A God Not To Be Known, Perhaps, But Experienced

We all have anchors in life--external forces that keep us from drifting, that hold us fast, that give us support, security, and stability. Sometimes our anchors are massive, sometimes they're little things.

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Starting my freshman year of college, a couple times every semester I received a letter in my mailbox. These letters, hand-written by Paul Cook, a neighbor and mentor, were packed full of gold. Mostly, they were full of anecdotes and aphorisms--some ridiculous and hysterical, others profound and deeply moving. I always looked forward to reading these letters because they were so personal. It felt like Paul was literally standing right beside me as I read them. His words were always encouraging and affirming, and they always challenged me to push deeper in my thinking. These letters were an anchor in my life.

Last year, Paul Cook passed away. The letters continue to come though, now written by his wife Debby. Time and time again, she has proved to be another anchor in my life, and I can't praise God enough for the blessing she is to me. I received another of these letters from her yesterday. Just like with the letters from Paul, there were parts where I was comforted, parts where I was challenged to think deeper about God, and parts where I laughed out loud. In this letter, Debby included an excerpt from one of Paul's sermons on believing in God. It's got me thinking about God in a different way: maybe God is not one to be known, perhaps, but experienced.

"Consider an analogy of God that has proven helpful for me: Believing in God is like standing at the seashore and looking toward the horizon. The water between the horizon and us is so immense that it defies even our imaginations. And in addition to what we can see, there is an invisible world beneath the surface brimming with life and full of mysteries. Though we cannot comprehend it all, we can taste the sea and discover its saltiness. We can sense its power as the waves pound the beach. In spite of all that we cannot fathom about the ocean, we know we can trust its tides and waves; we can ride on its surface and enjoy it. Similarly, we will never fully comprehend God. We can stand at the edge of God and discover things about Him. It may be that what we can learn about God is comparable to a small cup of water drawn from an immense sea. Yet, we rejoice in our small revelations and discoveries of God, such as the knowledge that God is love. We can trust Him and enjoy Him, much as we enjoy the sea..." (Paul Cook)

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In one of his songs, rapper Lecrae says, "Don't Die. Multiply." Debby and her letters are evidence of Paul's multiplication. I want to live in a way that multiplies Paul, too.

Maybe I Should Hide My Qur'an...

I just finished another conversation trying to explain why in the world I would want to read the Qur'an. Someone even said, "Isn't that that terrorist book?" I realize that was surely, surely, a joke, that this is the Bible belt, that I can stand on half the street corners in these small southern towns and see anywhere up to 3 Christian churches at one time, but are we all really this tunnel-visioned? Yes, the Bible has loads of truth in it. As does the Qur'an, and the Tao Teh Ching, and The Bhagavad Gita. I would never call myself a Universalist by any means; I don't believe we're all on different paths up the same mountain to the same God sitting at the top. However, I do believe in some great Absolute (we can call it God). I also believe that truth is available to everyone, at all places, at all times, and that this Absolute will use anyone and anything to reach us, no matter how deficient. As one thinker put it, "all the world's thoughts, all the world's most beautiful languages and literatures, are but vehicles for that ineffable message which comes to the heart in rare moments of ecstasy... For me the embodiment of that voice has been in the noble words of the Arabic Qur'an" ('Abdullah Yusuf 'Ali).

For me the embodiment of that voice has been in the words of Jesus Christ; but when I look for it, I find truth everywhere. As it says in Jeremiah 29, "You will search for me and find me when you search for me with your whole heart. I will be found by you." When I read the Bible, I find stories of love and a God that sacrifices everything just to have us. When I read the Tao Teh Ching, I find order, balance, and something universal uniting us all. When I read Nietzsche, I see what sexist, racist, ageist, nationalist man turned bitter looks like (this is a joke...). The point is that every text I read gives me a slightly bigger picture of all this--of life and God. Why wouldn't I read the Qur'an?

I'm tired of saying we're Christians when we've never read a single Sutra or Surah or Veda, much less our own Bible, and the same goes for professed atheists. We say we're Christians or atheists or whatever, but we're really just ignorant. And as far as Agnostics go, you can't choose doubt as a philosophy of life any more than you can choose immobility as a form of transportation (Life of Pi). Agnosticism may be a stage in life (I'll attest), but it's no place to stay.

Whew. Glad I got that out of my system. Here's what God used to speak to me this morning:

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The Holy Qur'an  C.23 & 24


But he [Muhammad] grew steadfastly in virtue and purity;
Untaught by men, he learnt rom the, and learned
To teach them; even as a boy of nine,
When he went in a trade caravan with Abu Talib
To Syria, his tender soul marked inwardly
How Allah did speak in the wide expanse
Of deserts, in the stern grandeur of rocks,
In the refreshing flow of streams, in the smiling
Bloom of gardens, in the art and skill with which
Men and birds and all life sought for light
From the Life of Lives, even as every plant
Seeks through devious ways the light of the Sun.


Nor less was he grieved at Man's ingratitude
When he rebelled and held as naught the Signs
Of Allah, and turned His gifts to baser uses,
Driving rarer souls to hermit life,
Clouding the heavenly mirror of pure affections
With selfish passions, mad unseemly wrangles,
And hard unhallowed loathsome tortures of themselves.

Tao Te Ching

"The Tao that can be spoken is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named is not the eternal name.
The nameless is the origin of heaven and earth
While naming is the origin of the myriad things.
Therefore, always desireless, you see the mystery
Ever desiring, you see the manifestations.
These two are the same--
When they appear they are named differently.
Their sameness is the mystery,
Mystery within mystery;
The door to all marvels." (Lao-tzu)

Salat-l-Istikhara

"Oh Allah! I seek Your guidance by virtue of Your knowledge, and I seek ability by virtue of Your power, and I ask You of Your great bounty. You have power; I have none. And You know; I know not. You are the Knower of hidden things.

"Oh Allah! If in Your knowledge, this matter is good for my religion, my livelihood and my affairs, immediate and in the future, then ordain it for me, make it easy for me, and bless it for me. And if in Your knowledge, this matter is bad for my religion, my livelihood and my affairs, immediate and in the future, then turn it away from me, and turn me away from it. And ordain for me the good wherever it may be, and make me content with it."

Papaya, Piel, and Penises

I've officially been back in Costa Rica for a week now, and I've rediscovered something beautiful. Laughter.

I'm convinced that the vice of modern man is busyness. Maybe I should specify the vice of the western man. Or even the Christian man. We're always rushing, always pressed for time, always in a hurry. I would venture to propose that it's the reason why western civilizations and Christianty began their relationship in the first place. Christianity is a religion of urgency--Save another soul before time runs out! It's occurred to me how we've translated our haste in the professional and academic and social worlds into the religious world. (And we'll save discussion of this dualily for another day.)

It seems to me that perhaps my favorite gift from God is laughter. It requires a living outside of the moment, a seeing of things not as they really are, but rather seeing a distortion. More often I think, it requires still a living outside of the moment but seeing things as they really are, seeing a reality from a different angle, maybe a more accurate angle--I don't know. Laughter. It dulls the sting of rejection, it's balm to broken expectations, it overshadows the grief of disappointment. Laughter's more infectious than the most potent virus yet as welcoming as a glass of cool water to a parched throat. When everything can be so damning, Laughter is breathing and it's hoping and it's pregnant with life.

I've never laughed so hard as I have in the past week. I think my boxers may even have urine stains. Okay, so I love laughing, and I feel like for a normal person, I laugh a lot. However, the past week has been inundated with that rib-crushing, gut-wrenching, eyes-burning kind of laughter. That laughter that lasts so long at such intensity that I'm crying for it to stop and praying it never does. I think laughter hurts so much because it's become something foreign to our bodies. But anyway, I attribute this rediscovering of a robust laughter to an abandonment of the busy. Don't get me wrong--Costa Ricans fight the busyness of life just as much as any American. It's just that the conditions of my stay here have afforded me with the opportunity to slow down, reflect more, enjoy everything. And laugh.

I read on Wikianswers (only the most distinguished of sources for me, please) that the average adult laughs about 5 times per day, while the average child laughs more than 25 times per day.

Life's slower for children, happier, filled with more hope, more fun, more adventure. As adults, I think laughter can get those things back for us. Therefore, allow me to share a few moments that have brought me and Rosalee (my gingo sister from the States here in CR) that kind of laughter that has turned our legs into jelly pulling us to mother earth, made our stomachs ache begging for respite, and caused us to look like maniacs. Though it probably won't be as funny this time around...these things never are.

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I hate papaya. Hate. Hate. Hate. I know, I'm such an American with my dislike of tropical foods. I just find it nauseating, and whenever I eat it, I fight the urge to vomit. Well, our mama tica (tica=Costa Rican) served Rosa and I papaya. I left that untouched on my plate, hoping to send a not-so-subtle-but-more-subtle-than-words message to the provider of my food. Rosa had never had papaya, and disregarding my warnings, with eagerness, shoved that putrid excuse for a fruit into her mouth. Needless to say to almost any gringo who has ever had the misfortune of tasting papaya, Rosa ignored the remaining papaya on her plate. The next day, we were walking through downtown San Jose when we both smelled something horrible. I've tried to preserve the words that exploded from Rose's mouth verbatim. I said, "Ugh, that smells awful!" to which Rose responded, "Are you kidding me? I can't tell if that smells like poop or papaya." Ticos cut glances at us as if we were lepers, and several had to step over our fallen bodies as we clutched our convulsing bellies. My shoulder still smarts from slamming into that pole.

I saw Michael W. Smith in concert on Saturday right here in downtown San Jose. I know, who would of thunkt... Well, on the bus afterward, I was talking to a tico who had also been at the concert. He saw ol' Gringo me and rushed to sit beside me and practice his English. He actually studied English the past few years at the Universidad de Costa Rica. We started talking about the concert, and he said, "I was so excited! It gave me chicken skins!" Which in Spanish makes sense. Piel de Gallina (chicken skin): it's like the equivalent of our goose-bumps. However, in English, it makes Keith's face turn embarrassingly red as he tries to stifle uncontrollable laughter. The guy was so seeking afirmation of his English, and I wanted to give it to him, I really did. I attempted to save face for both him and me, so I started to say, "Yeah, it gave me chicken skins too," but I only got about halfway through before I lost it. I hated that his pride was the price of my laughter, but asi es la vida. I decided the most pressing course to take was to make sure none of my saliva slapped his face as I tried to stop laughing. Poor guy.

Rosalee and I were on the internet, yahoo to be specific, and the article on the front page read, "Master this Habit for a Better Relationship." I couldn't help myself. Before I even really thought about it, or about the fact that my only present company was that of a lady, I smiled: "He calls it his habit?" You have to admit, that was a good one.   =)

My mama tica here is hilarious. She has the heart of a child, because she's got to laugh at least 25 times a day. She's the kind of person that cracks herself up to the extent that her words begin merging and dissolving into meaningless blubbering because she's laughing so hard. Well, on one such occassion when she was fighting to communicate a story through the laughter (which makes Spanish so hard to understand, mind you), I split a rib I laughed so hard. Apparently, the last short-term missionary that lived with her was named Hannah. Well, Hannah was on the bus one day, talking to serveral tica women in Spanish. One of the older ladies said something depressing or something, and so Hannah, trying to convey her sympathy, said, "Que pena." Well, she meant to say "Que pena," which translates as "what a pity/what a shame/how sad." However, what she actually said was "Que pene." Which means penis. "What a penis." Apparently, one of the old ladies had to be rushed to the hospital because of a stroke. And buses are beasts to manuever in Latin American hospital traffic.

"What a penis."

Traditional Theology: Moving on to the Next Kid on the Bench

A theology I heard a lot growing up in the church goes something like this:  If I choose not to obey God's prompting, I miss an opportunity, sin even. However, if God wants something done, it will happen. God isn't dependent on my obedience, and He'll find someone else to do it.

Disagree. It's a nice idea--that God doesn't need us and that ultimately God's will is accomplished, that if I don't do something for God it ultimately doesn't matter because God will find someone else to do it. It really is a nice, reassuring idea about the control and Sovereignty of God. I just don't think it's right.

I know everyone quotes Ephesians 2:10, but there may be a crucial truth here--"We are God's workmanship/masterpieces, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which he prepared in advance for us to do." Maybe we really were created for specific good works.

Maybe God created Keith to do certain things in this world, to reach certain people, to speak certain truths about the unique aspect of God that he sees best. And maybe God created you for something specific, for something no one else can do quite like you can. Maybe you can see and love a side of God that I can't, not in the same way. And maybe you can do things in this world that I can't do, and maybe you can reach people in this world that I can't reach. Maybe that's why God created individuals.

Maybe if I don't do the works God's created me to do, God won't give someone else my load and have them carry the slack. Maybe there really is something specific that God's created me to do, and if I don't do it, it won't get done.

Former President Dwight Eisenhower, commenting on his Presidency and life, attributes all of his success to  the message that his parents instilled in him: "The world could be fixed of its problems if every child understood the necessity of their existence."

Maybe there's a necessity for you. Maybe God made you just the way you are, placed you in certain situations for a reason. Maybe God does have a purpose for your life, a work created in advance for you to do, a work that won't get done if you don't do it. A work that can only be fulfilled by one person--you.

Retort to "Does God Have a Specific Plan For Your Life? Probably Not."

I don't know so much that I disagree with Donald Miller in his post. As far as my personal theology goes, I don't really know where I stand. What I don't like is the effect that I see his post having. If you want something really interesting to read, check out the comments people have left to his post. It's much more entertaining than the post itself. Depressing, though.

My summary of Don's post: God may or may not have a plan for your life; some of us are simply given a blank canvas and told to "Draw baby draw!" Okay. Theologically, I see this issue boiling down to a choice. Obviously, there's no right answer. What I mean is that I can look at life and scripture the way he did, or I can choose to look at life and scripture from another perspective. Each can yield a number of different theologies, each being just as easy to justify. I can argue and debate and defend in circles my whole life. I guess what I'm getting at is that eventually I choose either to accept this set of evidences or that set of evidences. So, maybe it may be more important to consider how a theology affects people. (This isn't one of those truth-is-relative-so-choose-what-makes-you-feel-best kind of messages, I promise)

Looking at the comments people left on Don's wall showed me a lot. Some people said, "Why is that such a HUGE relief to me?" I can see someone reading Don's post, someone that doesn't feel any strong pulls in this direction or that direction or any direction, and this theology bringing freedom, "relief" as that person said. For a lot of people, it probably takes the pressure off of life and decisions, gives people space to really live. Instead of thinking she has to wait around to hear God's divine voice saying "DO THIS," she can just live and trust that God'll be there. A theology like this can be very freeing.

Then there are comments like this one: "As a non-believer, I find the musings of believers regarding the true nature of god to be as relevant and substantial as the daily horoscope in your newspaper." This comment strikes me as very interesting. This self-classified "non-believer" clearly spent time reading Don's blogs and others' responses and then writing his own very eloquent rebuttal. His whole point was that the entire conversation regarding God's purpose for our lives was meaningless and a waste of everyone's time. And yet he's engaging in this very conversation, reading this blog. I don't know. Seems to me like he's searching for something...

And of course, the comment we've been anticipating, including reference to the world's most overly quoted scripture: "When I read Jeremiah 29:11-12 'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'–I don’t read that as a benign generalization. I believe my God is an intensely personal God, a father who is very interested in my day to day existence." I completely understand what this person is saying. Taking scripture out of context aside, this person clearly finds hope in a theology that values her. Her understanding of God--a God that has a defined plan for her life--gives her purpose. It gives her a net beneath her tightrope decisions. I see her as someone that needs something to cling to, something to give her a reason for life, to give her hope. For her, to really buy into a theology like the one Don sells is detrimental because it takes away that safety net. It robs her of her source for purpose, for meaning, and for hope. A theology like Don's can end up yielding a response like this one, left by another person on the discussion board: "If there is no plan, then why bother."

So back to the question: Does God have a purpose for my life? or am I free to paint my own portrait of life? I find this whole discussion extremely fascinating. However, I can continue to theorize, rationalize, philosophize...to expound on my theories...to take scripture from here and from there...to analyze these and those testimonies...to read what the big people say, the people with more knowledge and expressive eloquence than me...to speculate, and postulate, and estimate, and predicate...

or

I can look deep inside of myself and realize that ultimately I'm searching for something. Whether we promote this theology, that belief, this conviction, that interpretation, we're all searching for something, something to give meaning to our existence.

Bloody Right Toe

Oh, but I'm not done.

I hate seeing people live for their ministries because they love their ministries. I know, sounds weird. The thing is, when we finally figure out what it is God created us for, it is awesome! There's nothing more that we want than to dive into that one thing--whether loving kids, building homes, healing sick, enriching education, whatever. Finally, we find something worth pouring everything into. We give all that we are to this one thing. Everything. It's exhausting and painful, and we grow tired and weary and drained in our service. But, Love inspires us again. We find new energy and motivation and passion, and we jump back in.

This is a good thing, but it's so dangerous. Our ministry should be a means to God, but too often it becomes our end, our God. We do it because we've finally found something that encourages us, something that brings us purpose and joy and affirmation, because that's what we were created for, right? Ephesians 2 talks about how God created us for the good works s/he prepared for us to do long ago. So yes--we were created to do good works, but that was never supposed to be our focus. When our ministry versus our God becomes our focus, we start experiencing doubt and jealousy and gobs of other emotions. And we wonder why we're so burned out.

It's just so hard when we finally find that one thing in life that we really care about. Before long, we start doing that one thing for that one thing's own sake and not because it's the best way we can respond to God. Our expressions of love for others in our ministries should come of the overflow of love we have for God. It has to come out of that overflow. The problem when we start focusing on our ministry first and God second is that "then our service becomes self-centered instead of God centered, people- rather than God-pleasing" (Marva Dawn, Joy In Weakness). When this happens, our ministry has lost all effectiveness.

I love what Marva Dawn says on this subject. She goes on to say: "We cannot do eternal work if we do not work for the sake of the eternal One. We mistake the journey for its end and love the road instead of the One who called us to walk on it. This is an especially great danger because then our service points to the wrong focus. We do not direct others to God, but to our work, our deeds, ourselves."

Yes, I am preaching to myself. I'm trying to constantly talk to my kids and others about God, how God can renew and transform and change us. I have no right to make these claims, though, if I am not allowing God to do these things in my own life, to transform me.

I have a lot of thoughts running through my head right now. I guess the point I'm trying to make is where are you pointing? Is your ministry a response of your love for God, or is your ministry your first love? Is everything you do pointing back to your own work and your own ministries, or is everything you do pointing back to God?

(Also, if what I've said here doesn't apply to you only because you don't think you have a ministry, find one now! Look around you, go back to your bloody left toe, and care about something. The world can't afford to wait. Something isn't getting done in God's kingdom because of our present inaction.)

We Are Disconnected

We are disconnected.

My little brother says I don't know how to keep a girl. He walked up to me, and I could tell he had something troubling him, that he had been thinking about something heavy for a while. He said, "Keith, I'm worried about you. You keep losing your girlfriends. College is the time when you're supposed to find a wife, and you only have two more semesters left. You need to take this more seriously, Keith, or you're going to end up unmarried and unhappy for life." He's 13, and he already knows more about life than I do. He says he's not going to start dating until college, because high school dating is immature and troublesome. He also says that when he starts dating a girl, he's going to pick her right and then keep that sucker for life. I've decided to start going to him when I need relationship advice.

On Monday, a kid I met on a F.O.C.U.S. trip a couple months ago called me wanting to talk about his girlfriend, who he thought was cheating on him. I realize I probably should have just handed the phone to my little brother. But anyways, he was really upset and didn't want to lose her, but it was pretty clear she didn't hold their relationship in a position of as much priority as he did. Also, over break, I fussed at another friend of mine for being so exclusive and intense in his relationship with his girlfriend. Yes, their love sickens me, so that's part of it. The other part I just couldn't grasp was how needy my friend seemed, how being connected to this other person was necessary for their happiness.

Last night, I had a dream where I started dating my seventh grade girlfriend again. It was a crazy dream full of drama and romance, an episode more than worthy of appearing on a Spanish Soap Opera. The night before, I dreamed about my future wife. We were sitting at the table and talking. That was the extent of my dream, and I never saw her face, so if dream-wife is the same as future real-life-wife, I have no clue what she looks like. The night before that, I had another dating/marriage dream. I know, I'm asking the same question you are: what's wrong with me? To that, I answer... Well, I have no clue. I guess all of this stems from the same thing for me. I don't want to be alone in life--none of us do--so I connect myself with lots of people, dating being one of the ways to do that. What my track record tells me is that for some reason I feel separated from something or someone, and I have this deep, driving need to be in relationship. I know I've been using girl-guy/dating examples, but I think you can take sexuality out of it and it still be the same issue. I'm inadequate and incomplete alone, and I'll do anything and assume any label to surround myself with others, even if I never build any solid, lasting relationships with anyone. I would say it all boils down to belonging to someone, whether that's a wife or a father or a child, just belonging.

We are disconnected.

I feel closest to God when I'm away. I hear God's voice and see reality clearer when I'm away, away from technology, and away from electricity, and away from buildings, and away from civilization. Into the wild: that's where I find God. Over Easter break, I woke up early one morning, threw on some sneakers (I love the word "sneakers." I realize no one says this anymore, but I love it), grabbed my iPod and my Bible, and started walking. For any of you Gardner-Webbers out there, I left my suite and started walking through my woods across from Broyhill. My woods. It's where I go when I want to get away. God gave them to me. About a mile into the woods, I realized how stupid I am: I'm trying to get away from civilization and technology, and the whole time, my earplugs are in and music is blasting, and I'm checking my phone for new text messages. So I put my iPod, cell phone, and even my Bible in my bag and left it beneath a tree, walking further into the woods without my ties to the human world. (sidenote: took me forever to find that blasted bag a couple hours later. Go figure.)

It's amazing what you hear when you take your iPod out of your ears, get away from cars and buzzing and ringing and the noises of civilization. Life. You hear life. Stuff that seems small--like wind rustling leaves above your head, sticks crunching beneath your feet, birds singing, bugs clicking, water trickling--suddenly seems so real, so alive. I know that probably sounds dumb, but it's true. When that hit me, I felt like I had received some private revelation from God. Being alone with just God and nature is how it's supposed to be. I just kept walking and listening to life. I crossed some woods, a field, some small streams. I saw deer tracks and what I think are raccoon tracks. I saw lots of birds and insects. When I was crossing the field, I saw four wild turkeys. Life everywhere, and beautiful. And then... (I hope you hear the subtle change to a more ominous tone)...I saw a person. A person! These are my woods! What are people doing out here! Contaminating and polluting the beautiful world God privileged only me with! And that's what I genuinely was thinking. I was thinking that there's no way this person appreciates nature like I do. I immediately turned around and started walking out of the woods. That person ruined it for me.

On my way out, I saw a pipe leaking thick, murky liquid into one of the streams. It smelled like garbage. I guess at first I was thinking about how this world was untouched by people, which was something I liked about it. Maybe I was just looking for signs now, but I began to see evidence of people everywhere. I saw old fire pits with aluminum foil left in the ashes; I saw coke bottles, and candy wrappers, and even a freaking condom. Really? A condom? My progression of thinking throughout all of this and all of the trash I saw in those woods--trash I did not even pick up--tells me a lot. It tells me that there's some sort of gap between nature and humanity. Somewhere along the line, we lost our vision to see the innate beauty and value in nature. Somewhere along the line, we lost our responsibility to nature.

We are disconnected.

Going off of the whole nature idea, sometimes I like to think of myself as living by the Tao of Emerson and Thoreau. However, I'm clearly not a transcendentalist or a Romantic--as much as I'd like to think I am--, and the second I realize I'm not that, I label myself with this. When this falls through, I label myself with another that. Christian. Universalist. Universalist-Christian. Republican. Socialist. Democrat. Feminist. Student. Teacher. Role model. Friend. Boyfriend. Leader. Follower... I like labeling a lot. I mean, it's all about power, right? If you can label something, if you can name a thing, then you have power over it. With a label, a thing becomes suddenly less intimidating and dominant, more easily controlled and manipulated. I hate that I like labels.

I especially hate that I so often feel the need to label myself. What that tells me is that I'm not comfortable just being. Being what? Exactly. I feel like I have to be something and then prove it. I have to be a _____ (fill in political, religious, social affiliation or whatever), then prove it, then prove why my label is better than yours. I can't just be; I have to be _____ (fill in the blank). Just being "Keith" is not enough. Hell, I don't even know what that means. When I reflect, I see my desire to label myself as evidence that I feel apart from something, something I should belong to. I have some need driving me to connect and belong and associate with something, someone other than myself. Just being? Not enough.

We are disconnected.

The Great Iconoclast

Only Hope

I just finished C.S. Lewis' A Grief Observed, and it was a really moving and easy read. At one point, Lewis talks about all his efforts, everything he's ever felt or worked for, in the end amounting to a castle of cards, a castle the world--and even God sometimes--destroys over and over and over; but it never keeps him from building another card castle.

I guess we all are like Lewis: building castles with feeble cards, only to watch them crash to the ground, and then start building again. I must love building castles, because, frankly, I cannot stop. I think the last castle I built up must have taken me a long time. Lots of levels and decorations and stuff. I think I was really proud of it, too, and probably even felt safe inside. But like always, my card castles end up spending their time collapsing. Now, awake in the infinite cold, looking at the ruins of that castle, it's amazing that I thought it would ever stand up. All the pieces look so weak. They were new pieces, though! Pieces you could really get excited about! Crisp, clean, brand-spankin-new pieces! But paper.

"My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it Himself. He is the great iconoclast. Could we not almost say that this shattering is one of the marks of His presence?" (Lewis)

Damn, I sure hope so.

The bleeding woman

see Mark 5: 21-34

This story of the bleeding woman touching Jesus' clothes and being healed has always stood out to me. It's like God has highlighted this passage with a spiritual marker; it always stands out so much. This past summer at Camp Joy, I was asked to be the speaker for teen week. Well, after praying and praying, I decided to talk about this story of the bleeding woman. My goal then was just to make the story come alive for those youth, to really show them the depth of suffering and hurt in this woman's life, and then how she received total healing from Jesus. I think I might have said something about that same healing being available to each of us if we just reach out and touch Jesus. But I don't think I believe that anymore...

This past weekend, I got to preach another message for FOCUS (a ministry GWU offers). With all the stress and chaos of finishing up a semester, honestly, I didn't make the time or have the energy to come up with some new sermon. I decided to just fall back on this same message of the bleeding woman I gave at camp. But, just in this past week, God showed up and started moving. This past week has been hell for me--physically draining, emotionally wrecking, mentally exhausting, and, in a way, spiritually overwhelming. God's revealed so much to me this past week. I've been convicted of so many things. I've felt loved in new ways--a love different, deeper, more real. I've received answers and fulfillments of prayers I've agonized over for years. God has really showed up this week. And when I resorted to a cop-out sermon that I thought I had pinned down, God changed everything.

I guess I had always looked at the story of the bleeding woman as a parable of coming into Christianity, or rather, as a parable of coming into relationship with Christ, with every aspect of the story serving as an easy and nicely packaged symbol for us Christians to fit into our lives. The bleeding woman symbolizes the sinner who has been wandering around, hurting, trying to do life his/her own way. Touching Jesus symbolizes becoming a Christian (whatever that means)--maybe a public profession of faith, or an open commitment to follow Christ. All it really takes in life is to have faith that Jesus will heal you and reach out to him. It will all be healed. All the sin, all the hurt, all the fears, all the suffering--it will all be healed.

Damn. Did I really buy into this? When I look back over this story through those lens, I have this staggering sense of loss, like I'm missing a bigger picture here, like I totally don't get it. I really wish it worked like that, though. That we all can find total healing, and peace, and love, and release in this world by simply turning to Jesus. I really do wish it worked like that. But it just doesn't. Coming into Christianity in this world, to be blunt, doesn't touch my damage inside. I touched Jesus years ago, and I still suffer and hurt; I still have those same insecurities, those same fears, those same doubts, those same sins; I still lose focus; I still break. I'm not completely healed when I touch Jesus. Life certainly would be easier if it all worked that way, but it just doesn't. For me, the story of the bleeding woman doesn't, can't mean that.


I think maybe the story of the bleeding woman is a parable for all of life.


This woman had some sort of disease in her life, where she endlessly bled and hurt. She travels from doctor to doctor, priest to priest, spending more and more money till she has nothing left; and she receives no answers. She can't stop the bleeding. And now, because of Jewish law (Lev. 15:25), she's been labeled "unclean." Now, because of her physical malady of bleeding, she has a spiritual malady. She can't come into God's temple. She's told she deserves this. It's a result of her sin. She must have done something wrong for God to have given this to her. She's excluded, an outcast from society. She's abandoned--by friends, by family, by the church. Everyone's given up on her. Doctors can't help her. The church can't help her. She's ridiculed, avoided, isolated, abandoned. By everyone! even her family! She grows sicker and sicker, weaker and weaker. Constant pain. She's poverty-stricken, destitute, heart-broken, depressed, alone, confused, sorrowful, tired, hopeless, withdrawn. She's homeless, a sojourner. She's probably given up herself. Geeze, this was the life that woman lived for 12 years! 12 years of never feeling love, never experiencing healing, never being touched by another human being. When I try to get into the head of this woman, this word keeps coming up for me: withdrawal. I think of someone that's been hurt so deeply so many times by so many people, that she's completely withdrawn into herself. I think of someone who's cried out to God: "What did I do to deserve this? What is wrong with me? What did I do wrong? God, where are you? Why don't you answer me? Why don't you heal me? Does God hate me?" This woman--who's been burned by her family, her friends, the church, God--has completely given up, completely surrendered to this depression. Completely withdrawn into herself.

But then she starts hearing about this man. There's this man who's been traveling the country, preaching about God and love, helping people, giving sight to blind men, healing people.

But there's no way he can help me. There's no way I'm trusting him. He can't heal me. It hurts too much to even hope for that again. And what's the point! I know he can't heal me. He can't. I know he can't.

But she kept hearing about this man. People said this man was God's son. He can heal her. I think about this woman--tired, unsure, terrified. But she decides to trust one more time. I think of her crying out to God: "God, if this is real... I want this so badly... I'll try one more time. But God, if this doesn't work, it will completely break me. It will destroy me. But I'll try one more time." And so this woman, terrified and doubtful yet tired of hurting, starts looking for this man. She gets to the outskirts of a crowd and hears that this man is in the middle. She starts sneaking in, blending in, disappearing into the crowd. She keeps pushing, and pushing, and pushing, looking for this man. She can't see where she's going. She can't see the man she's looking for. She doesn't even know if he really exists. But she just keeps pushing. Before long, she sees him. She's so scared to hope again, so afraid to trust again, but she desperately wants to be loved again; so she just reaches out and touches him.

sidenote: the commentaries I looked at said the woman had so much faith in Jesus that she knew she only had to touch his clothes to be healed. Bull shit. This woman was scared! She was terrified out of her mind! She wanted this healing so badly but was so afraid that she didn't even have the words to say it. She was so upset she didn't even have the power to talk. She had no strength left for words. So she just reached out.

My Bible says that immediately she felt in her body that she had been healed. Before she can even grasp that, the man stops. He asks, "Who touched me?" And of course the disciples are like, "Calm down, Jesus. You're in a crowd, bro. Everyone's touching you." But Jesus says, "No. Someone touched me." I think it's important here to notice that Jesus doesn't demand the woman to confess, but invites her to.

The woman's reaction? I imagine all her fears resurfacing. She couldn't touch him! He's a man of influence, and she's unclean. She could contaminate him. But something tells her she can trust him. This is the real act of faith, not reaching out and touching Jesus' clothes as the commentaries say. This is faith. She falls flat on her face, body trembling with fear and passion, eyes puffy and swollen, face wet with tears and dirt. She can't even look him in the face. She tells her story, and it's not an easy one to tell. Her story's embarrassing, difficult, painful. It's a story of brokenness of body and spirit. She tells this story in front of this man of influence, in front of a judgemental crowd, in front of people who are going to write her off and abandon her like everyone else in her life. He's going to judge her, too. He's going to condemn her. He's going to abandon her like everyone else.

But he doesn't. Jesus helps her up and says, "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering" (v 34). See, the woman wanted a physical healing, and after the touch, she got it. The story could have ended there, but praise God it doesn't. Jesus cared about more than healing the woman physically. Jesus calls her "daughter." Daughter. It's a term that denotes relationship, belonging, and love. Jesus cares about what really matters, and he speaks to what's really damaged. This woman comes to him wanting to be healed physically, but Jesus wants to heal her spirit--her hurt, her brokenness, her feelings of mistrust and abandonment. He wants to love her. and he doesn't demand, but invites her into face-to-face relationship with him.


I think now I realize that each and every one of us is that bleeding woman.

We all hurt and suffer, and life is pushing through the crowd. All of life is wandering against this crowd because we've heard about someone who can heal us. We can't see him, and we don't know if he exists. We can let the crowd overtake us, or we can keep pushing, and pushing, and pushing. And just maybe, at the end of this life, this life of pushing through the crowd, we'll find the one who can heal us. Weeping and trembling, we fall at his feet; and on that judgment day, before God in that seat of judgement, we tell him everything--our sins, our heartaches, our brokenness. everything. But he doesn't judge us, and he doesn't condemn us. He calls us "son," "daughter." God helps us to our feet, to face-to-face relationship with him, and he makes us whole.



Nicole C. Mullen--One Touch