Reason Breeds Insanity

These two passages were from several days ago, but I skipped them, being numerically challenged and all, so here they are.
Hosea 6:1-6
Luke 18:9-14

These are for Sunday, 25 March 2007.

Ezekial 37: 12-14
As I read this, I am convinced that Paul loved Ezekial. God brings us up out of our graves, breathes [Their] spirit into us, and gives us new life. I am reassured by the idea of being brought up from my grave and living a new life. I love my new life. I realize that sometimes I am over self-reflective, and I am sure that I seem miserable. I am not. I am really quite happy in this skin, in this life, in this grace. I do, however, get overwhelmed with the ways in which I squander my grace and really don’t do anything with it compared to the things that Jesus trusted us to do. I mostly just live, I don’t revel and I should. I should walk, no dance, around with my head bowed and my arms raised to the glory of God, but then what would people say about me? Would they know that my grace comes from God? That I have been raised from the dead? Would they: “know that I the Lord have spoken, and I have done it, declares the Lord”?

Romans 8:8-11
Yep, he loves Ezekial. We are only bound by the Spirit. Paul also says that those who are controlled by the sinful nature cannot please God. I wonder, whenever I read this passage, and it seems to be a favorite of devotional writers, why Paul states the obvious. We cannot intentionally choose to do wrong and expect it to turn out as something that God approves of. I think Paul speaks of a more deep-seated problem: our desire to live a life rooted in ignoring God’s desires for our lives. I think essentially, Paul is not writing about a sin, but living in Sin. The big “S.” If our lives are controlled and entrenched in Sin, we cannot see our way out to do what pleases God. We are literally manipulated and controlled by our desire to do whatever the hell we want to do. I think Paul knew what it was like to be trapped there. I think deep down we all do. We have all been in a place where we can’t see God, don’t want to see God, and maybe even hope we don’t happen to bump into God. My Old Testament professor in seminary had a us read Psalm 139 from that frame of mind. Try it. Imagine that David is trying to escape God. “Where can I go from your presence? Where can I flee from your presence?” Maybe David was annoyed that he couldn’t get away not reassured that God was always there for him? We are hemmed in by the Spirit of God, if we seek to walk in the path of righteousness that is a comfort. But if we are trying to escape, if we are controlled by our sinful nature, it sucks to know that everywhere we turn, God is there.

John 11:1-45
I love this passage. I love it for unconventional reasons. I love it because finally Martha is recognized as more than Mary’s jealous sister. Check it out. Martha is the one, who when she hears that Jesus is coming, runs out into the street to greet him. She says to him: “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of the living God, who was to come into the world.” She identifies Jesus as the Christ. Amazing. This woman that we have kept in the kitchen for two thousand years, boldly walks out into the street and proclaims the Messiah. I love this passage for all those women in the church, who have been called Marthas. Sisters, realize that not only was Martha the one who prepared the meal for Jesus, she was also the one who proclaimed his salvific powers. I am not in any way knocking Mary. I love Mary as well. I am sure I would have been more like her. I hate to cook and I am not astute enough to run out into the street to greet my visitors. I barely want to answer the door. I would be much more comfortable sitting around listening to Jesus talk, maybe while Becky did all the work. I would probably notice about half-way through the meal that I needed to help (I’m a little domestically challenged). Mary, after being beckoned by Martha (she must be the more worldly one since she knew Jesus was coming and Mary didn’t) greets Jesus, but she falls at his feet, weeping, moving him to tears. I love this story: Jesus the Messiah moved to tears. I’ve got nothing. Nothing but a weeping Jesus.

I hate to wait. It is not that I am an impatient person. I can sit for hours and look at a painting. I can sit for hours and read a book. I simply hate to wait for the answers to my questions. I hate waiting to hear if I am going to get this job at Hot Topic. I want it. Bad. I want to have fun at work again. I do love the people I work with at Gas City. They are quite pleasant, and generally fun, but I want to be able to be me. I want to wear my nose ring, have a purple mohawk, get a tattooed sleeve, and not have to wear a uniform! Today I am dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a white shirt. It is so me. White is so diminishing, and I love khaki pants! I also love the pain in my ass of removing my nose ring everyday to put in a little clear plastic piece of crap. Does anyone who comes to a coffee house really care if their barista is wearing a nose ring? I wonder if they have to take out their nose rings at the Starbucks in India? What about the Starbucks in the Middle East, do they have to wear black or khaki pants and white or black collared shirts? Leather shoes? Just curious. You would think that because Starbucks was founded by a bunch of pot-smoking hippies, they’d be a bit more liberal! They offer domestic partner insurance (a good thing) for crying out loud, and I can’t wear my nose ring! Okay, I am not sure really where that tirade came from. I must not be very Lent-y today. Either that or I just find it more healthy to rant here than at some random customer.

Yesterday: John 7:1-30

Today: Jeremiah 11: 18-20; John 7:40-53
Jeremiah, more than any other prophet, intimately shows me that trying to live my life the right way is not going to be easy. That I will not always be lauded for doing good. And that I will fuck it up again and again. There is an Indigo Girls song that says: “Me and Jesus, we’re of the same heart, the only difference is that I keep fucking up.” I think Jeremiah might like that song, so might David and Bathsheba, limitless other biblical personalities, and probably a few “good” people in general. I definitely do. However, in this instance, Jeremiah is being persecuted for doing what he was supposed to do. He writes: “for to you I have committed my cause.” He is wholly committed to letting God take care of him. Amazing considering all that he has been through. Will I ever be wholly committed to letting God fight my battles? Probably not, because I still get irritated when people don’t hand me their money and put it on the counter instead. I feel like they think I am not good enough to touch when placing the money in my hand. I need to learn a lot. I realize more painfully everyday that I am filled with pride. I will fall. I know it.

It is interesting to me to think about Jesus’ trial. The trial that he goes through here in John is shady. He isn’t tried before a court of law, and apparently he isn’t really even tried at all. The people who are standing around gossiping about him just assume he is guilty. I love it, they stand around talking about each other just like we do. Solomon was right, there is nothing new under the sun. Nicodemus asks: “Does our law condemn anyone without first hearing what he is doing?” I think perhaps we should ask that question of our own laws. Do we listen to what people are doing before we convict them. I am thinking of the way we jump on political band wagons without even thinking rationally about what they stand for. Did I, on September 11, assume along with the rest of the nation that the Middle East was responsible fo the bombing? Probably, but only for a brief second. For one shining moment I wasn’t sucked into the political abyss. I remember saying in class that day, and receiving some very horrible looks and some nasty emails later, “Remember Oklahoma City. We blamed the middle east, and it ended up being our own citizens.” Now I know also that our own citizens who bombed Oklahoma City, were trained to kill by our own military for the first Gulf Fiasco. So this passage caused me to stop and wonder about myself: “Do I first listen to what people are doing before I condemn them?” In essence do I give people a chance, do I listen to who they are, do I see the value in them that God sees in me, before I dismiss them? Not usually. Do I love my enemies? Do I create enemies? Do I allow enemies to be created for me? It is easy to love people who love me, but do I love the business man who drives a compensation vehicle and orders a compensation latte? Can I honestly find it within myself to first hear what he is doing? Who he really is? Do I look past his seemingly hollow shell to see the man inside? I need to start looking into people instead of through them.

When I was little, we used to go sledding at the back of our woods. My mom and dad used to tell me not to lie down in the snow. They said I might fall asleep and freeze to death. I loved to curl up in the drifts because, like sand, they formed to my body and, like sand, they reminded me of God. How else can we explain the amazing phenomenon of sand particles or snowflakes? Have you ever really looked at sand: millions of little tiny rocks of all different sizes, shapes and colors. Even when the beach seems to be uniformly brown, each particle retains it own unique personality. Like snowflakes: millions of tiny ice crystals of all different sizes, shapes, and colors.

Now, I am not naive enough to believe that every single grain of sand or snowflake is different. There are only so many ways for water molecules to bond, and only so many ways that rocks can be eroded by those same water molecules. Theoretically, I know they aren’t all different, but I have always remained sane by believing that each piece of sand or snow was like no other. While it was dangerous to fall asleep in the snow and it is probably equally dangerous to fall asleep on the beach, there was a certain amount of comfort in lying there on my belly, prostrate before my God, inspecting [Their] creation. I would use the first finger of my right hand to carefully sift through the frozen snow or the wet sand looking for similarities in the vast array of difference. Everything loses its individuality when looked at in mass, but by looking closer, I could glimpse the chaos of what seemed to be order. I was also looking for reassurance. I wanted to know that it was okay to be a little odd, a little different. I needed confirmation from God that [They] did indeed create difference. From a young age, I was painfully aware of my oddity. Looking at the oddities all around me helped me feel at home. I was that one grain of red sand that you’ll find if you look long enough. I was the one pale blue snowflake in a sea of white.

Sometimes, when I have time now, I like to lie in the grass in my front yard, looking for some things I can’t find. I need proof that God exists. I need proof that oddities are the rule. I need proof that I am okay. I need proof from creation that God, while being amazingly creative, doesn’t make mistakes. I need proof of purpose. I need proof of my existence. I need proof that I am necessary. I need faith. I don’t think I am a mistake or anything nearly as self-absorbed as that, but I wonder why I never found two grains of sand that match, and I wonder how there are so many colors of white in the snow, and I wonder how those tiny bugs that crawl around in my lawn ever find their way in this life. I want to know that this all means something.

I never rested in the snow with any intention of falling asleep. I was much too excited to fall asleep. Falling asleep in the snow is like falling asleep in the Louvre. I was drawn to the drifts, to the dunes, to the grass to quench my own selfish desire to find the place where I belonged: face down and vulnerable in front of my creator in the company of the other oddities of creation. Face down, we are all at [Their] mercy.

I do not know what today’s readings are, or yesterdays, but I know how I feel today, so I’ll just meditate about God through that. As good Friday and Easter get closer, I think about what is coming theologically: Jesus dies for us. However you want to think about it, he dies. Why? Why did he go through with it? The question humbles me. It saddens me. But it gives me hope. Ultimately it gives me grace. It feels like when I was in third grade. I got in trouble and wrote “Cory” on the board instead of “Corby.” I will never forget that Cory, a boy in my class, had to serve my recess detention. While I got to go out and play kickball, he stood with his nose in the cold corner of the old brick entryway to our little elementary school. He didn’t even say anything to the teacher about it. He just took my detention. After school he said, “You wrote my name on the board, and I had to miss my recess. Don’t ever do it again.” Even as a child, my guts were wrenched. I felt sick. Someone else paid the price for what I did. I don’t even remember what transgression I committed, but I know I didn’t pay for it. It is kind of like that only on a much grander scale. I never wrote Cory’s name on the board again, but I rely on Jesus to miss recess for me again and again.

Remember Paul Revere? They are finished, like the British were coming, the taxes are finished. Ahhh….that must mean spring is here.