him when He draws alongside and partners in the suffering. You know He has been that way before. He walks with you amidst the fire. He goes down into the deep water ahead of you. He finds you in your misery. He releases your feet from the snare. He saves you from your shame. He is greater than your body chemistry. He is the Potter, you are the clay. He turns your mourning into dancing. He is the One greater.

Do You Care?

When I consider your heavens

the work of your fingers….

What is man that you are mindful of him…

that you care for him.

You made him ruler over the works of your hands..

from Psalm 8

The Lord formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life and man became a living being. Man is both of the earth and of heaven…filled with the breath of God. The Lord formed woman from the bone of man. He took the bone from man, formed the woman, then brought her back to him. The plan was a good one. “Lord, why do you care?”

I stood at the water’s edge trying to determine if the tide was coming in or going out. The pelicans gliding just above the water’s surface caught my attention. The air was still and I tried to allow my soul to become immersed in the rhythm of God’s creation. “What is man that You are mindful of him?” Why do you love us as you do when we wander so far from the plan? Why do you love us so much that You continue to pursue when we turn away and hide…rejecting your gift of life’s breath. Why do You care still, after all this time? Why did you delegate Your rule to us when You knew we would think it was our own? You wanted fellowship. We wanted autonomy. What is man that You would love him still when he can’t put down his need or his wants and instead, like the rich young ruler, turns and walks away, heavily burdened with sadness. 

Why? Why would You suffer for those who turn away and reject You? Why would you continue to love and suffer for those who are notoriously weak and unable to unclench their hands from their fears or who are so grievously self engrossed as to be unable to even see You standing in our midst. The gift You give is forgotten, lost in the busyness, put aside while we go on with the lives we create for ourselves. We have taken the authority you gave us and created our own little kingdoms where fear, selfishness, greed, anger, and bitterness shape our days. Yet, You do care. Your love never ends. The tides come in and the tides go out, washing away the words we speak…”I won’t” … ”I can’t”…”I don’t deserve it” … “I am unworthy”…Washing away the fear, the selfishness, the anger, the mistakes, the disappointments… Consistently, rhythmically, You bring us new life over and over.  Why?

When Dave and I reached our 23^rd anniversary we took a canoeing trip to the Great Smokey Mountains National Park. We paddled across Fontana Lake, up Hazel Creek to a beautiful camping area in a pine forest. Sometime during this trip, as we lay in our small tent, Dave suggested that for our 25^th anniversary that we throw a big party and renew our vows. My silent thought was that I wasn’t sure we’d make it to our 25^th. I thought it would be horribly dishonest to make vows to continue what I thought we had lost. At that time I felt all we had was a memory of our commitment. The revelation that the Lord gave me in 1974, as I drove my Volkswagen beetle home for spring break from UNC, was that Dave was the man with whom He would join me. That truth and the 3 children we were raising together were the ties that kept me from fleeing from what seemed long in the process of decay. Years of stressful circumstances had over time eroded the joy and playfulness of our marriage. Selfishness, weakness, inability, depression, family and work related anxieties piled up and smothered our peace. I was dreadfully tired and devoid of hope. The thought of the years dragging out with the past repeating itself made me cry out, “Lord, show us that You care. When I consider the heavens….what is man…? But, we are yours. You took the rib…you formed me…you took me to this man. You breathed life in our nostrils. We have not handled the responsibilities you honored us with. We don’t deserve your attention, much less your love that creates life out of death. But, please come.”

“What is man that you are mindful of him?” Man, to whom you gave so much freedom, took the gift and ran. Why did you go looking for him? Why did you call to him? Will you come this time? Do You love us with everlasting love? What does that love look like? Are You really mindful. Where are You in this mess? Have we screwed up beyond redemption?”

God is not a man. Man was formed by God from the dust. Love created and formed and shaped and then let go, allowing us the freedom to choose, to name, to rule. Did He know we would fail to live in His love? Did He know in 1976 that the man and woman He joined would find the life they had built together crumbling 20 years down the road? I believe He did, knowing that He would use it to continue His plan.

I hiked through the woods along the Eno River, pouring out my grief and my confusion, when I was stopped in my tracks before a decaying log. “Kick it”, the still small voice instructed. In doing so I realized that the death of the old would create a rich, loamy soil from which the new would grow. “Let it die.” Could I trust the Creator of the universe to grow a new life out of the old? Didn’t He need me? Why was I so afraid? Why did I feel so powerless, so hopeless? Why did life seem so meaningless?

To allow what was to die was a dreadful thought. To choose to trust in the Maker of this man and woman was to step onto the platform and let the noose settle around the neck of my self-rule. It was to take the authority to rule that was given to me and step under the umbrella of God’s rule, believing His rule is love. He asked me to choose without feeling, without seeing, without knowing what would come next. He asked me to return to basecamp and be reconciled to Him. He called to me to come out of my hiding place and confess my nakedness and my shame. He asked me to let Him love me. Why was this so hard? Why was I persistent in thinking I needed to make it right? Why did I think I needed to dress myself?

The fear that pounded in my chest took me far away from the love of the Creator. “I was naked and afraid.” I am tainted with shame. I have been wrong. I have failed. I have hurt You and another. I can’t do it. I fear punishment. I fear being found out. I am angry and bitter. I fear rejection. I fear seperation. And the list goes on. Reality was overwhelming. I wanted to hide. I retreated. I disappeared deep within myself. I wanted to succeed in dressing myself in love so I could come out into the light. But, I couldn’t.

When our daughter Rebekah was a preschooler she was fascinated with changing her clothes. Three or four times a day she would appear with a new outfit on. The combinations were creative and entertained us endlessly. She loved her pink “jellies” and her red, green, blue, and yellow striped skirt worn with her flowered top. Her brother Mark was equally in love with his outfit of cowboy boots, surfer shorts, and tank top worn days on end one summer. It was permissible to allow them the right to choose their own attire until it came time to dress for church. We couldn’t allow them to dress themselves, as they were not able. With great joy, I would dress my children in appropriate attire. I would fix Rebekah’s beautiful blonde curly hair and dress Mark up in sporty flannel pants and a red bow tie.

In this same way I had to present myself to my Father so that He might dress me in presentable clothing. Dave and I, in desperation, in all our shame, humbled ourselves before the representatives God sent to us. And they prayed on our behalf. They anointed us with oil. They walked alongside us. Slowly, the mystery of God’s love pealed back our layers of calluses. The challenge was to let go of what was, to lay down our agenda, to put aside our demands, and allow ourselves to be naked yet unashamed. Grace abounded through the love and patience of Christ’s ambassadors. I met weekly with friends God had anointed to bless me. They would wash me with prayers and dress me with love and acceptance. They would speak the truth of forgiveness and turn me toward God’s promised redemption.

And Dave and I made it to our 25^th  anniversary. We threw the big party. We renewed our vows and stepped out of the ashes, dressed in grace and forgiveness. The work of making that which is good out of all things continues on a daily basis. The wonder of God being mindful of us is a constant reminder of our need to humble ourselves and press on through this place in between. We marked our 34^th anniversary this year. The journey continues.

More Important

My mind, my thoughts, my heart has been drawn again to the many that I know or have known who battle the painful paralysis that depression inflicts. I attended a memorial service for a young man whose life was ended by suicide. I have watched another young man as he struggles with the dark cloud that stirs anger and drives a wedge between himself and those he loves. I have talked with my son who seeks to find a new means of relief from the body of death that he has carried for years. I have felt tears come to my eyes as my husband and I talk about the surety that his brother's cancer will take his life. I ask my husband, "Who are you talking to about this?" I ask who is pastoring him. And I remember the times when I too felt the blinding pain of depression.

As I have found myself dancing a slow dance with anxiousness, wanting to experience a healing miracle for all, I remember what God has taught me through the life of his Son.

In this lesson that follows, that I wrote for a group of middle schoolers, I see myself and my husband as the friends. We are desperate for these we love to be healed. We work hard to find solutions and we pray even harder for miracles. It is appropriate and acceptable that we do so. But, I remember that there is that which is even more important. Though it seems that Jesus is not focused on our greatest need, I am reminded that His ways are not mine and and so, I consciously practice yielding to His loving, compassionate forgiveness. I choose to believe it is what is more important.

from Luke 5:17-26

There was a paralyzed man who was being carried on a stretcher by his devoted friends through town. They were determined to get to see the man named Jesus. Jesus was in Capernaum, a city on the northeast shore of the Sea of Galilee. This was early in Jesus’ ministry, but already he was famous. The crowds would come from every town and village to hear him preach but more so to watch Him heal and to be healed. He was the most popular and unpopular public figure in the country. He was the rock star of the first century. He preached with authority. He stirred up the crowd with his new way of looking at the world. People would follow him for miles and for days. He was the healer of every kind of disease, the one who cast out demons, and the one who raised the dead. On this day the crowd that gathered was so large that the house where Jesus was teaching was jam-packed. There was standing room only, a true fire hazard.

There was tension in the room. The Pharisees and the Scribes had traveled from far and wide and were there in full force. These men were strong in their allegiance to the study of the Word. They were sure they knew what was right and were ready to catch Jesus in the errors of His teaching. For them, it was all about getting it right at all cost. Their defense of what them deemed right was often more important than people. But, Jesus had a way of taking the ancient teachings and turning them inside out and upside down. He was a threat to established religion. He never seemed to answer your questions the way you wanted. He had a way of turning them back on you. He was really hard to pin down. He was like no man they’d ever confronted and he was stirring the common folks. These men felt pressed to get things under control.

Into this setting came these men carrying their friend on the stretcher. They were on a mission. They were determined to get their friend to the feet of Jesus, believing that if they could that Jesus would heal him. Getting this friend on his feet was their goal. They were a force to be reckoned with. Their focused passion would not be satisfied by standing on the outside looking in. They didn’t give up when they arrived to find the crowd impenetrable. The house had a flat roof with an outside staircase. They quickly took that route. They were driven by the vision of their friend walking out of that house. They thought they knew what was best. They thought they knew what would make their friend whole. What came next was not what they expected.

They dug away at the roof’s structure. They lowered the whole stretcher, with the man on it, through the hole (now talk about stopping the flow of a lecture). With the man at Jesus’ feet, they waited expectantly for the Healer to reach out and touch their friend and empower him to stand and walk. How shocked…maybe even angered they were when they heard these words “Your sins are forgiven.”

Try to imagine this. The men had risked their status in the community to get for their friend what they thought was the best thing…a whole, healthy body. What an amazing act of devotion. But, what do they hear from the man they believed could and should heal. Imagine the disappointed thoughts and words perhaps spoken by the man on the stretcher: “Ah, Jesus, sir, maybe you don’t understand…With all due respect, I’m sure you are not blind…but, maybe you didn’t notice, maybe you are distracted…ah, I'm not able to walk, you see…I came to be healed. What’s this about my sins? I don’t understand. I’m a good person. I’m a family man. I’m faithful. I didn’t do anything wrong.” What he didn’t understand was that sin in its most basic definition is not about what we do but is about who we are. Sin is what must be addressed first and foremost.

Jesus never let’s us settle for what is less than His best. He always wants to take us to the most basic level…to the very origin of the problem. He won’t leave us satisfied to remain on the surface. Here, it is not the man’s body that was most important. It was not the goal of healing his body that was most important…though He would get to that. No, Jesus was going to show them all what was really important. They all needed to understand what was most important. Forgiveness of our sins is our most basic need.

Like all stories we find multiple layers under this primary theme. Jesus always spoke pointedly regarding his primary focus, but always took advantage of a given situation to impact the lives of everyone on stage.

In this story, we see a multifaceted drama of fellowship taking place:

•       the fellowship of the men who desperately loved their friend. Jesus was not oblivious to the loving efforts of the friends….no; he recognized the value of loving one another. In fact, much of the His teaching was on this very topic.
•       the paralyzed man, dependent on his friends and who desperately wanted to be whole. Jesus did care deeply about the man’s paralyzed body…in fact if we continue in the story we see that Jesus does heal the man, who picks up his mat and walks away.
•       the fellowship of teachers of the law who desperately loved their religion. It is not that Jesus was unaware of his conflict with the teachers of the law or the need to teach them the truth, in fact throughout the gospels we hear him teaching in the synagogues
•       Jesus, who desperately loved them all enough, set up HIS kingdom where the forgiveness of sins is the foundation on which all the wants and      perceived needs of men find their realization…though maybe in a different way than man might think.

The reality is that Jesus knew that everyone in this crowd needed to hear: “Your sins are forgiven.” Without the forgiveness of sin there can be no fellowship in His Kingdom.This is what sets the fellowship of Christians apart from the fellowship of friends, the fellowship of the “religious” community, or the fellowship of the members of a society, a company, a team, a class, or  a club. The friends of this man forgiven by Jesus were devoted. No doubt they loved him as family. The teachers of the law were devoted. They thought they knew what the best was. They were passionate and zealous. All of them hoped that Jesus would be the answer they perceived was needed and therefore they were seeking. What they didn’t know was that He was THE answer and offered more than they could understand. What none of them could understand was that their need went beyond the healing of the body or discovering the “right” teaching. More than anything else, they all needed their sins to be forgiven. And Jesus had the authority to do just that and in fact did just that, even before we knew to ask.

It is the work of Christ in His authority to forgive sins that this or any crowd of opposing and diverse people can be united in fellowship.

Jesus knew that the man needed forgiveness more than he needed his body healed and gave forgiveness freely before the man understood.

God so loved the world that He gave his son. God had a plan and put it in motion. His plan was to send Jesus. Jesus would pay the price and set us free from our paralysis due to sin even when we weren’t aware that we needed him.

Lamentations

I wrote this several years ago when I feared I might lose my son to drugs and depression. Today, I heard that a young man that I knew as a boy ended his life. His mother's fear has become reality. 

HOW?

I am passing through a place that has reached through to the center of me and stirred familiar cries of lament. Though somewhat familiar and therefore less threatening now, there was a time when I was frightened by my response to such a place of  exile. I would call on all my resources to attempt to fix, or at least deaden, what seemed so wrong. It is a place that is “otherly”. It can feel complicated and confusing, yet at the same time it is mysterious and powerful. It is a universal place taking the shape of a cave outside Jerusalem where Jeremiah wrote his lamentations to God concerning the destruction of Jerusalem.  It takes the shape of the broom tree under which Elijah wept, spent by his encounter with the worshipers of Baal, and now fearing he was all alone. In this place even the weight of the air immobilizes you, weighing you down, putting pressure on your mind and soul. This place of lamentations is isolating. It sets you apart. And I, like most all of us, instinctively try to make the “bad” feelings go away. I want to “do it right” so as be comfortable and happy.. I want the suffering to end. I plead for mercy. I cannot keep silent. I have to speak. I have to cry. Through it all there are those that want me to “shush”, to be happy, to get over it, to be all right. I, too, want to be all right, as I think “all right” cannot include such feelings and thoughts..

I have found trying to whitewash my lamentations only causes shame to seep through my efforts and hopelessness to entangle me in its web. Unless I am honest and forced to take all that is within outside myself and offer it as a sacrifice of self, holy and acceptable to the One we offend, I’ll not be able to learn how to dwell in this land of exile until delivered and taken home. Unless I allow lament to express my questions I will not be able to find the Answer. I will never benefit from the worship and transformation that awaits me. Times of lamenting work like a fire in my bones to create anew.

Then I come to see with new eyes. At first it is like catching the sight of the shadow of a ship passing in the fog.  That which first forces its way into words that shout “WHY?” and “PLEASE” and “HOW?” also forces me into the reality of Christ’s Kingdom. It is the promised new birth longed for. This force that demands I cry out, that brings that which is inside out, also, leaves my mouth empty when I am spent. I come to the end of my lament when I have exhausted all words, all reason, all demands, all questions. Only here, after all is released and lay blooded in the hands of my Deliverer God that I can see the new birth. My lament is necessary. My lament is the expression of the labor of creation. My lament is an expression of worship as I could never understand when I would strive so hard to flee or be silent. Fear of what I could not control and unbelief of that which I could not understand kept me from entering in. When I first took a step of faith to follow Christ I didn’t know that I would enter into His lament of suffering as well.

We have heard Christ’s lament through many voices. Moses cried, ”Let my people go!” only his words fell on a hardened heart. The children led out of Egypt by God’s strong arm fell back into idolatry while Moses was away. Their fear and unbelief drove Moses back to the mountain full of lament and he called on the mercy of God to save them and give them new life. Samuel grieved with God as the people rejected Him in their worldly desire for a king. David cried bitterly when Nathan called him to see his sin. He lamented. He locked himself in his room and refused to eat. He covered himself in ashes, hoping for mercy. Elijah, having been”very zealous for the Lord”, but now his life in danger, fearing he was all alone, fled to a cave where God met him and fed him and gave him rest. Over and over we hear the cry of God through His people for His people. We hear His mercy without end poured out through the voices and the tears of His chosen ones.

The best of the Children of Israel were carried off into captivity by the Babylonians. WHY? They were the children of promise; they should have been spared, right? Where was God’s grace and mercy? When they got there the false prophets said it would only be for a little while. But, God said differently. Set up your households. Dwell in the land. It will be a long time…70 years. WHY? This is not God’s will! Doesn’t God want us to be happy and to live the abundant life, without these entanglements? GOD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? This is not what I understand your will to look like. This doesn’t look like steadfast love to me. It looks like abandonment, even rejection.

I can hear the FATHER speak to himself. Can you hear the father or mother in you saying this:  “I despise having to do this. It grieves me to discipline these children. They just don’t get it. They don’t understand. They are not able. Unbelief, disbelief, and misbelief harden their hearts. How WILL they ever understand if I keep holding their hands? How will they ever truly understand ME unless they lose what they think they must have, what they think they deserve?  They have missed the mark. Their thinking is askew. Their eyes are blinded. They have chosen falsehood. They have put their trust in that which they can manage. I have to stop this madness or they will be lost for good. I cannot allow them to continue to live in the darkness of their own minds. I love them too much to spare them My righteous judgments. I will not settle for less than the best…My best; not what they think is best.”

But, isn’t that the Old covenant? Don’t we live on this side of the cross, in the new covenant? Shouldn’t it be different now that we are living in grace? Christ came to feed, to give water, to heal, to set free, to unstop deaf ears, to give sight to the blind, even to raise the dead. Yes, He came that we might have life and have it more abundantly. Isn’t this all said and done? Hasn’t he delivered us from all that is not all right? This is truth, right? Is there need for lament this side of the grave?

Yes, for there is suffering. The cries of “How?” are still voiced. We continue to bewail our grievous woes. We must. Millions are starving and dying of thirst.  Prisons remain in every country. Divorce still results from unresolved differences and failure to understand one another. Accidents still happen. Lives are lost, both spiritual and physical.

I lament. God doesn’t heal the rampant force of Bi-polar disorder that colors all the generations of my family. How then do I live, when I’m convinced I’m not able? How do I live with the daily losses in my life? How do I live with the evidence of dreams shattered by sin and limitations and the painful reality that “we know not what we do”.  How do I dwell in this place between the two comings of Christ? How do I wait? How do I think about my God who seems to disappear and dwell far away when the darkness of my own Gethsemene swallows my best attempts to believe? HOW?

What God does is contrary to our way of thinking. He doesn’t fix it. At least not how we think he should.  He doesn’t come home to us one day and say, “Here is the deed to a new house in the country and funds with which to live comfortably until the end of your days. And I promise there will be no weeping or wailing or pain or sorrow.” Or does He?  I venture to say He does fix it. BUT, it is in the form of an inheritance, a TRUST FUND, set up for us in heaven. It is a surety that is ours IN CHRIST. But, this place is NOT heaven.  My problem has been that I thought, like the prodigal son, that it should be heaven and therefore I could demand my inheritance and the right to benefit completely from it now and thus be spared the sorrow of this life. I thought I should be allowed to bypass all of that which causes me to lament and go straight to heaven…better yet, have heaven set up here…the whole house, all the rooms… Not even have to finish the journey…. Certainly not have to feel and give voice to the emotions of lamenting.

My ways are not your ways nor my thoughts your thoughts, says God over and over.

What have I learned through my journey through this life thus far? What do the cries that explode from my soul say about me? And what do they teach me about God? What is the place of sovereign lament in our lives and in the lives of the community of believers? What do questioning tears and chest-wrenching sobs have to do with helping us to discover the purpose of life: to know God and enjoy Him forever?

Oswald Chambers says, “What is my dream of God’s purpose? His purpose is that I depend on Him and on His power now. If I can stay in the middle of the turmoil calm and unperplexed, that is the end purpose of God. His end is the process – I see Him walking on the waves, no shore in sight, no success, no goal, just the absolute certainty that it is all right because I see Him walking on the sea. This is what glorifies God.” Chambers focuses our attention on Christ as the storm continues to crash and we are forbidden the luxury of being in control. He challenges us to make Christ our focal point as the labor and delivery takes over. Our lament is our expression of faith and releases us from our own attempts to be in charge.

Jesus’ answer to the man who asked what he must do to DO the works of God was “Believe”. It is faith that pleases God. Read Hebrews 11 to see examples of lives that were pleasing to God because they lived through faith. I will be bold to say each life listed in this Hall of Faith was expressed by sovereign lament. In the midst of the fire, through the sacrifice of that which was most precious; the leaving behind of home and family; living the life of a fool who built a boat on dry land; going but not knowing where; living as an alien in the land. All of these died without receiving the promise. They confessed they were strangers and exiles on the earth. And I doubt this made them feel happy, at least not in a worldly sense. Cries of lament, holy lament, if there is such a thing, were likely their most honest expressions of life. They each found at the end of their laments that they were and had been in the hand of God and that was enough. That which they lamented for was not the end. Was it not more so the means, the transportation, the bus, (to use C.S. Lewis’ imagery) to the promised land, to Christ’s Eternal Kingdom, to oneness with Christ by faith?

In lamenting, we not only allow the heart of God to capture us, we give His voice words and cries and groans. We come into a passionate interface with God himself. Like Jacob we wrestle through the night, demanding a blessing, but in the end find ourselves marked for life with a holy limp. That limp is the mark of God’s hand on us. It is his blessing that we asked for though it doesn’t look like what we thought.

Christ Himself showed us the way through lament to new birth. I can see the Lord of creation, hanging on the cross, crying out, “Forgive them for they know not what they do”… I can see the force of His lament in the process of giving me new birth, transforming me bit by bit from one who knows not, to one who by faith understands. I can know why. I can know how. Christ and His suffering and lament has entered me and is putting flesh on these dry bones. The desire of God’s heart is being given a shape and form.

Before He wrestled with the cup presented to him in the dark night of his soul in Gethsemene, Christ prayed for the disciples and for those who would later come to believe. He knew what was coming next, though He knew no one could go with him. He entered the Garden and felt then the beginning of the end. His best friends would fail him. They would not be able to stay. They were afraid of the path Christ was taking. Yet, Christ continued to walk into betrayal and rejection. It wasn’t the way it was supposed be, they thought and we say. But, it seldom is. Christ’s lament in the upper room, in the garden, through His silent lament in the presence of the high priest, and His words on the cross, opened the door to that which is greater than our imaginations can fathom…perfect life moving into death’s grip, then breaking free and anew to a resurrected life… A new life where the past is the past, what was is left in the grave, where forgiveness is complete, and love is forever without expectations. In and through Christ all will be, all is completed, finished… For us, who know not what we do.

Now, by faith, we travel every day on the path Christ traveled, and if we allow Him to be in us and we accept the faith and courage to remain we will live it all, the full, complete, and abundant life. We will join in His suffering and cry out with him on our cross. We will each become a living sacrifice and die to ourselves, little by little. And our cries, our groans, our wails, our pleading to know “How?” will yield to the sweet incense of transforming worship..the expressions of incomprehensible joy and gladness.