Staying Current

It's been tough to keep my blog-and my life-current. Lately, as I've recounted in agonizing detail, my schedule seems to have spiraled out of control. Thanks to those of you who are helping me to think through my priorities. You may have noticed that I'm a big fan of letting other people speak into my life. Now may the Lord himself grant to me discernment and power, that I may please him in the management of my time.

I know that I have several blog readers who aren't your typical, tech-savvy blog connoisseurs. With them in mind, I offer this little tip for watching blogs that (like mine!) are not updated every day. It's called Google Reader, and it functions almost like an email inbox. Simply subscribe to the blogs you want to track, and Google Reader will let you know which ones have been updated each time you log in. Just another way to stay current!

HT: HM

Methodology Meets Theology

I've been thinking lately about the way that I work. My often unhealthy motivations and my sometimes unhealthy practices have been exposed by my sickness. You can interpret my absence from the blogosphere, in part, as a failure to integrate those practices with the other necessary components of living. You can interpret my filthy apartment and car, my backlogged email, and my unanswered voice mails in much the same manner.

Now that I conduct life inefficiently (read: slowly), I have to think seriously about where I spend my time. Here is where my methodology meets my theology. For example, I rarely apply makeup in the mornings now; it's simply not where I want to spend my time. The good news is that my whole triage system is completely redesigned; the bad news is that my mind is not wholly renewed in this area. So I find myself feeling confused and despondent quite regularly. I'm not yet sure how to distinguish between and among frustration, lethargy, and conviction. You know you are in a new spiritual place when both sin and surrender feel so uncertain.

Scripturally, how do I think through these things? To which things do I apply myself, and at what level?

When they found him on the other side of the sea, they said to him, “Rabbi, when did you come here?” Jesus answered them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, you are seeking me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. Do not labor for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give to you. For on him God the Father has set his seal.” Then they said to him, “What must we do, to be doing the works of God?” Jesus answered them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.”

This passage in Luke addresses these often contiguous issues of motivation and vocation. Most of us have seen the motivation question play itself out in our own lives. We pray because we have seen prayers answered and because we have needs. This is not wrong. But if we come to our prayers with only our hunger in mind, disinterested in the redemption that is signified in all of God's provision, then we seek him wrongly.

Christ recognizes here our tendency, even in the face of the eternal, to get bogged down in the temporal. We see this as we go about our daily tasks. Our calling, the outworking of the gifts that the Lord has given us to bless the body, gets submerged beneath the excesses of our day to day duties. Maybe that work happens at the office; maybe it happens at the gym. Maybe your answer, like mine, is C) both of the above or something entirely different.

Perceiving this weakness, the Lord warns them, "Do not labor for the food that perishes." Do not steward your time and energy to win the approval of man, a heftier paycheck, a better body. Receiving this warning, they then look to him and ask, "What must we do to be doing the works of God?" They did not know what this eternal bread looked like, and they didn't know what kind of work produced or secured it. And so they asked, and they asked wisely. What is Christ's response? Believe. Interesting.

This verse helps me to center my thoughts on the Gospel as I attempt to steward my time. For example, I contemplated going to the gym tonight—even though my legs and feet are aching. How do I evaluate this plan? I asked myself, "Am I believing in Christ?", and I have to confess that the question didn’t get much traction. So I got more specific. I asked myself this: "As I consider this plan, am I remembering that Christ has paid the penalty for my sins and that I am now righteous through Him? Am I remembering that I am now free to live not for myself but for Christ? Or am I living under a slavery that no longer controls me?" My throbbing legs made this lie fairly easy to expose. Of course, this is slavery.

It's less obvious when I try to determine how many hours a day to work. First, I must heed the exhortation of Scripture, "Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ." This means that I work heartily "unto the Lord" no matter how many hours I work. But I am rarely tempted to indolence.

I tend, instead, to over-work to prove my adequacy to others or to silence that voice in my head that tells me I'm not enough. So as I look at the work that I do after hours I have to ask myself, "What is my motivation? Am I believing in Christ? As I consider this plan to work another hours’ worth of overtime, am I remembering that Christ has paid the penalty for my sins and that I am now righteous through Him? Am I remembering that I am now free to live not for myself but for Christ? Or am I living under a slavery that no longer controls me?"

I've put some parameters on myself in light of these question and answer sessions. I can not go to the gym two days in a row (even if my "workout" is just riding the bike for a very few minutes); neither can I work more than one hour overtime per day. The regulations may sound legalistic, but I believe that the Lord will honor them. Here's why:

You may be surprised that the parable of the talents hasn't yet entered into my discussion of stewardship and work. But, as I think about my "spare" time, this is where it seems most applicable to me. There are passions in my heart that I believe are God-given, and yet I have made little investment with or use of them. In many ways, I have been like the evil servant who hid the talent since he perceived that any ventures involving it would be risky. He saw with earthly eyes, blinded by fear.

As I reflect upon these loves of mine—writing, counseling, family—I know that I am doing little to pursue either the cultivation or the use of these gifts right now. These other "good things" in my life, such as working overtime and going to the gym, prevent me from faithful stewardship in other areas. I want my theology to change the way that I conduct my life—on the clock, on the bike, and in every other place that the Lord leads me.

My Big Break?

My accommodating general practitioner called me today to give me a detailed explanation of the results of my bone scan. First, a little lesson:

In a bone scan, the patient is injected with a radioactive isotope which spreads throughout the bloodstream. In areas where bone injuries or abnormalities are present, cellular activity is increased--because the cells are busily working to repair the damage. A bone scan looks for these areas in which the radioactive isotope is most concentrated.

Now, back to me:

My bone scan revealed a minor increase in cellular activity around the lower part of my right tibia and upper part of my left tibia (closer to the knee). The lab techs who read the results noted that this was "subtle, but could suggest a mild fracture or rheumatoid arthritis." My doctor is calling an orthopedic specialist for a consultation. I'm hoping for a big break, if you'll pardon the pun.

Of all the problems that have been suggested over the past two months, the orthopedic ones are the least life-altering and have the best prognosis. Please, Lord. Let this be it!

Reluctantly Finite

Some great insights here about using and refusing to use our gifts:

“Our resentment [toward God] often masquerades as modesty. What appears to be humility is often actually risk-aversion rooted in shame. I won’t take the risk of using my gifts because I am ashamed of the ‘real’ me—with all of my God-given limits—and there is a strong likelihood that those limits will be revealed if I go public. But to be ashamed of the real me is to be angry at God for the way he made me.”

. . .

"It has taken me a long time to understand that behind my dread-saturated ‘modesty’ was something deeper than a tenth-grade trauma. It was a form of self-serving protectionism, which was itself an expression of an ungrateful heart. Speaking was not, for me, the occasion to love people to the best of my God-given ability; nor was it the occasion to offer up gratefully to my Creator and Redeemer the fullest expression of the talents he had given to me. Speaking, rather, was simply (or largely) about me—about me either looking good or avoiding embarrassment. If I was reasonably sure I could get by without looking like an idiot, then I would take the gig. Otherwise I often would not. I had to be the best, and if I could not be the best—or at least look like the best—then I would keep my gifts to myself."

A Journey Worth Taking: Finding Your Purpose in This World by Charles Drew

Nine to Five, Part I

“I know, but that’s just how I am.”

I can’t tell you how many times I made this statement last week as concerned coworkers converged upon my office. "Shouldn't you be going home now?" "How long are you staying today?" I went from working half days on-site to working 9-10 hour days overnight. I tested the waters and discovered that I could swim. So I spent the whole week swimming.

As the week drew to a close, though, I noticed that bitterness and frustration were edging out my gratitude for these restored abilities. It seemed to me that it was time to examine the "that" in "that's just how I am.” Nine times out of ten, I find myself using that statement to excuse some pattern of sin in my life by an appeal to genetics, environment, or tradition. Could that be true here?

I’ve always been a workaholic. I learned in high school that the difference between a 99 and a 100 on an exam might be as much as three hours of preparation, and I decided then that it was worth it. Yes, I was the valedictorian. (No one else in my class was as crazy as I was, although a number of them were smarter).

Oh, for those report card days--when I knew where I stood among my peers! Success is not easily quantified in my current field, and so I have to seek out mechanisms by which to gauge achievement. One easy way that I can affirm myself is by working overtime. I suspect that this is the primary reason that I do it; it silences my fear that I'm not doing enough, that I'm not measuring up.

I could have gone on indefinitely working in this manner, but my sickness has forced me to think through what happens on autopilot. I guess that I absorbed a bit of my coworkers' concern last week, so I took two days to work only the requisite 7.5 hours. By the third day, though, I was a disaster (as was my desk). So this is what my workload would look like if I didn’t work after hours?

A little frustration or anxiety might be normal responses to this scenario, but there was nothing little about my frustration and anxiety. I was so traumatized by the experiment that I had to evaluate it seriously. Some unconscious thing that I was "needing”, wanting, or fearing had been jeopardized by my new plan.

I demand a lot of myself at work, and I also demand a lot of my work. I give so much to my job that I expect some reciprocity. The satisfaction of knowing that I have "conquered" a certain amount of work or approval from my boss are typically adequate for my purposes. But there are days that I walk away and wonder what I really used 75% of my waking hours to accomplish. Often these are days on which my greedy heart needed more than I got, and bitterness grew up in the absence of reward. In A Journey Worth Taking: Finding Your Purpose in This World, Charles Drew writes, "The simple joy of working hard at something eludes us. Whether we are at school, on the playing field, on stage, in the boardroom, or on the net, the desperate need to ‘win’ in some sense—to get ahead by our efforts, to define ourselves over against the competition, or just to keep up—strangles our souls." Always the need to win, even if I am the only witness to the victory.

But if it provokes me to bitterness and resentment, then why do I work so hard? It is perfectly obvious to me that I am working to meet self-esteem needs, to quiet fears of inadequacy and to satisfy desires for power. It is equally obvious that this food cannot satiate the appetites toward which it is applied. There is never enough approval to satisfy one obsessed with self. So I cannot work for that purpose.

Colossians 3 instructs, "Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ."

Could "serving the Lord," then, be a better purpose for my work. Colossians 3 does not assure me that I will receive any temporal reward for my hard work. And it's interesting that this statement about working as for the Lord is nestled into a chapter about putting on the new self. Our attitude toward work can be a very important way that we fight our flesh. The flesh will find some purpose in work; the spirit must work to redeem that purpose.

Obviously, there is nothing wrong with working hard at my job, so long as the work is "unto the Lord". But I wonder, sometimes, if I work doggedly in that context so that I can ignore other arenas of service. No matter how hard it is to gauge success at work, it is easier to gauge there than in most types of ministry. Drew writes, "'Pursuing my vocation' does not, rightly, mean 'working hard at my job.' It rather means 'enjoying God and loving people as I seek faithfully to use my gifts and opportunities to his glory.'" By working 50-60 hours per week at the office, am I able to love and serve the people whom God has called me to love and serve?

My vocation is bigger than my job, and the former should never suffer at the hands of the latter. Nine to five is good; seven to five may not be. Lord, reveal to me how I may faithfully glorify you with the work of my hands. Release me from the bondage of my need for approval and achievement, that I may serve you with a pure heart all my days.

The Wells of Salvation

From my morning reading in Isaiah 12:

You will say in that day: "I will give thanks to you, O Lord, for though you were angry with me, your anger turned away, that you might comfort me. Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and will not be afraid; for the Lord God is my strength and my song, and he has become my salvation."

With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation. And you will say in that day: "Give thanks to the Lord, call upon his name, make known his deeds among the peoples, proclaim that his name is exalted. Sing praises to the Lord, for he has done gloriously; let this be made known in all the earth. Shout, and sing for joy, O inhabitant of Zion, for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel."

Lord, hasten the day in which your people live joyfully out of the abundance of your salvation. Lord, I am parched right now; I feel as though my soul is shriveling up under the heat of this trial. Forgive me for believing that your salvation is not satisfying, sufficient, or sustaining. Forgive me for seeking my satisfaction, my sufficiency, and my sustenance in myself. I know that I am peering into the well of salvation, but I cannot drink. I know the gift of God, and I know who Christ is. So I ask, like the woman at the well, "Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water."

Be near me in my confusion. Reveal to me that part of my sadness that is a holy grief for sin, that part which is a "blameless" articulation of pain, and that which is a sinful expression of wrong priorities. I feel too overwhelmed to even sort it out, Lord. I believe, help my unbelief!

Suffocating

I've always associated losing control with suffocating. This probably gives you some idea how much of a control freak I am. I feel like I'm suffocating when I walk into my apartment right now. My dining room table is covered with medical bills and EOBs and, as one who always pays a bill immediately upon receipt, I'm becoming more than a little frantic. I've never even had a fine at Blockbuster, for crying out loud! So what happens when...what happens if? How will these accounts ever be settled? Debt = Oxygen debt. Suffocating.

My tidy little life is anything but tidy right now, and I can see quite clearly that peace has flown with order. Romans 5:1 tells me that, since I have been justified by faith, I have peace with God through Christ. If I have peace with God, why do I not have peace?

My lack of peace is indicative of a lack of faith. It is not my standing before God but, instead, my running from him that leads to this lack of peace. My faith is other things right now, like in my own ability to manipulate all the data of my life. As goes my ability, so goes my peace.

Though my physical pain is abating for large portions of the day, a spiritual and emotional ache seems to have settled into its place. As I told a friend earlier, it almost seems as though for each little bit of physical stamina that I gain, an old fleshly desire comes back with it. So I find myself afraid of the unknown and even more afraid that the pain has been wasted—because I thought that I knew what the pain was for.

How can I be honest, humble, and teachable before God during these days? I am a poor man to relate to Job, and yet I confess that his words minister to me. I cried when I read this verse in Job 9, "He will not let me get my breath, but fills me with bitterness." Job knew this feeling of suffocating, and he confessed it to God. Lord, this is how I feel, too. Teach me how to see your truth in this situation; grant me faith to say, “Though he slay me, I will hope in him.”

A few days ago, a friend pointed me to this verse in Isaiah 30: “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.” I've thought of this verse often since that time. This taciturn surrender is a difficult remedy for me, and yet I know that these are days for endurance. Lord, grant me eyes to see your strength and your salvation. Make me willing to rest in you and to trust in your good purposes. You have given me life by your very breath, enable me to wait for you to provide all that I need to sustain it.

The Soul of Suffering

"In retrospect I can see that a large part of my anguish was rooted in the fact that there really was nothing I could do to control what was happening to me. I was absolutely helpless, and it is this, perhaps that is the soul of suffering, this terrifying impotence. It is a little taste of the final and most terrifying impotence of all, which is death.

We Christians do not like to think about being absolutely helpless in the hands of our God. With all of our faith, and with all of His grace, we still prefer to maintain some semblance of control over our lives. When difficulties arise, we like to think that there are certain steps we can take, or attitudes we can adopt, to alleviate our anguish and be happy. Sometimes there are. But anyone who has truly suffered will know that when it comes to the real thing, there is no help for it, no human help whatsoever. Simply put, when we are in a deep dark hole we cannot think our way out; neither can we hope, sing, pray or even lover our way out. In fact there is absolutely nothing either we or anyone else can do to better our situation. We can have faith, yes; but in itself faith will not change anything. Neither faith, nor any other good thing that a person might have or do, can actually lift the cloud, move the mountain, or bring about an end to the problem. Only the Lord Himself can do that and when He does, as Exodus 6:6 puts it, 'Then you will know that I am the Lord your God, who brought you out from under the yoke.' How will we know? Simply because nothing and no one else could possibly have done it. In this kind of crucible, therefore, we come to a new understanding of what it means to be saved, what it means to be snatched away from the brink of destruction. Here we get down to the bedrock of the gospel."

Mike Mason, The Gospel According to Job: An Honest Look at
Pain and Doubt From the Life of One Who Lost Everything

The Enemy in the Psalm, the Victory in the Battle

Most of David’s psalms feature “the enemy” prominently, and the psalmist quite brazenly asks for victory over him and devastation for him. Who could blame the guy? He was maliciously pursued by men intending to take his life.

But I tend to skip over those portions of each psalm. I've never really had men seeking to put me to shame, much less to take my life. The literalist in me wants to neglect those portions and focus, instead, on the declarations of faith and confessions of fear. Those elements can often be cleanly applied to my life and my situation; just cut and paste. But that spurious "enemy" always seemed to get in the way of any grand proclamations that I tried to make.

I am not certain why this disconnect between my enemy and David’s enemy has remained in place as long as it has. But I've tried, over the past few days, to force myself to consider my own indwelling sin to be this enemy--the enemy within. It is this force of which Paul writes, "So it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me." Truly, this relentless enemy seeks to take my life.

Here's an example of how this type of interpretation/application has been helpful to me. Consider this verse from Psalm 13, "How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?"

Reading this verse with an eye to indwelling sin seems particularly poignant to me. It paints a picture of one who is aware of and grieving over her sin and yet still finds herself in submission to this enemy; it's very Romans 7. I consider how my sinful desires or wayward plans, in their very realization, have proven to be an enemy exalting over me. I remember the self [centered] talk and the sorrow that abide so long as the enemy is victorious.

But it is God to whom I look when my enemy is exalted; it is God to whom I direct my cry. It is he who enlivens the counsel of my soul and infuses joy into my heart; it is he who changes both heart and soul to bring the enemy low, for his glory. So I cry, “ How long?” and I give my enemy and my battle to the Lord.

In thinking through how I may apply all of Scripture to my life, I do not want to minimize the importance or verity of the specific situations about which the Psalms were written. David often addressed the danger of being sinful and of being sinned against even in the same psalm. These are not one and the same thing, and yet they both emperil us and force us to look to God. We can recognize and we can strategize against the enemies in all of our psalms, but it is the Lord who gives us the victory in battle.

"I love you, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. I call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised, and I am saved from my enemies" (Psalm 18:1-3).

Grace in Trials

I was truly blessed by this prayer that we prayed at church last Sunday, so I asked one of our pastors for a copy of it. The prayer was adapted from the Valley of Vision prayer, “Grace in Trials.” I would encourage you to read all the way through, search your heart, and offer this prayer up to the Lord.

Father of mercies, I am sinful even in my closest walk with you. Yet your grace has given me faith in the cross by which you have reconciled me to yourself, drawing me with your great love, counting me as innocent in Christ though I’m guilty in myself. By thy grace, you have saved me. And now, by your grace, please sanctify and sustain me. Giver of all graces, I look to you for strength to persevere, for it is hard to practice what I believe. Strengthen me against temptations. My heart is an unexhausted fountain of sin, a river of corruption since childhood days. Without your grace to sustain me, I fall. Keep me aware of my weakness; keep me aware of my dependence upon your strength. Let every trial teach me more of your peace, more of your love. The Holy Spirit is given to increase your graces, and I cannot grow unless he works continually in me. Let me walk humbly in dependence upon your grace.
Amen.

One Story

I had dinner last night with some friends who were formerly acquaintances. Until recently, we'd shared some common circumstances and bumped up against each other regularly, but we'd never really had a reason to push beyond niceties and polite self-sufficiencies. I’m OK, You’re OK.

This all changed when I got sick. I (re)discovered the fact that I need people and that the Lord's servants are blessed by serving. I discovered that the work of ministry happens when the body of Christ is built up and that all suffer when a part of the body suffers. People like these new friends have made this lesson palatable and even pleasant! No man is an island. I could not be if I tried; and yet what freedom I find when I give up that pursuit to live in grateful and gracious community.

As each of us spoke about our own journey last night, I was astonished to see how the Lord has used our own sin and the sins of others to accomplish his purposes. I recall Genesis 50:20, which reads, “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today.” Joseph was sold into slavery by the evil intent of his brothers, and yet that very act was a part of the same story that would later have Joseph to serve as an agent of their physical salvation. I think of the slavery of sin in my own life and I remember how even this slavery has taught me new truths about grace and redemption. Even when I intended evil, God has wrought good in inconceivable ways. What a mighty and sovereign God we serve!

If the Lord's will for our lives was merely based on a destination, it would seem as though he picked some obscure "scenic" route to get us there. But the truth is that the story of today is just a part of the same story that involves where we came from and where we are going. There are, of course, pieces of the story that don't yet make sense and others that still hurt too much to tell, that haven't yet been redeemed in an obvious sense. Still, this one story is the practical outworking of the redemption narrative in each of our lives. Redemption is both already and not yet in our lives; redemption is our destination and the inevitable conclusion of the story, for those who love the Lord. Our one story is part of the one story. Thus, "my mouth will tell of your righteous acts, of your deeds of salvation all the day, for their number is past my knowledge."

Sovereign God, I thank you that “Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them." I thank you that your hand is always guiding the resolution of each conflict in my life; that you know the end from the beginning and have shaped both character and plot. I thank you that your purposes will succeed, among those who love your name and even among those who hate it. I thank you that you have removed my heart of stone and made me one who loves your name. Help me to walk worthy of this calling.

"The discovery of Christ is never genuine if it is nothing but a flight from ourselves. On the contrary, it cannot be an escape. It must be a fulfillment. I cannot discover God in myself and myself in Him unless I have the courage to face myself exactly as I am, with all my limitations, and to accept others as they are, with all their limitations. The religious answer is not religious if it is not fully real. Evasion is the answer of superstition."

Thomas Merton, No Man is an Island

Learning to Sweat

I didn’t intend to contemplate obedience tonight. Instead, as I passed by the mirror, I reflexively thought about how hard I had worked to get myself into shape and how wasted it all is now. Poor Michele. Six hours a week at the gym—lifting, running, sweating. One hundred and forty-four hours in the past six months, all for naught.

My diligence was even obvious to the staffers, one of whom commented that I was among the “most fit” members of our gym. “Most fit.” “Most fit.” Yeah, I was proud. It didn’t come easy. It involved a lot of planning, a lot of determination, and a lot of….sweat.

Though fitness wasn’t my “work,” there was a level of devotion to this pursuit that was rivaled only by my real job. I remember that verse in Genesis 3, “By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Gen 3:19). By the sweat of your face you will provide for yourself. But what was I providing?

One hundred and forty-four hours. I wonder how many hours I spent in Scripture during that same period of time. It seemed so arduous to spend time every day in Scripture. And yet, even though it was inconvenient to get to the gym and laborious once I got there, I got there.

I've been willing to continue to fight my flesh where fitness is concerned, and yet I'm tempted to view obedience differently. I tend to believe that, if I can just put my heart in order, obedience to the will of God will begin to come naturally.

Then I recall Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane. Luke writes, “And he withdrew from them about a stone's throw, and knelt down and prayed, saying, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” And there appeared to him an angel from heaven, strengthening him. And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly; and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground” (Luke 22:42-44).

Christ sweat drops of blood, for what? That He might do the will of the Father. His heart was (of course) in order, and yet he had to fight for obedience. By the sweat of his face, he ate his food—which was, as he said in John 4, “to do the will of him who sent me.”

I can remember only a few times in my life that I have fought for obedience even to the point of tears. Lord, teach me—in this suffering—how to sweat. Enable me to, like Christ, learn obedience by what I suffer and to be willing to fight for your will. Even now, Lord, be my strength...

Too Tired to Blog

This is the first night, since May 1, that I have not posted on my blog. But I am simply too tired to do it tonight. The decision came down to either answering my personal emails or blogging.

I decided that I am just too tired to blog. Will you come back tomorrow? I promise I'll do better...

P.S. Congratulations to us. We hit 1000 page views tonight!

Raiding the Inarticulate

Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate,
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion.

T. S. Eliot, The Four Quartets

The quote from Eliot expresses something of the way I feel about "The Fig Leaf." Though I can never say precisely what I want to say, I am content to be Moses instead of Aaron.

Writing has been a part of my life for years now, and I've tried on styles and philosophies like bad pen names. I'm amazed at how much of a chameleon I can be. I recall words spoken for effect—more style with less substance; I even recall words intended to turn black to white and vice versa. Surely the things that Scripture says about the tongue apply also to the pen or the laptop.

I am "shabby equipment," and yet I must remember that the Lord made me as I am to show that the surpassing power belongs to him and not to me. He chose what is foolish to shame the wise, what is weak to shame the strong. I once thought that my significance—no, my glory—would be exposed in dark and profound words and the distinctive thoughts behind them. But the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.

The Michele that now writes will never "get the better" of her subject. This thing that I am learning (being taught) to say is eternal; the words that go forth, Lord willing, are used to magnify the Word. This is a new beginning, the investment of just a little talent. May the Master be pleased when he returns.

Lord, in the words that I speak, help me to always lift up "Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.”

"And so each venture is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate..."

Beyond WebMD

I finally ventured over to the public library this weekend, advancing my personal research efforts beyond the ubiquitous WebMD. I walked away with about 8 books, each cloaked in primary colors and screaming “the answer” in brazen white letters. Some were books on autoimmune diseases and others were books on inflammation in general. Each of them resembled a diet guide, and I felt as though they were all silently and simultaneously trying to persuade me even as I deposited them in my car. They still seem a bit…overzealous…as they sit there on my shelf. I don’t like to look at them.

Some have been helpful, others have not. Each one contradicts and refutes its predecessor; I understand why Beatty wanted the books burned in Fahrenheit 451. It is easier not to confront the ideas than to sift through them. The most frightening part is that every time I read one of these books I want to go to GNC and spend money. I guess that I spent a lot of time thinking about how I might prepare my body for action.

What about my mind? I find more breaches in that wall than in the obviously compromised body. How can I prepare it for the battle that continues to rage? I Peter I says:

Therefore, preparing your minds for action, and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ. As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as he who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct, since it is written, “You shall be holy, for I am holy.” And if you call on him as Father who judges impartially according to each one's deeds, conduct yourselves with fear throughout the time of your exile, knowing that you were ransomed from the futile ways inherited from your forefathers, not with perishable things such as silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot. He was foreknown before the foundation of the world but was made manifest in the last times for the sake of you who through him are believers in God, who raised him from the dead and gave him glory, so that your faith and hope are in God.

Verses 20-21 tell me that Christ was revealed to me so that my faith and my hope might be in God; verse 13 tells me to take an action in response. I am to "set" my hope on the grace that will be mine at the revelation of Christ. That means that, when I am tempted to put my hope in the bone scan that I'm having tomorrow, I must actively "set" my hope on Christ. The truth is that there is life beyond WebMD and beyond even the prodigious feats of modern medicine; there is life beyond this broken body and weak mind, and I am ransomed from the futile ways that teach me otherwise. I now wait, groaning with all creation, for my adoption as a son--the redemption of my body. For in this hope I was saved.

Hanging in the Same Briers, Part II

In a sense, we should probably be both more and less confident when we face temptation. We can be more confident when we turn our eyes toward Christ and away from ourselves. We can be more confident when we find, in the cross, the truth that we are neither forsaken nor condemned. For there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus—even those who struggle repeatedly with the same sin, who cry out repeatedly for the same forgiveness, and who pray repeatedly for the grace to turn. There is no condemnation. None. Back to Romans 8:

What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God's elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written, “For your sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.” No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Look at “all these things” listed here, and remember that you have been called a conqueror. Remember that God gave to you Christ, and that he will withhold from you no truly "good" thing (oh, if we only knew what was "good"). No one can stand against you, for you are already justified by God. Is that celebrated diversion growing smaller and darker as you look into this glory? Romans 8 is why we are more confident as we enter temptation.

But we are less confident in the face of temptation as we come to better understand our hearts. Looking into the perfect law of God, we recognize the banality of our pet sin. We realize, more and more, that this sin—like every other-is a manifestation of the evil in our hearts. It can’t be blamed on a situation or even a disposition. If we have looked first into the Gospel, this awareness will teach us to be humble, watchful, and prayerful in the face of temptation. If not, we may fall into condemnation. This is why we must fly to the Gospel. As my pastor said this morning, “When we see our sin, we must preach the preach the gospel to ourselves and rely upon the pardon and perfection of Christ alone.” I think this is also true for temptation.

We can modify our circumstances, and we are often wise to do so, and yet the provisions against temptation must always be made in our hearts. We can try to reflect upon the temporal consequences of our sin, but we won’t find them efficacious for long. Anyone who has failed at a New Years’ resolution understands that the threat of the law can only motivate obedience for a short time. Only, as Owen says, “Gospel provisions will do this work; that is, keep the heart full of a sense of the love of God in Christ. This is the greatest preservative against the power of temptation in the world.”

Owen gives several practical suggestions. Here are two that I find to be particularly helpful:

*Consider the end goal of this temptation: “It never rises up but its intent is the worst of evils. Every acting of it would be a formed enmity against God. Hence look upon it in its first attempts, whatever pretenses be made, as your mortal enemy.”

*Meet temptation with thoughts of faith in Christ. “Entertain no parley, no dispute with it, if you would not enter into it. Say, ‘It is Christ that died—that died for sins such as these.’ This is called ‘taking the shield of faith to quench the fiery darts of Satan.’”

Owen is calling us here to disrobe these temptations-to expose them for what they are and what they would be. We won't call them addictions and predispositions at this point; we will call them sin and we will make short work in our minds of what might be a long journey in our lives. No, one cigarette won't make me a smoker...yet. But what does it aim at? And, at an even deeper level, who does it aim at? I think we know that the answer is God.

The answer is God. Indeed, it is. We cannot dabble around with our temptation, considering how we might domesticate it or just appease the lust in less destructive way. A lust appeased will only grow stronger. If we truly desire to fight sin we will look to Christ, in whose flesh sin was condemned and through whom the righteous requirements of the law are met in us. For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do. It is our flesh that is weak; it is His that was and is sufficient.

"Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, 'Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree'" (Gal 3:13). Thus, when we are caught in those same briers, we remember and rely upon the one who hung in our place, that we no longer have to.

And Are We Yet Alive?

A beautiful hymn that celebrates salvation and sanctification in community. Very appropriate for a Sunday:

And are we yet alive, and see each other's face?
Glory and thanks to Jesus give for his almighty grace!

Preserved by power divine to full salvation here,
again in Jesus' praise we join, and in his sight appear.

What troubles have we seen, what mighty conflicts past,
fightings without, and fears within, since we assembled last!

Yet out of all the Lord hath brought us by his love;
and still he doth his help afford, and hides our life above.

Then let us make our boast of his redeeming power,
which saves us to the uttermost, till we can sin no more.

Let us take up the cross till we the crown obtain,
and gladly reckon all things loss so we may Jesus gain.

-Hymn by Charles Wesley

HT: MO

Hanging in the Same Briers, Part I

Be acquainted, then, with your own heart: though it be deep, search it; though it be dark, inquire into it; though it give all its distempers other names than what are their due, believe it not. Were not men utter strangers to themselves—did they not give flattering titles to their natural distempers—did they not strive rather to justify, palliate, or excuse the evils of their hearts that are suited to their natural tempers and conditions than to destroy them, and by these means keep themselves off from taking a clear and distinct view of them—it were impossible that they should all their days hang in the same briers without attempt for deliverance.

-From Overcoming Sin and Temptation, (John Owen's works on sin and temptation, edited by Justin Taylor and Kelly Kapic)

How many of us have spent all our lives hanging in the same briers? We reflect often on how our personalities and our circumstances have ‘conspired’ to render us particularly susceptible to some one great temptation. We tend to forget that God was and is sovereign over these things, and so we find it easy to excuse ourselves where this one thing is concerned. “All the other points of the law I have kept,” we say. And we focus on the fact that, as my pastor says, we were “deprived” rather than the fact that we are depraved. Thus the lust, the indulgence, the addiction—the sin—lives on. We do the things that we hate even as we do the thing we love. The things are less important than the thing.

While I can’t be sure, I suspect that most of you can pinpoint this one great temptation in your life. It may have changed over the years, wearing different faces at different seasons, and yet you see it to be the same damned brier. You know that your chances of being tempted in this area are almost the same as your chances of waking up in the morning. I woke up weary of the fight today, and so I turned to John Owen—whom I trust to give me a clear picture of my Savior and of myself:

Do not so much employ your thoughts about the things whereunto you are tempted, which oftentimes raises further entanglements, but set yourselves against the temptation itself. Pray against the temptation that it may depart; and when that is taken away, the things themselves may be more calmly considered.

In the throes of temptation, then, it seems that we need to think much more about the cross of Christ than about the sin in question. We need to focus our hearts on his faithfulness unto death instead of our paltry disobediences. I prayed this morning that the Spirit would help me to replace my fear, hopelessness, and condemnation in this area with concrete and specific thoughts about Christ’s faithfulness unto death. Obedience derived from fear is not a sustainable obedience; obedience derived from faith is the only way to fight.

I'm considering Hebrews 2 today:

Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery. For surely it is not angels that he helps, but he helps the offspring of Abraham. Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.

I no longer hear a "Sunday School answer" when people counsel me to focus on the Gospel. The Gospel is the solution to every problem about our hearts and our behavior. May God, by His Spirit, make it clear to us how we can apply the Gospel in our times of temptation, that we may mortify even that one great sin, to the praise of His glory.

Diagnostic Gymnastics and Other Assorted Conditions

I’ve been compared to a gymnast all my life. It’s just how I’m built. But I’ve never heard it from a doctor before.

Let me back up. The rheumatologist pored over the medical history that I gave him, and I felt really encouraged. I told him how my pain was, in comparison to how it was a few weeks ago, and he made some assessments. I later learned that I erred on the side of optimism in describing the pain, since he didn’t understand that I can hardly walk. I guess that I was trying to fight my natural cynical tendencies and focus on the progress.

He told me, with some fanfare, that there was nothing neurologically wrong with me but that I was, instead, “hypermobile.” It’s not uncommon with women (stats say 10-20%), but it’s most common among female gymnasts. It means that my limbs bend a bit too far in the wrong direction. His incisive prescription was to wear running shoes, to stay off my feet as much as possible, not to run (as if!!!) and to come back and see him in 6 weeks. He also wants to do a bone scan to see if we can identify any injuries that might have been caused by this hypermobility. Otherwise, I guess we are just assuming that such injuries exist...

I realized, if he was cautioning me not to run, that I had not made it clear how debilitating this pain is. I teared up and told him about how far I can walk without being in excruciating pain. He looked perplexed and said that I need to come back in 6 months to be tested again for lupus, rheumatoid arthritis and for something else that I have already forgotten (I’d never heard of it before; how could I forget this?). He said that it could be serious. I felt like he was the one doing gymnastics.

I asked him what to do for the pain. He said to keep taking ibuprofen. When I suggested that it hadn’t helped, he said that it would now that I’m wearing running shoes every day. I'm insulted. I felt like he had made up his mind and was simply refusing to let any new information get in the way.

“What about pushing myself just a little bit? Can I keep trying to walk a little farther, do a little more? Can I travel? I really need to fly this time next month.”

Emphatically, “No.” I cannot push myself—not now, not for a long time. And I can travel if I can walk.

So, if I just don't move for the next six weeks (or months)--then this is all going to go away? Is that what I'm hearing? I'm trying not to be discouraged, but I'm not having a lot of success at the moment.

Doctor's Appointment

I have my first appointment with a rheumatologist tomorrow at 9:15AM. The poor doctor is going to wish that he'd downed a few more cups of coffee when I arrive. I'm taking 20 pages of test results, a spreadsheet of my personal medical history, and the extensive family medical history that my dear mother compiled for me.

Please pray for insight for the doctor. I know that he is not going to be able to diagnose me immediately, unless the Lord intervenes in a supernatural way. Pray that he will be able to sift out what is significant and what is not. Pray that he will be able to make connections between some of my seemingly discrete symptoms if connections exist.

Please pray also for wisdom for me. It's so hard to know what's relevant, what to say, what to ask, when your hope is so tightly bound up in every word that the doctor utters. Perhaps more to the point: pray that my hope would be in the Lord, even as I sit in that doctor's office.

I'll let you know how it goes!

Gratitude is Vulnerable

In the first line Future Grace, John Piper says (much more articulately) what I have been trying to say about gratitude:

Like most precious things, gratitude is vulnerable. We easily forget that gratitude exists because sometimes things come to us 'gratis'--without price or payment.

Yes, gratitude is vulnerable. That's a much better way to say it. Here's another way, from Thomas Merton's No Man is an Island. I don't think he's accurate on some theological points, but I still find this quotation useful:

As long as we secretly adore ourselves, our own deficiencies will remain to torture us with an apparent defilement. But if we live for others, we will gradually discover that no one expects us to be 'as gods.' We will see that we are human, like everyone else, that we all have weaknesses and deficiencies, and that these limitations of ours play a most important part in our lives. It is because of them that we need others and others need us. We are not all weak in the same spots, and so we supplement and complement one another, each one making up in himself for the lack in another. Only when we see ourselves in our true human context, as members of a race which is intended to be one organism and 'one body,' will we being to understand the positive importance not only of the successes but of the failures and accidents in our lives.

Divine Multi-Tasking

"I will turn my hand against you and will smelt away your dross as with lye and remove all your alloy. And I will restore your judges as at the first, and your counselors as at the beginning. Afterward you shall be called the city of righteousness, the faithful city" (Isaiah 1:25, 26).

In Isaiah: God Saves Sinners, Ray Ortlund notes that the Hebrew verbs translated "I will turn" and "I will restore" are actually the same verb. He explains the significance of this fact:

We translate this with different English verbs, "turn" and "restore", because our idiom requires it. But Isaiah is implying that one God, acting in one way, is able to accomplish two things at once. When God turns his hand against us, it isn't a disaster; it's an act of restoration. The discipline of God achieves just what he intends, in purification and in restoration, both at the same time. We can expect the goodness of God to show up in unlikely experiences. When he turns his hand against us to purify us, let's trust him to restore us.

This illness is not a disaster; it is an act of restoration. Every morning, I have to sweep aside all of my cherished hopes and dig into the Word for evidence of this truth. I find that the Lord disciplines those whom he loves, and he works all things together for their good. In my better moments, I am encouraged by the fact that the Lord is treating me as a son and I am fortified by the truth that “no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him." Still, I can walk away from the Word and moan over my aches and inadequacies with a heart as wobbly as my legs. I am dissatisfied far too easily--a word, a thought, a mis-step and I am undone.

But dissatisfaction is not my deepest problem. The strength of my desire for temporal things (as evidenced by my dissatisfaction when they are removed) points to my lack of love for eternal things--or my lack of faith that such things will truly fulfill all of my desires. In The Weight of Glory, C.S. Lewis writes, "Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased." My dissatisfaction is not an isolated problem; I have a satisfaction problem, too.

Purification (I will turn) sets us free from the weak loves that satisfy and dissatisfy us in order that we may be captured by a new love through restoration (I will restore). In one act, God achieves what this heart can neither ask nor imagine, in its current state. But "the Lord will fulfill his purpose for me; your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever. Do not forsake the work of your hands" (Psalm 138:8).

Place is Always and Only Place

O Lord, rebuke me not in your anger, nor discipline me in your wrath. Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing; heal me, O Lord, for my bones are troubled. My soul also is greatly troubled. But you, O Lord—how long? Turn, O Lord, deliver my life; save me for the sake of your steadfast love. For in death there is no remembrance of you; in Sheol who will give you praise? I am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with my weeping. My eye wastes away because of grief; it grows weak because of all my foes. Depart from me, all you workers of evil, for the Lord has heard the sound of my weeping. The Lord has heard my plea; the Lord accepts my prayer. All my enemies shall be ashamed and greatly troubled; they shall turn back and be put to shame in a moment (Psalm 6).

I can't help but notice David's confidence as he concludes this Psalm. "The Lord has heard" and "the Lord accepts," he boasts—though he had opened the Psalm with the plaintive, "How long?"

The "how long" question is a consequence of looking around. It is a natural question to ask, particularly in the midst of a trial and is, in itself, morally neutral. It may be a prelude to faith or a prelude to doubt. If the question is fostering doubt or fear, though, then it is the wrong question to ask.

Over the past few days, I have been plagued by a sort of emotional tedium. “My soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is; so I say, ‘My endurance has perished; so has my hope from the Lord.’” All around me I have seen loss and lack; pain and emptiness; absence where presence once stood. All around me…

But David’s boasts, in Psalm 6, are not yet manifested in his present circumstance. He boasts in the fact that the Lord has heard his plea—maybe the same plea that he has uttered now for days, weeks, months—although he has seen no salvation. He looks ahead and predicts the shape of his victory—the degradation of his enemies—though they are still encamped about him.

In general, I think that we can extract a guideline from David's example that may serve us when we get mired in the "now." Like David, we may be better able to boast in the Lord if we look back and look ahead instead of always looking around.

Looking back is the easier of the two charges. This discipline has served me, even today, with reminders of God's faithfulness in the face of my faithlessness. When hope is in short supply and sin is threatening to fill the vacuum, the remembrance of God’s goodness to us in the past can steady our hearts.

Looking ahead is a bit more challenging, since it depends upon faith and not sight. Piper, in Future Grace, suggests that remembering can "incline our hearts to trust in future grace." This remembering is not an end in itself, but when combined with the living and active Word, it is a motivator to faith and obedience. Several of you directed my attention to one or the other of these affairs today, and the Lord brought them all together to strengthen my weak faith.

It’s hard for me to let go of my expectations for today—for what my life, at 28, should look like. But by remembering what the Lord has accomplished, I am encouraged just enough to be willing to look ahead with hope, nay—with faith.

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are…

T.S. Eliot, Ash Wednesday

Men as Trees

Something in my heart switched off a few days ago, and I just can't feel anything right now. It’s almost as though the glut of emotions over the past few weeks—toward God, toward my friends, toward my family—has just saturated my heart. I cannot hold one more tear (of joy, sadness, or any commixture of the two). The puzzling thing is that I can’t seem to release them either. Suspended. Frozen. There’s something in front of me that I cannot see.

I'm going through the motions of interacting with people, of praying, of studying Scripture, and yet everything is wearisome. I feel restrained or sedated, or somehow reduced to an unresponsive state. There’s something in front of me that I will not see.

I think that I'm a little bit afraid to hope now. It's been five weeks and I still (for all practical purposes) can't walk. I have no diagnosis, no treatment, and no clear path to a sustainable lifestyle. People assume that things are "getting back to normal" for me, but normal is not yet in view. There’s something in front of me that I haven’t yet seen.

Like the blind man, who had received Christ's healing touch and yet whose vision remained distorted, "I see men as trees, walking." I am not blind, yet I hardly see. I am not walking in despair; neither am I walking in faith. In the face of the indistinct, I am tempted to rely on what is most clear—the weakness of my limbs, the limits of my stamina—and stand warily where I am. Jesus, touch my eyes and restore my sight—that I may see you clearly and see myself and my circumstances in your light.

"It is no longer I who do it..."

Whenever I read through Romans 7 and contemplate indwelling sin, I always hesitate over verses 17 and 20. In fact, to call a spade a spade—I feel embarrassed by them. They seem to advocate a denial of responsibility for sin which, you may realize by now, I fight against vociferously. The verses read as follows:

17) So now it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me.

20) Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me.

As I was driving home from church today,* I confessed my sins again to God and felt as though the confusion of these verses obscured even my confession. “How am I to even think about this?” I asked. Clarity consumed the confusion all at once. Indwelling sin is “mine,” though it is no longer “me.” Paul’s attribution of his sinful acts to the "sin that dwells within me" is not a question of culpability but of congruity.

Romans 7, extracted from its context, conveys tension and incongruity. This divided man is wrestling against an enemy within himself, and he knows well the weakness of his own defenses. Sin remains and exerts a powerful influence over him, though he is being delivered from his “body of death.” It would be easy to walk away from this chapter wondering if the doctrines of sin and salvation were somehow inconsistent. Verses 17 and 20 help to make the distinction between my remaining sin and my new identity in Christ—bolstering both doctrines, along with those of us who fight to build our lives around them.

*Note: I drove myself to church today. Whereas most of my prohibitions have been instituted to deal with the pain, my driving restrictions were strictly based on fear. I faced that fear today and drove the 35min drive to and from church.

God Saves Sinners

“The biggest obstacle to our spiritual progress is that we feel healthy.” Ray Ortlund, Isaiah: God Saves Sinners

Throughout the past month, my reading of Scripture has been self-consciously topical. The needs of each day have been so insistent that I have required immediate and obvious application from my reading. Over the past few days, though, I have been sensing the need to immerse myself into a more settled book study. I’ve decided to add Isaiah to my readings in the Psalms and in Colossians.

I'm fortunate to have a copy of Ray Ortlund's commentary, Isaiah: God Saves Sinners, to use as a reference in this study. Here's a little tidbit from the introduction. You'll notice immediately how my recent reflections situate me right in the middle of the "we" of whom Ortlund speaks:

"[Isaiah's] Hebrew name means, 'The Lord saves.' This man's very identity announces grace from beyond ourselves. We don't like that. We want to retain control, save face, set our own terms, pay our own way. Every day we treat God as incidental to what really matters to us, and we live by our own strategies of self-salvation. We don't think of our choices that way, but Isaiah can see that our lives are infested with fraudulent idols. Any hope that isn't from God is an idol of our own making.”

These strategies of self-salvation are what is under attack in my life right now. I recognize in myself both the search for salvation and the resistance to receive it; I know that I have positively located that salvation in Christ and yet that I continue to search for it in other places. And I know the slavery of those “other places.”

Isaiah describes Judah’s spiritual crisis in chapter 1:

The whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint. From the sole of the foot even to the head, there is no soundness in it, but bruises and sores and raw wounds; they are not pressed out or bound up or softened with oil.

He uses imagery of physical sickness to speak about the spiritual malady of Judah; in a similar fashion, I look at my physical condition and draw conclusions about my spiritual health. I don’t draw these conclusions to suggest that this sickness has befallen me because of my spiritual condition. Instead, I look at it as a manifestation of the overwhelming tendencies of the human heart to self-destruct and to rebel. I think of my portable altars and am saddened. But I do not hope in my heart or its rightness or righteousness; I hope in the fact that God saves sinners.

Father, you have made known to us through your Son and in your word that you save sinners. Your spirit has opened my eyes to the truth that I am such a sinner and that your salvation is my only hope. I confess that I could not pay my own way, save face, or set my own terms. It was on your terms that I came to you, in order that you might receive all the glory for my salvation.

I thank you that you continue to awaken in me a fresh sense of my own sinfulness through conviction. Help me, Father, always to turn from that sin and focus upon Christ. Help me to see that he has borne those sins and put them to death at the cross. Help me to live in Spirit-empowered freedom instead of fleshly idolatry. I give you thanks, even now, for the physical suffering that reminds me of my spiritual need. I thank you for the helplessness that points to hope; for the emptiness that points to satiation; for the pain that points to joy. I trust you that what is mortal will be swallowed up in what is eternal, and I long for that day. Sustain me until I see you face to face, in the strong name of Jesus. Amen.

From Foot-Washing to Feet

No theological or philosophical reflections today, friends. Just the facts:

After being off those horrible steroids for only two days, my feet are swollen again (for the first time in nearly three weeks). I had to search for a pair of shoes that would fit this morning and have had much more trouble walking.

It seems logical to now assume that the steroids have been serving some useful purpose. But the new facts beg further questions, like this one: If my pain level was that high on steroids, what am I to expect now that I'm not medicated?

It is hard not to dwell on these questions and fears, so I am grateful that Scripture makes known to us the consequences of doing so. I read in Romans 8 that "to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace." Here I am warned of the effects of clinging to this fear, which is neither fruitful nor faithful.

But to actually fight it, I must throw myself upon the God who is faithful. I must remember the God who has forgiven all my iniquity if I am to trust him to be the God who heals all my diseases. I'm going to spend some time doing that now.