Hammering

On my mind because of Jake's entry on receiving God's love, an excerpt from Edge of Eternity, by Randy Alcorn:

I heard the sound of someone pounding with a hammer, but it was a dull tearing sound, not the crisp, loud sound of nails driven into wood. Where was it coming from?

I heard jingling metal and looked around me and saw people pulling things from their pockets. I reached into my left pocket and pulled out… a handful of nails.

I saw now that each person had a hammer. I watched motionless as person after person positioned nails on the Woodsman’s giant feet.

“No!” I shouted. “What has he done to you?”

What horrified me most was that the people seemed so normal, even nice.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” a woman in a white nurse’s uniform asked me as she positioned a nail and hammered it five times until it was buried to its head in the Woodsman’s foot.

“Where’s your hammer?” asked a businessman in suit and tie. “Here’s an extra. Glad to share.”

I took the hammer. It hung limp in my right hand. After watching this for a few minutes, it seemed less horrible. Before I knew it, I was thinking about how big the Woodsman was, how distant he was, and how little he cared about me, and how he hadn’t made my life go the way I wanted, and how he thought he was better than me and had dared to cast blame on me. I took the hammer and started pounding nails into his heel, first one and then another and another.

I hammered nails feverishly, harder and harder. No matter how many nails I took out of my pocket, it was still full.

Then I thought about the Woodsman, about how much this must be hurting him. The individual nails might have felt like a pinprick, but the cumulative effect of all those people pounding all those nails must have been agonizing.

I began to weep and threw down my hammer and tried to pull away, but I could only get so far, so I picked my hammer back up and did what everyone else was doing.

For another stinging moment, I grasped the horror of what I was doing. I cried. After wiping my eyes, I grew angry at how I’d suffered, how my dad wasn’t there for me and how my family had abandoned me. I picked the hammer back up, pulled the replenished stock of nails out of my picket, and started pounding again. The more I swung the hammer, the easier it became, the more automatic. Blood of the innocent, shed at my whim and convenience. It wasn’t the first time, I thought, then immediately pushed back nagging memories to the dark corners of my mind. No – what I’d done and what I was doing were reasonable and just. And besides, everyone else was doing it.

The great foot trembled, as if in a spasm, but did not move away from me. For a fleeting moment I wondered why I was punishing the Woodsman for what the beast had done, for what I had done, for what others had done to me. But in the next moment it all seemed perfectly logical. It felt so good to be in control, to determine my own destiny, to choose to do something with my hands, something that made a difference. I was in charge, the Woodsman was at my mercy-and I showed him none.

I saw in the sky, above the Woodsman, the great general of the army of light come down and bow before his commander in chief in midair. “Let us destroy them now, Master-please.”

“Michael,” replied the woodsman in a tired, hurting voice, “you know if that was what I wanted I could unmake them all in a single moment or destroy them merely a thought.”

“But why, Master, do you not let us protect You and defend Your honor? Why do you let them torture you?”

The Woodsman’s wet eyes drooped. “Because… it is the only way to save them.”

Unhindered Expression

The Jubilee Conference, held in Pittsburgh every February, sponsored by the Coalition for Christian Outreach, attended by about two-thousand college students, contains many expressions of beauty. Some of the most revered and experienced Christian professionals devoting to the Jubilee vision weave together arguments and lessons of eye-opening wisdom in the presence of those soon to enter the global marketplace themselves. Worship bands of the highest caliber lead the body before the throne of the Most High with heavenly melodies and Truthful lyrics. Prayer warriors constantly come together in earnest pleading for God's will to be done and for His Kingdom to come around and in and through the college students in attendance. Members of the college fellowships meet and encourage and challenge fellow ambassadors of the Gospel in growthful and glorifying ways too often unavailable in usual college life. Artwork abounds in rooms, on fliers, as movies.

Beautiful worship, life glorifying to the most high, reminiscent of the more-than-once-mentioned Eric Liddell quote: "I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure. " But one expression of worship connected with me more than any other.

I am a musician in the sense of being able to adequately replicate or create certain tunes or melodies with the goal of expressing a certain emotion or enabling others to lift their voices in truthful, heartfelt song. Many are much more skilled at such things than I - at memorizing and playing and creating and tweaking and uniquing and originating and moving and involving and pleasing and entertaining - and those people can create much more beautiful music than I. But the greatest beauty I beheld this weekend wasn't in the form of music, but in expression. Because the best musicians aren't those that know and take advantage of all the theories and influences, but those that can get beyond them to the point that their instruments are a part of themselves and their imaginings of the best expressions are naturally and immediately and emotionally reflected through their instruments.

The Josh Moyer Band led worship on the Saturday and Sunday morning sessions, and both times I was awed by the ability of their drummer's ability to fluidly, imaginatively, naturally, ultimately beautifully beat on drums. It wasn't about correctness or form or appearances, although those things were all present: the priority was just becoming not just a part of the instrument, as hard as that is to understand, but a part of the music, knowing the songs and the instrument and the situation so well that all that remained was to be a part of it, to give everything to God through it. I play a few instruments, not including the drums, which always made me somewhat jealous but very respecting of drummers. It's not an instrument solely dependent upon fingers or hands, but the entire body: everything's involved.

And I found myself just longing to be in a place of being grounded in the Scriptures and understanding of God's vision and connected with His body, but being able to place the focus beyond maintaining or improving any of those to just living a lifesong of worship and praise, expressing beautifully the glory of the Creator and Sustainer and Savior and Ruler of this place, and all the places on this globe, and all the places beyond this globe, seen and unseen, "known" by the human race or unknown. What a joy it would be to play life so giftedly and unhinderedly and glorifyingly not for the appreciation of the community, but as a part of the community that draws it nearer to its holy Husband.

Three Competing Realities; One Highest Home

Home: hopeful, inspiring, intriguing. Too often our encounters with it or failure to enter it result in improper results. Circumstances in which we feel completely at peace and fully appreciated can be idolized, when in reality they only point to a reality more full and real. Circumstances that offer us only chaos can be utterly angering and frustrating, when this fallen world should only leave us discontent with what is and working for what could be.

Hebrews 11 offers concise stories of people who modeled faith, and in the middle of the list, the author interjects this commonality: "All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country - a heavenly one. Therefore, God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them" (vv. 13-16).

Philippians 3 offers encouragement to leave the past behind and endure the obstacles before us because "our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from tehre, the Lord Jesus Christ" (v. 20). Jesus was able to "endure the cross, scorning its shame" because of "the joy set before Him" (Hebrews 12:2), and an important part of the joy He left before His disciples is that "in [His] Father's house there are many rooms.... [He went] there to prepare a place for [us],
[and He will] come back and take [us] to be with [Him] that [we] also may be where [He] is" (John 14:2-3). Home is with Him.

For all of the excitement I gain from pondering dwelling in His house, in fellowship with Him, the home for which I was designed, I certainly struggle to apply these passages well. I'm too often given to forgetting the primary place of my citizenship and fail to represent its counterculturalness and Truth. Or I beg for the fulfillment of my heavenly citizenship in an attempt to escape the frustrating fallenness of every aspect of this world.

I feel like I've done my time in American academia: I've completed more than enough courses to graduate from college with a very respectable GPA, supposedly ready for work and life. This makes it somewhat difficult to endure additional months of classes. But, thankfully, God challenged me today with giving up the desire to move on and escape, not by accepting things as right and good, but in adopting the desire to understand and redeem.

Students are right in being discontent with the educational system in America (and probably in other places, too, but I can only speak for here): Christians are familiar with living life in view of eternity, essentially according to a higher Reality. It's from this standpoint that decisions about this world can and should be made. Those who deny the existence of a spiritual reality base their lives on the current, tangible one: what can I do to make the best of life on earth? A tragic trend that has become apparent to me is a retreat from even the earthly reality, which can be admittedly difficult and painful, in favor of a virtual one. And it's in this space where people can enjoy fulfilling fantastic dreams and achieving unimaginable success: we can become a level 52 warlord in World of Warcraft and smite even the strongest foes; we can solve all of a business' problems with a few taps on a calculator; we can reduce the functions of the brain to a memorable thirty pages in a textbook.

I don't long for the destruction of all computer games or the ceasing of all schools. I don't want to knock my teeth out with a hammer in frustration or just escape to heaven. May knowing and looking forward to our heavenly home be both a source of ideas for redeeming society's struggles and a stronghold of hope for us to endure whatever life throws at us, knowing that the Lord joyfully paid a price for us to join Him, and He's not going to exchange us for anything.

Tomatoed

Dr. Tara shared the following illustrative story at large group yesterday evening:

When in graduate school, I started growing tomatoes to take a break from some of the academic studiousness. I kept them on the deck out back and took care of them, watering them when they were looking wilty, and I was rewarded with some edible and beautiful fruit. But my understanding of nurturing was completely transformed when visiting my parents: they didn't just water their tomatoes when they needed it, but took care of them with water and fertilizer and dirt and weed-protection daily - they didn't react to problems, but prevented them.

In today's hectic and busy world, too much goes on for individuals to retain control of everything and conduct everything with thoughtful order - part of life is learning how to deal with the limitations of time and energy and orchestrating different aspects into a somehow pleasing and successful symphony worthy of notice and appreciation.

Vagueness is killer. Heard a philosophy lecturer today talk about "Tough-Minded Theories in Ethics," including the Rational Choice Theory, which states that "the rational action is that for which no other produces greater expected utility." Easy: rational actions are good, and we can discern them by looking at what decisions end in the greatest amount of utility. Utility?

Applications to life priorities and time management: killerly complicated. I'll trust in the wisdom of my elders, especially those inspired to record God's words: "Now all has been heard; here is the conclusion of the matter: Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the whole duty of man" (Ecclesiastes 12:13). I'll strive to learn from Jesus Christ, who, during even the busiest and most exciting times, "went off to a solitary place, where he prayed" (Mark 1:35).

I admittedly have a lot to learn about priorities and order and wisdom and discernment and intentionality, but one thing I do know is that, of anything in life, a relationship with God is something to be purposefully cultivated: I pray that I set aside the time to plan fellowship with Him and walk with Him, knowing Him and reflecting His glory more each and every day. One thing I do know is that it would be a disgrace to only pay attention to my relationship with God when something in life makes it clear that I'm lacking in that area: I pray that His generous blessings and humbling love remain at the forefront of my mind to the point that my response is continual worship of and thanksgiving to my Lord and My God.

Pacing

Thirty-two steps; 90 degree turn; fourteen steps; 90 degree turn; thirty-two steps; 90 degree turn; fourteen steps; 90 degree turn; thirty-two steps; 90 degree turn; fourteen steps; 90 degree turn; thirty-two steps; 90 degree turn; fourteen steps... I call it extreme pacing: extreme because it's not in one line, but four that form a rectangle. Wild and crazy. At the same time. I enjoyed a long bout of extreme pacing while waiting twenty minutes for large group to start, discontent to simply eavesdrop on Tim and Emily's conversation about transsexuals. I participated in another lengthy session of it while sharing life with Lizz over cellphone waves, unable to simply sit and talk.

Unable to simply sit and talk: not so simple. I'm on the official international list of worst phone talkers ever, and talking meaningfully in the first place takes quite a bit of concentration for me. It is not simple for me to sit and talk.

Yet I'm forced to think so by the overemphasis of multitasking in today's society. Discussing the horrific effects of equating humans with machines and comparing our behavior to their processes is for a book by someone more intelligent and learned than I. But discussing my frustration in my failure to be able to be satisfied to sit and think or sit and talk, my failure to be content when parts of me are inactive and therefore not living up to their potential, my failure to accomplish as much as possible when there's so much work to be done and so much progress to be made.

But I can't help but think that, for all of our scurrying around, we too often only wear out ourselves and the carpet.

The cure for our problems in this world and the problems of this world is not working with reckless abandon just like the cure for viral infections is not medication: some things can only be left to God to take care of in His timing.

May I apply God's wisdom and truth to the point of choosing the important over the urgent to the point of restoring others instead of exhausting them. May I not try to enact my solutions upon perceived problems but instead strive to understand and participate in God's redemption of all situations and circumstances. May I not be discontent in inactivity but in disconnectedness from the Kingdom.

Dynamic Doxology

The passion of the Poet is perfection: everlasting orchestration of a melody of expression to a beat of meaning until all pretenders fall away, all detractors are set aside, and only pure artful essence remains. A Poem requires a lifetime of pondering to the point of paradigm busting, rephrasing until no words seem sufficient, and experiencing the emotion so much that anyone around can feel what is expressed therein. But this art has been reduced to a traveling circus in which only the most bizarre and attractive succeed, because people will come to see them, pay to see them. And having no money makes all other skills and talents have similarly small value. So poets write and sell appealing books of poetry that no one has time to read or education to appreciate; poets find a cultural niche in patriotism or world news in hopes to be hired by countries or corporations that support art while killing art. While Poets are forced to sacrifice their art for life: money, acceptability, accomplishment.

I can only dream of writing like a Poet, but I have experienced what it must feel like to be a Poet. Why write this entry? There’s more than enough material for people to read, that people pay to read, that offer them things beyond what I ever could. One of the last things this world needs is another webpage full of words that a handful will ever examine and no one will ever remember. After over a decade of musicianship, I recently completed my first song. There’s more than enough music for people to listen to, that people pay to listen to, that offer them more than anything I will ever write. One of the last things this world needs is another collection of notes that few will ever hear and no one will ever remember.

So why do I persist in writing? What makes me ponder the possibilities for the next chord progression slated to become a piano piece by Ryan Heimann? Faith, hope, love: necessary, but not intuitively apparent in this situation.

I press on because through my inability God chooses to shine His ability; He is faithful in transforming my ugliness to beauty and my weakness to strength. The Lord can use anything, from a sculpture by a genius to a conversation with a nobody to a text by an wavering college boy to faithfully mold the ones for whom He already gave His life.

I press on because the counterculturalness gives me joy: I leave behind the desires to be effective and accomplish much and earn success, because I’m not the most talented or most intelligent or most attractive. No deadlines or guidelines or queue lines exist here – only composing an expression of emotion that originates in the deepest part of my life and desires to serve and touch others in ways that anything outside art can’t.

And, as I’ve most recently realized, I press on because God presses on. I am His workmanship, and I can’t thank Him enough for not giving up on me, for not throwing in the towel in frustration at this hard clay that simply refuses to adopt that beautiful position that He had planned. Among billions of more beautiful pieces of art, the Potter continues to choose to work on me. Because in me He somehow still sees beauty.

So I conclude that the ideas He provides for me are more than worth considering. And knowing. And loving. And perfecting. Because as I’m faithful, I grow, and they grow alongside me. And by His grace we can continually offer others more than we ever could before. May the art in the form of poems and plays, songs and soliloquies, essays and expressions reveal God’s truth, unloose His passion, and transform His world.