Freedom!

No, this is not a post about Braveheart. Ok, now that I've effectively separated the wheat from the chaff...

In the States, "freedom" is a big deal. I mean, seriously, how much more "American" can you get? Red-white-and-blue + open space + apple pie = America = the cult of freedom. 20 different kinds of peanut butter + consumerism + "your way right away" = freedom to choose exactly what your heart desires. That's the thing: here in the States, we often interpret "freedom" as freedom of self-determination; freedom to do whatever we want, whenever we want; freedom not to be bound by anything other than the whims of the present moment.

So what do we do when we hear a statement such as, "it is for freedom that Christ has set us free"? As Christians, perhaps we envision a life free from sin's shackles--but even this is a negative vision. It's a bit passé to talk of freedom "from" vs. freedom "for," but I couldn't help but take a second glance at these words in Thomas Schreiner's books on Pauline theology:

"[Paul] understands freedom from law as freedom from the old era of salvation history, for to be under law is to be under the power of sin (Gal 5:18). The outpouring of the Spirit signals the commencement of the new era in redemptive history, and freedom involves the ability to practice love (Gal 5:13-15)." (Thomas Schreiner, Paul: Apostle of God's Glory in Christ, p. 263. Emphasis added.)

Wow! Freedom to practice love! Now that I can wrap my mind around. The freedom to relate to others in a loving way, all the time, no matter how cantankerous the other person (or I!) might be, no matter the baggage between us, no matter if that person is George Bush, or someone dying of AIDS, or Paris Hilton, or simply my next door neighbor. The freedom to love... mind-boggling.

Blackened White, Reddened Gold

Warning: this will not be a typical "Easter" post. This year, when I encounter the empty tomb, I have no words. No profound thoughts. I feel as though I am a disciple who arrived to the tomb after Jesus had already left to appear to others - I know that he is risen, but the reality spills over me without sinking in, as if I were baked clay, unable to absorb the living water. I did celebrate with my whole being at the Easter Vigil (glorious time!) and on Resurrection Morning, and for a time I experienced that deep joy, but all too soon life's realities crashed down upon my joy.

I shout Alleluia with tears of joy and sorrow.

Call me a kill-joy, but I cannot pretend that the Resurrection, this side of the eschaton, erases pain. Indeed, I should not! Yes, we must celebrate; yes, we are called to be a joyful people, filled with gratitude and excitement as we live into the reality of the risen Christ -- but the blinding white of our celebration in this life is always, always, always streaked black by our sin, riddled red by our suffering. And for now, that is the way it must be.

"When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: 'Death is swallowed up in victory.' 'O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?" (1 Cor 15:54).

Speeding toward the cross...

"Pilate"

Clamoring Jewish rabble!
The snarled mob tangles dirty streets
with churning limbs and fists flung high at
Him?
He reminds me of my brother—except
ratted hair, matted beard, tattered robe
gaping crimson like woven grapes.
Routine, really—third one this week;
standard questions, nonsense answers,
red tape tied in bureaucratic knots,
But the masses bellow.
Look at them!
Legion dagger-eyes unsheathed in hate for—
Love?
Foolishness.
You could have, should have
played the game, worked the system—
but this?
Blame on the blameless?
No! Blame yourself—stubborn, stupid
silence
So be it. Take your royal silence to your royal
tomb.

~ARH 5/3/02~

"Progress"

Progress--
like the glacier's inching stride
unnoticed;
the stealthy sunlight of a dwindling day;
one click quicker on the metronome,
or two;
a scar where the wound was new.
A day without tears,
a deeper breath;
a backward glance at the Valley of Death.

~ARH, 3/16/08~

Prayer for Gramps

Some of you know that my grandpa fell and broke his hip the other day. I just learned that he is going in for surgery this morning (surgery was originally postponed because of his age). I would appreciate your prayers for him, as well as for my dad, who is leaving today for a choir tour in San Francisco and, thus, will be unable to be with Grandpa this weekend.
Guess which one is Grandpa? Hint: I am NOT my own grandpa . . . and neither is my bro.

"More than just the passive suffering of an innocent person, the passion of Christ is the agony of a tortured soul and wrecked body offered as a prayer for the forgiveness of the torturers. No doubt, such prayer adds to the agony of the passion. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer saw clearly, forgiveness itself is a form of suffering . . . ; when I forgive I have not only suffered a violation but also suppressed the rightful claims of strict restitutive justice. Under the foot of the cross we learn, however, that in a world of irreversible deeds and partisan judgments redemption from the passive suffering of victimization cannot happen without the active suffering of forgiveness." (Volf, Exclusion and Embrace, 125)

"The active suffering of forgiveness" - I think this is deeply true. How hard it is at times to give up our desires for vengeance, making the other feel pain as we have felt, or even for visible justice, seeing the other punished for wrongs done to us. But there are times when justice here on earth is not possible. This doesn't give us an excuse to pardon injustice, but we must also recognize that our own puny ideas of what justice looks like are not equivalent to God's justice. Is it possible to forgive those who do not even acknowledge they have done wrong, who on the contrary are deeply convinced that they are the victims? I think it is, but it is only possible in Christ.

"When one knows that the torturer will not eternally triumph over the victim . . . , one is free to rediscover that person's humanity and imitate God's love for him [sic]. And when one knows that God's love is greater than all sin, one is free to see oneself in the light of God's justice and so rediscover one's own sinfulness." (124)

That's exactly the point - none of us are fully innocent. Ever. Once again, this does not excuse injustice, but it also should relativize our "righteous indignation." I am never in a position to judge and condemn another, for we are all equal as we fall at the foot of the cross. Handing over my demand for justice to the One who is completely Just, completely Loving -- this is the painful power of forgiveness.

Brief Thought for the Day

"The distance [from our own cultures] forged by the Spirit of new creation . . . entails a judgment against evil in every culture. . . . The judgment must begin, however, 'with the household of God' (1 Peter 4:17)--with the self and its own culture. . . . Similarly, those who seek to overcome evil must fight it first of all in their own selves."

~Miroslav Volf, Exclusion and Embrace (52)

As I was reading today, this quote particularly captured my attention. First, I appreciated that Volf was able to affirm that Christians are called to be BOTH drastically accepting of others (the Holy Spirit "creates space in us to receive the other" - 51) AND holding onto moral judgments of right and wrong. Most of us seem to deemphasize one or the other, but both together are Christian.

Second, the biblical statement, "judgment begins with the household of God" hit me powerfully. Do we take this seriously? Yes, we preach piety and moral values, but do we really engage in the hard work it takes to root out deep seated evils from ourselves and our communities? Do we preach at those who lack the Spirit, condemning them for their "evil ways," while we who have surrendered to the Spirit's claims walk blindly in the darkness? I fear that too many in American churches have a "form of godliness" while denying its power. . .

What do you think?

Mingled Waters

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they shall see God."

There is a deep brokenness to life. Some days I know it more than others. Some days I feel the Fall like a dull ache, a heaviness upon my chest. Some days, I find it easy to mourn with those who mourn and weep with those who weep, because my whole being is tuned to that inexpressible groaning of creation and our common longing to be whole again.

Today was one of those days. Heavy thoughts and conversations from the past few days sunk into my body overnight, and I woke with grief. With awareness of my own sins and failures as well as awareness of the tragic gaps between us and others, some of our own making, some that just . . . appear. I came to church dwelling very much in Lent.

At church, music rehearsal was dominated by the absence of our sound technician and corresponding problems, particularly since we use an electric keyboard rather than an actual piano. No sound = no keyboard. I was actually expecting a few snafoos during the morning, since our pastor was out of town, so I wasn't surprised. We never actually accomplished a full sound check, so when the service began, it was difficult for us musicians to hear one another -- Muffled notes in the sanctuary, my own voice and the rhythms of guitar close by.

The confirmation class that met before the service lasted until about 3 minutes before the service begins, making me antsy about getting upstairs and preparing to begin.

With a visiting preacher often comes a few other bumps in the liturgical road. Today, the pastor accidentally prepared a sermon from 2 Samuel 16 rather than 1 Samuel 16, so that the Old Testament reading that appeared in the bulletin did not match the sermon.

Somehow the third verse of the closing song did not get printed in the bulletin, so Elisa and I sang an inadvertent duet.

Why this litany of "failures" during corporate worship? Because despite these glitches, God made His presence known. Despite the poor monitor levels, the congregation was engaged in singing. Despite the Samuel mix-up, God's word was preached in power. Just as God worked in the service in spite of our human errors, so God works in us in the midst of our brokenness.

There is always a brokenness inherent in anything we do in this life, whether we are aware of it or not. In times when things run smoothly, it is easy for pride to take us captive so that we congratulate ourselves on our own competence, whether in our "excellent worship," or the "practical wisdom" we graciously extend to our friends, or our superior business sense, or our self-awareness ("why can't others simply be considerate like me?").

Pride does not lean on God's grace. For this is what makes me thankful for the days in which I dwell in brokenness: the deeper my sense of the brokenness, the greater my sense of God's grace. God has not abandoned us to brokenness. God does not disregard our pain, our failed relationships, our damaged emotions, our deluded thoughts. There is healing, joy that we only experience to the extent to which we have known the pain. Without brokenness, we would not see the radiance of redemption.

There is an undercurrent of deep sadness in life, but that mournful stream empties out into the vast, broad, deep, wide River of Life. Right now, the two streams are mingled, and as I drink from the river, I must taste both bitter and sweet.
But someday, ahh! someday . . .

"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us."