Category: Spirituality

My friend Merrill turned me on to the Internet Monk (Michael Spencer), and I’m so glad he did! Michael posted some interesting thoughts recently on evangelism and how we as Christians relate to unbelievers. He says

I am amazed at the hostility many of these same Christian friends have to the notion of having extended, equal and fair conversations with unbelievers. In affirming the necessity of a spiritual operation on the mind and heart of a person, and the importance of making Christ the central focus of saving faith, we are not told to do nothing but preach, and to preach only in the way, voice, content and forms that we are comfortable with. The call to be a witness or a missional communicator is an invitation to incarnation and Christlikeness in motive, method and message.

If we take seriously the unbelief of unbelievers, then we pray, share the Gospel and do so in a way that is completely incarnational. We do not make them into projects. We fully humanize the process of evangelism, and we take unbelief seriously.

Good stuff!

Have you ever wrestled with God? Gen. 32:22-32 describes the famous incident when Jacob wrestles with God (or with an angel). God (or the angel) appears matter-of-factly in the story: Jacob sends his family and retainers ahead, “[s]o Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak.” (Gen. 32:24.) The “man” “could not overpower” Jacob, but injuries Jacob’s hip with a “touch.” Jacob refuses to let the “man” go until he receives a blessing. The blessing is given, and Jacob’s name is changed to “Israel” “because you have sruggled with God and with men and have overcome.” (Gen. 32:28.) “El” refers to “God,” and the verbal root of “ysr” (“Isra”) apparently refers to “struggle.” After the man leaves, Jacob names the place “Peniel” — meaning “Face of God” — “because I saw God [elohim] face to face, and yet my life was spared.” It seems clear that Jacob realized at some point that this was no ordinary wrestling match.

Tonight my chuch holds its annual Good Friday service. It will be big and beautiful, with a trumpet player from the New York Philharmonic, singers from the Metropolitan Opera, choirs, and strings. I don’t feel like going. I feel spiritually tired and beat up, like I did this morning before we got to the lake, shuffling up from the river with worm guts on my hands and no fish to show for the effort.

Not to criticize our Good Friday service or the similar events occuring at other churches around the world today, but what I want to do tonight is to visit Gethsemane for a while, and then to curl up at the base of the cross and wait. I don’t want to shower, put on my pressed khakis and crisp blue shirt, and play the good American Evangelical. I want to feel the dirt, smell the blood, hear the cries, know in my bones the depths of “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me,” feel in my guts that truly “it is finished.” It is finished.

Today I took my young boys fishing. We got to the river around 10:00 a.m., which was far too late. The river had been stocked with trout, and the fisherman had been lined up elbow-to-elbow since the early morning. We caught nothing, and the boys began to argue and whine.

There’s a small lake near the river, so we took our poles and worms to the lakeside, and within minutes we were hauling in fish. These weren’t the fat trout we’d been looking for in the river. They were tiny young bass and sunnies, no more than six inches long. I found myself a bit depressed by this at first. Another grand plan seemed to have been reduced to something much smaller.

But as my older son pulled in his fifth sunny, he exclaimed “this is a miracle dad — all the sudden we’re catching lots of fish!” My boys were laughing with delight as they pulled in and threw back one little fish after another. It turned out to be a great day. Sometimes joy is just a matter of perspective.

I haven’t written anything here in a week or so. Basically, I don’t have much to say right now. Things have been busy, but busy alone doesn’t usually keep me from writing. The truth is, things have been a bit tough spiritually lately. The frustration with finding help for our little guy is bubbling over, some roles I’ve held for a while as a leader have changed substantially, and I’ve been wrestling with some things as I often do. I think I need a little time to reconsolidate, step back, and sit in the back pew so to speak. Just some prayer, a green pasture, some still waters for a while.

We’re very thankful that the little guy’s MRI results are negative. No tumors or anything like that. His condition remains an enigma, and we now have some other leads to follow up on, but the absence of any sort of potentially life-threatening or irreversible structural brain problem is a relief.

The little guy is home from the MRI. He handled the anesthesia fine. We should have results in a week or two, unless there is some serious problem, in which case you are notified sooner.

My little guy is having an MRI this morning. His EEG continues to be abnormal despite the anti-seizure medication he’s been taking. An MRI done last year was normal. He still is not really speaking, and the doctors and therapists still don’t really have a handle on his problems. We are thankful that he’s otherwise happy and healthy and trust that God is control. Please pray for him today.

It’s amazing how smells can trigger memories. Today I walked the dog down to the house my brother- and sister-in-law are fixing up. It’s a small, old house, and right now it smells like sawdust and paint.

That paint smell brought back vivid memories of a time that now seems like a dream. We were young, fit and free. We didn’t worry about money. We came and went as we pleased. There was always music playing, and plenty of sex.

The 1960’s? No, fifteen years ago when my wife and I were first married and living in our first apartment. That little space, with its oddly-dimensioned attic loft and diner around the corner, was just perfect for us. Somehow the smell of fresh paint in my brother-in-law’s house zipped me back to when we newlyweds first moved into our cozy fixer-upper flat, only fifteen years, and yet a lifetime, ago. Good days then, and now, and Lord willing, to come, with my lovely bride.

Today I’m working at home. It’s a crisp, cold February day, with a blue sky and bright Sun. I took my dog for a walk and it was wonderful. Just me and Patti, plodding along, with the wind in our faces and no one else in sight. Just perfect.