The Lesson of the Stag

Several years ago, I was backpacking along a portion of the Appalachian Trail with my dad and my best friend, when we stumbled upon a young stag in the woods. It was early autumn, the time of year just when the weather starts cooling down before the leaves begin to change and fall. The buck seemed nearly as surprised by us as we were by him. He stood, ears and eyes alert, staring at us, poised to run--either at us or away from us, it wasn't quite certain which he would choose. But in those brief moments of indecision he was remarkably beautiful--more so than any words or even pictures could begin to describe. There was something about him, at once noble and alluring, beautiful and awe-inspiring all at once.

I was captivated by his charm. I edged ever closer, ever so slowly, fearing more that I would frighten him away than that I would end up gored by his antlers. My father tried to caution me. "Stay back," he warned. My friend eyed me suspiciously. "Have you lost your mind?" her eyes questioned. But it didn't matter. In that moment, the rest of the world faded away, grew pallid and stale in comparison. Here before me was pure, untamed beauty.

I think our encounters with Christ--the real encounters with the real Christ, not just the superficial brushes we get with an Americanized Jesus--are a little like my encounter with the young buck on the A.T. We stumble noisily along the path of life, dimly conscious of the divine presence in the world around us, often anticipating not to experience anything grand or out of the ordinary, and suddenly, on coming round the bend, we're face-to-face with God. And not at all as we imagined Him. We find ourselves awed by His beauty, His grace, and we find ourselves very soberly reminded that this is not a tame god. He is very much a wild deity, not in the least sense tamed or domesticated to suit our whims. He is beautiful, indeed. Majestic, powerful, without a doubt. He is also deadly. He could run us through in an instant and we would be powerless to stop Him.

But these same encounters that teach us to how to fear God also teach us how to love Him. For inevitably He shows that while He may not be "tame," He is most assuredly good. And not simply good--divinely good. For even when He must wound us, it is always (in the end) to help us. To teach us, to discipline us, to wean us of the things that would inevitably hurt us even more than He has done.

"The Diviners"

I recently attended a production of the play “The Diviners” at a seminary here in the South (I’ll avoid using names to protect the guilty.) My best friend of 20 years directed it (flawlessly, I might add) amidst some controversy over the content of the play and the appropriateness of performing it at a seminary (there is cursing in the play, which was toned down for this particular production.) What so frustrated me was that these characters, although portrayed by Christian actors, were not Christians in the play, yet the entire cast was being criticized by much of the surrounding community for a few (literally about 4 in a two-hour-long period) choice words. How can we expect Christian artists to perform honestly, with the kind of truth and tenacity to which we are called, without accurately portraying both Christian and non-Christian perspectives?

And I think perhaps this problem relates to more than just Christian art. I see Christian leaders lobbying in politics, trying to convince Christians and church-goers to vote for policies that will enforce “conservative Christian ideals.” But let’s think about this for a moment. When we start legislating morality, what happens to our rights? Do we honestly want non-Christians to be governed into behaving like Christians? We expect people who don’t know Christ to look and act just like people who do. And that completely goes against everything that we’re called to do as the people of God. We’re supposed to be set apart from the world, “in it, but not of it.” How are they supposed to recognize us if we all look the same?

Homogeny makes for boring art, whether it’s Christian or not. During the Renaissance chiaroscuro came into vogue, the marked contrast between dark and light, and it made for some stunning works of art. It’s that willingness to portray things in their true states, the dark as varied shades of shadow and the light as flickering values of luminosity, that allows true art to come to the forefront. It’s where we get the debate over whether art imitates life or life imitates art. True art is so real that it blurs the line between the craft and life itself. Where is the truth in our art now? The dark, ugly truths we’d rather hide beneath a mask, and the light, beautiful truths we put on display for the world to see... they both belong on the canvas, along with every shade in between.

Sufficient Grace (Part 2)

  Our sermon on Sunday focused on John 15:1-8, the "vine and branches" passage in which Jesus reminds us that He is the true vine and we are the branches.  Every now and then we use lexio divina in our services, an interactive process that involves reading through the passage a few times and using prayer and meditation to understand why specific words or phrases from that passage stick out to us.  Towards the end, we're invited to share our thoughts and reflections with our church body.  A few people focused on the phrase "true vine" in verse one, reminding us that while there are many things we may try to base our lives on, there is only one true source of fulfillment.  Someone else mentioned the recurring image of "good fruit," and how often fruit that may look like good fruit is actually spoiled or sour.

   For me, the word that kept pushing to the forefront of my mind was "branches." "I am the vine; you are the branches... Apart from me, you can do nothing."  Over and over again in my life, He has proven this to be true.  Every time I try to be "good" in my own strength, I fail miserably.  When I start to behave as though I'm strong enough on my own, as though I am the vine rather than just a branch, I let myself and everyone else down.  I try to go my own way, try to make my own rules for what I think is best for my life, and Christ always reminds me--or rather, He allows me to see for myself--what I am like apart from Him.  And in those moments of clarity I realize the truth of His words, "Apart from me, you can do nothing."  Not condemning me for my inadequacy, not trying to make me feel guilty for failing to do more without any help, but freeing me from the pressures I put on myself to be more, do more than I was ever meant to on my own.

   I have a problem with grace, with mercy, with the very idea of getting something that I don't deserve.  The "independent" in me wants to earn it for myself; maybe it's just my pride wanting to prove that I really am good enough.  But God is showing me, as I prove to myself, how little I could ever deserve His mercy, how impossible it is for me to earn His grace.

   "I pleaded with the Lord to take away the thorn in my flesh, that it should leave me.  But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'" (2 Corinthians 12:8 & 9)

Sufficient Grace (Part 1)

Too many times

I’ve said, “I love you”

Not knowing what I meant.

Too many times I’ve said my goodbyes

Not caring where they went.

Too many times

My heart has ached

And never asked for help.

Too many times

I’ve sacrificed 

My dreams for someone else.

Too many times

Dreamt of a knight

Riding to my rescue.

Too many times

Been let down when

He acts like all the rest do.

Too many times

I’ve been too shy

To stand my ground to others, 

So too many times

I’ve been taken

Advantage of by brothers.

too many times

I’ve tried to be

Pleasing to a man,

And too many times,

Unwanting,

I’ve agreed to his demands.

Too many times

I’ve sprawled in bed

Just wanting to be wanted.

Too many times

I’ve joined the hunt

While longing to be hunted.

Too many times

I’ve cast my heart

Like pearls before the swine.

Too many times

Been drunk on lust

Like hoboes on cheap wine.

Too many times 

I’ve rushed to love

And found it left me reeling.

Too many times

I’ve felt “in love”

And found love had no feeling.

   I debated long and hard over posting this poem. In fact, I haven’t even shown it to more than two or three people for fear of being condemned as a “sinner” or severely back-slidden, since although it was written some time ago, it was long after I became a Christian, and covers themes that we "church folk" seem to enjoy avoiding.  So often in the Christian community we get this idea that once we’re “saved” we lose all sensitivity to temptation. Or we think that, if we were really Christians, we wouldn’t be tempted by things like greed, lust, and bitterness. But the truth is, we face temptation at least as much as the rest of the world, and very often the same forms of temptation. Being a follower of Christ doesn’t mean that we live perfect lives, free from the lure of wrong-doing. Jesus Himself was tempted by the devil, and at least in the Garden of Gethsemane He struggled deeply with the desire to go His own way rather than that of the Father. C. S. Lewis once said, “Those who are most familiar with temptation are those who fight against it the longest. For once we give in, we cease to struggle with it.” Shouldn’t our lives, our art reflect that struggle? Shouldn’t we acknowledge our imperfections more than anyone else in the world? As Paul says, “I will boast all the more in my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” (2 Corinthians 12:9) But instead of boasting in our weaknesses, we try desperately to hide them, fooling ourselves into thinking that we’ve succeeded and no one can see our problems. We conveniently forget the insightful perspective of an outsider, those who see and shake their heads at our blindness, when we are called to be the ones bringing the light of truth to the others. No wonder the world laughs at us. Let’s embrace our humanity, rather than run from it. Let’s relish our weaknesses, not to indulge them, but to acknowledge that the grace we receive is sufficient for us all.

Current

So long ago, so much has changed,

Our lives rearranged

Like the quadrants of a Rubik's cube.

Do we match up anymore?

We can't know what lies in store 

When Faith, unsure of what it hopes for,

Stumbles over what to do

And fumbles, tumbles, falls-

Stalls.

But life goes on, its hectic pace

Not slacking up, not letting up,

Not slowing down a bit for those

Who need to do some catching up.

The tide of Time just streams on by

With Life caught in the current's flow.

Meanwhile, standing on the shore,

Watching while the world drifts on,

I wonder, how does one decide

To jump in, swim, be swept away

Or stand upon the bank--remain,

A constant in this world of change?

That teasing ache for certainty,

That longing to be filled, if only

Once, be something 'kin to Fate,

Something Absolute and Separate,

Calls out like a siren's voice,

Urging me to make a choice:

Cast off the past and start to row

Or get caught in the undertow.

Do I sink or do I swim

And let the current take me in?

__________________________________________________________

  I've been thinking a lot about time lately. Not just the usual complaints of there not being enough hours in the day (that's nothing out of the ordinary,) but more like musings on the passing of time. It's such a double-edged sword. Time heals wounds, but time also breaks down those things and relationships that aren't carefully maintained. I remember in college, I used to drive around the surrounding countryside and gaze for hours at old barns and homesteads that had fallen into disrepair from years of neglect. I always wondered what happened to make them unwanted, unused. There was a story to them all, and I wanted to know it. To me, they held a certain strange beauty, in spite of their brokenness... or perhaps because of it.

  There's a painting by Salvador Dali called "The Persistence of Memory" which portrays so perfectly the effect of time on our human minds. The clocks, draped over various other surfaces, melt and lose their original shape. In the same way, our perception of time changes as we move through it. We forget details about events in the past, we're unsure how long ago an event occurred, we struggle to remember exactly what an old friend looks like. Time wreaks havoc on our memories, making us wonder "What if ... ?  What if my memories are wrong? What if I've forgotten something important?  What if my mind eventually fails?"  

  So many of our concerns in life center around time and our perception of it, our place in it.  I can't really imagine an existence outside of time, but I have a feeling that eternity will be exempt from these sensations of time passing. Maybe exempt from time itself.  As for me, I can't wait to stand on that bank, having stepped out of this human experience called time, and bask in the eternal Sun.  

  My uncle and I were talking this past Christmas about the differences between Christian and secular music, and how little artistry there seems to be on both sides of the industry these days. In Christian music in particular, the trend for the most part is away from honesty and poetry rather than toward it. A few exceptions on either side of the fence still hold on to musical integrity... Cold Play, Dave Matthews Band, Caedmon's Call and Casting Crowns to name a few. But he and I both discovered that, without intending to, we had stopped listening to Christian music. In fact, very nearly had stopped listening to the radio at all. I got so tired of hearing the "positive, upbeat and encouraging" garbage that I went into a sort of musical hiatus... a sad thing for someone who earned their degree in it. 

  The more I study Scripture, the more I am impressed by the poetry and artistry inherent in the Word of God. The Old Testament poems in Psalms and many of the prophetic books in particular are rife with raw emotion, embracing the full range of human experience, from the heights of pleasure to the hell of despair.  David writes about being forsaken by God, surrounded by enemies, and bereft of all hope. Isaiah calls out the nation of Israel for being prostitutes to other gods, in no uncertain terms. As Christians, we have a biblical need to embrace the varying emotions of our nature, and use them to express ourselves to God.  Some of the most moving hymns of our faith speak of immense loss, a recognition of sin so profound that, if not for grace, would produce unconquerable despair. The more we ignore these states in our own lives, the further we will push the outside world away. Our music, and our lives, need to reflect both the brokenness of acknowledged sin, the joy of accepted grace, and every step in between. We simply cannot pretend that our lives are exempt from difficulty. We may deceive ourselves, but not those who observe us. And we ignore their need for a faith that answers the depth of human experience.  

  A God who created a universe as vast, complex, and diverse as our own, with all the beauty, mystery, and heartache visible to us, deserves so much more than weak words and hackneyed chord progressions. Are our songs written to reflect the true state of our lives with Christ, in all the gore and glory that entails, or do we write music to please an audience, or bring a paycheck? Christian artists have to be willing to express themselves with the kind of realism that the world and our Church needs, but perhaps more importantly, Christian congregations need to be willing to see the results and acknowledge them as an appropriate response to the myriad promptings of the Spirit of God.

In the Beginning

   On October 5th, 2008, a small band of Christians met in the annex of Morgan City's volunteer fire department, worshipped together for about an hour, ate lunch together, and went home changed forever. 

   After months of prayer and preparation, The Table Community Church was born.  The dream of five young Christians disillusioned by the politics of church committees and drowning in meaningless social gatherings substituted for real fellowship, our first meeting was far from perfect. Just half an hour before our first service was scheduled to start, we discovered that our CD player was apparently an atheist, and had devoured the worship CD I had painstakingly created for our historic day.  Its grip was like the grave; five months later, I still haven't managed to get it back. Luckily, I had an extra copy... just in case.  My husband sped (I mean, "maintained the legal speed limit") all the way to the nearest Wal-mart and bought us a new stereo system, complete with remote control. We started a little late, but the sense that we were fulfilling a calling that would lead us outside of ourselves carried us through a service very different from what we had all grown up with.

   Most of us grew up in the Baptist tradition, known for committees and potlucks, but we all knew that something was missing in the worship we were experiencing in our quaint, traditional churches.  The Christian faith has a rich history of meaningful traditions, some tracing as far back as the first and second centuries after Christ.  But sadly, many Protestant denominations ignore not only this heritage, but the present state of society outside of the church walls as well, stuck in a mindset of 30, 40, or 50 years ago, impotent in its ministry to young people who haven't grown up in the Christian tradition. We felt a need for a worship platform that accessed the jewels of our history and set them to advantage in the present--a sort of "future history" approach. What we now have is a strange chimera of Christian traditions... a theology basically Baptist, with a worship service modeled on the liturgy used by Lutherans and Episcopals, and music settings varying from 16th century settings of the creed (in Latin) to contemporary Christian artists like Third Day and Casting Crowns. And the worship is good. 

   I don't mean "How was your day?" good, I don't mean "I just had lunch at Chik-fil-A" good. I mean  "wedding night" good. I mean "Momma's homemade fried chicken, mashed potatoes and biscuits with honey and sweet tea made with real sugar" good. I mean "I don't care if I look like a fool, I finally know what it feels like to be the real me" good. And I fully acknowledge that it has absolutely nothing in the world to do with me, because I know by now that I only get in the way.  And that's what real worship essentially boils down to... me getting out of the way, and letting God accomplish His desire in me. 

   Oh Lord, let that be my constant prayer, to step aside and place my pride at Your feet, allowing You to show me who You are, and how You love.