TheGardenNearGolgotha

Short and Sweet: A Quick Thought on the Nature of the Resurrection

2011-02-16T12:33:00.003-07:00

Well, let's say, for the sake of argument, that Christ never did rise, and That he was simply a man who, as protestant liberals might say, was simply a wise and moral teacher.Then the truth of the matter would be that the entirety of the faith would be in jeopardy of being nothing more than simply an ethical philosophy (that is, after what one could parse out of the mythical/religious context), and it in itself, ironically enough, would have an existential dilemma. That is the case because without the resurrection, without the supernatural impeding the natural in the manner that it is presented in the Christian schema, the faith has no validity as anything but an opinion on the life lived in mortality. That is to say, it wouldn't really matter if I, or anyone, accepted Christ's teachings as anything but a vain attempt at ethically ordering one's life. Without the resurrection, there is no telos in the existential system, there is no reason why one should do anything for the sake of morals or ethics or even human progress. Without the resurrection, there is no point to anything, and we should all continue our lives in the base attempt at satisfying our animal craving for orgies, libation, and gluttonous eating. And, I know that a liberal theologian would want to say that something like Humanism or the human's ability to transform and take charge of their own ethical leanings is the next evolutionary step on our process toward whatever teleological end they might dream up, but the truth is, if there is no resurrection, and the God that reigns is the God of the deist, then...well, truthfully... there is no progress, and if God doesn't care, then why should I? why should you?

But, if the resurrection is real, if it is something that occurred historically, if it is something that is actively changing and shaping my life and the life of every other believer, then the stakes have changed. The picture becomes not one of my chasing the ends of human ethical limitations but one of me being honed and shaped and molded by the God of the universe to be more like Him - to be ever more perfectly what He made me to be. If the resurrection is real, then I know that it is not by my own power to chase morals but by the very hand that created the seas that I am being transformed, and I can be confident, as Paul assures us, that He will be faithful to complete this amazing teleological work in me. If the resurrection did occur, then I know that Christ sits in heaven, as Luke portrays, at the right hand of authority, and I know that there really is a point to following Christ and that, as Romans 8 relates, there really is freedom from the condemnation that we were once under by the sacrifice and resurrection of the Son of God.

Without the resurrection, Christianity is nonsensical; without the resurrection, pun intended, Christianity is dead.

The Renewal of Things 1

2010-01-19T16:58:00.006-07:00

A magnificent stag ran out from the tree line of that thick wood with vivid flames dancing upon it’s antlers. And they could do nothing but watch as it seemed to bow low with its nose to the ground, and the fire licked up to low lying branches; It crept up and onward until, as if in an instant, everything was ablaze before them. The heat reverberated out to them though they were far off, and the stag stood unblinking as he was consumed, hoof to head, by the devouring and cleansing fire – happy, almost it seemed, that the fire, wild and un-harnessed, could move and spread on it’s own.

And there they lay, maimed and dying, waiting for the oncoming fire. There they lay in peace, at the renewal of things

***********************************************************************
As morning broke on the small band of four hikers, the mist seemed to rise in accord with the terror welling up in each of them. It had been two days since they had lost themselves in the thickly wooded forest, two days since any had slept in even the comfort of a tent. Huddled together with the charred remnants of their small fire, all of them remained transfixed on their lack of food and the strange manner in which one of their companions had died, though none of them said anything concerning either.

Finally, one of them, with his friends blood still splattered across his cheek and soaked into the cuffs of his thermal wear coat, said, “maybe, it was an animal.”

“What animal makes a sound like that? Wh…what animal can do that?” she said, fighting her urge to weep.

“What do we do now? We must have been wandering for hours yesterday! Who knows how far we are from the road.”

“We left the road going West, if we head East, we are bound to hit it! We have to!”

“THERE IS A REASON THAT ROAD IS CLOSED! It dead ends! What if we meandered south, huh? What then? THERE WON’T BE A ROAD TO RUN INTO – JUST WOODS…just…more woods” said another as he stood in his frenzy, knowing well that if they were to have run into the road, it would have happened long before now.

“Calm down, calm down!” said one of the women her eyes wandering while she thought. “There is one main river that runs through this county. Do you remember that stream we saw yesterday? The river must be it’s source, and if we can get there, we are bound to run into a fisherman or a park ranger or something. We have to get back to that stream.”

“I’m not going back there. We can’t go back to that place. We can’t. That’s where it came from – that’s when it started!” said the other woman with her tears now dripping from the tip of her chin.

“What shall we do?! Stay here and be eaten or whatever that was? I’m going to the stream. It is our best hope. It’s our only hope. I won’t sit here to freeze to death…or worse. Besides, we don’t know what it was or if it came from anywhere. Now, we set out pretty straight from that direction, and I’m going back!”

Hungry and resolved, she went, walking through the soft earth and leaves that winter had moistened, holding an old compass inquisitively in front of her, and the others, dejected but lost, followed soon behind her. They wavered in their steps as hunger began to bring on its first signs of strength and the morning crept into early afternoon.

The winter’s sky gleamed sun for only a short while that morning before giving way to dull empty grayness. As they walked, with the smallest sense of purpose in them now, they began to be encouraged, and they almost seemed to forget the horror which befell their friend the previous afternoon. However, whenever their merriment or distraction would grow too great, they would catch sight of each other or their own hands and clothing which was drenched in the now dried blood of their companion. In these instances, the memory of those short minutes hung about them like the darker looming clouds which they could see rolling slowly in over the tree tops.

“We are almost there, I think.” said the leader, lowering her compass. “Is that it? is that the…um…the place? Can you see it?”

Before them was a large mound, almost a small hill, covered in moss and dirt, and just beyond it, which they could hear but not see, was a small trickling stream. As they rounded upon the mound, they could see that on the other side was what looked like a door or gate. It was made of small dried pieces of wood held together by what looked like twine or sinew which hung off it lifeless like emaciated skin. It covered a small opening in the face of the rock, and by the smell of the air that radiated out of the opening, one could tell that the stale environment beyond that door led deep into the earth. By some chance, they had made it back. They hadn’t missed it.

They all hesitated for a moment upon seeing the door. This place was indeed the place they had happened upon just the day before, and now the crooked way in which the door hung seemed to imprint itself on their minds as a warning, almost, of the folly they remembered having fallen upon them after entering that gate, and horror seemed to be near them now breathing at their necks. They stood transfixed and dazed by their own fear. The sky grew even darker. The clouds grew closer.

Breaking the silence first, the leader shook free of the trance and said, “Come on, its just over here.”

And, unthinking, she dipped her hand wildly into the murky water and splashed it to her mouth. The other woman said, “You’ll be sick! You don’t know what’s in that water!” But, it didn’t stop the other boys from falling straight to their knees to slurp up the muddy liquid, and, though it troubled her, the woman could not hold back her raging thirst for long. She joined the others. They drank for, what seemed to them, an eternity. Letting the cool water pass over their frozen and chapped lips.

“What was that?!” Said the leader, raising her head with a start. “Did you hear that?” The others, consumed in their drinking had not heard the shuffling that she had. It was the sound of something approaching. Her heart began to beat faster as she looked around frantically, and the others suddenly became aware of her fear. She rose to her feet and spun around, scanning the woods for the source of the noise. It sounded, faintly, like something bounding on branches and mud. They could hear the little snaps of twigs and movement getting louder and closer. Their breathing heightened, getting faster, and they all came back to back with each other, as every muscle in their bodies tensed.

From the thick wood, stepped an enormous male deer. His hide was almost glistening white, and the curve of his antlers made them stand taut and strong. He emerged with his head held high, and stepped lightly toward them, blinking slowly and naturally. Their breath eased for only a moment before they were caught up in the majesty of the creature and the unpredictability which accompanied his presence. He did not move. He just stood there, at ease, blinking, staring. After a moment, he seemed to peer into the ever black sky as if wrought with painful thought, and as his head lowered back down, he seemed to focus on something just beyond them. He snorted in agitation, and then clamored away proud yet listless.

And at that very moment, a wind seemed to pick up. It was not a strong wind. It was kind of gentle like a breeze, but icy as the breath of one too close for comfort. It gave them all a chill like the feeling one gets when faced with a deathly fear; burning in their stomachs, but freezing on their skin. A few leaves rustled and settled in its wake, and as this malicious breeze blew past them, they could hear it whistling and echoing down the corridor chambers of the little tunnel behind that haphazard fence, in the mound, in the forest.

As yet frozen in their stance from seeing the deer, they all slowly turned to face the crooked gate, and to their surprise, a man stood at the entrance leaning against the earth on one side of the door. He had a leisurely stance, and he was enjoying what looked like an apple or a pear or something. He crossed one arm, tucking it below the other with which he ate. He was a very pale man with stunning, burning eyes. They seemed almost grey, and he was cloaked completely in black with what seemed to be patched clothes of worn suede. A loose hood draped his head so that the fabric hung loosely at the sides.

They could hear the crunch, crunch, crunch, of every mouthful he ate, and as they fought their burning trepidation, they all inched closer to him – together, like a pack. As they approached, he straightened in acknowledgement of them, and he smiled a crooked smile.

On Being and Becoming: The Kingdom of God as an Existential Posit Part &

2010-01-11T18:22:00.002-07:00

This then begs the question as to what the actual parameters of God’s Kingdom really are, for while the point has already been made that the boundaries of the Kingdom are not meant to be supposed earthly and political, it is still evident that to the first-century eyes, the idea of Kingdom had to deal with “the geographical aspect of basileia; for the status of a king is shown by the area over which he reigns. basileia assumes therefore the meaning kingdom, signifying the state or area over which a king reigns.”[1] Further, as already partly noted, one sees that the term “Basileia refers primarily to the act or process of ruling, a quality or privilege that distinguishes a king or other ruler. To have basileia is to possess control, power, freedom, and independence.”[2] So in seeking the answer to this query one might notice that it points to an existential paradigm – it leads again to that idea of being and becoming. One sees this as evident, in orientation to the parameters of Gods kingdom, when realizing that “Jesus believed that the Creator God had purposed, from the beginning, to deal with the problems within His creation through Israel; through Israel, the Creator God would heal the world.”[3] If the essential message of the covenantal paradigm introduces the idea of a sacred identity in affiliation with the holy, and if Christ’s position as headship of the Kingdom of God is an active one, then the place where God’s Kingdom urges its dwellers to work for progress comes through that reconciliation to wholeness both in the self and in the whole of creation so that they themselves embody those concentric realities, and given the denouncement of physical boundaries, the authority of the headship can be more widely professed to and realized by those psychically outside of the Kingdom. Consider John Perkins words when he says:

"To do the work of reconciliation, then, we must begin by being a reconciled fellowship, by being the Body of Christ, we must model the kind of relationships into which we want to invite others. Our love for each other gives credibility and power to our witness. We must begin by being."[4]

While Perkins is poignantly here talking in the area of racial reconciliation, the essential point for this discussion rings through. The idea of the wholeness as concerns the Kingdom is at once a reality which must be embodied and manifested but in turn must also be reached and struggled toward. It is a posit which urges the covenant believers of Christ to not only take up the reality of power and fullness in their identity as that covenant community as well as the truth of Christ’s active headship, but to also become and work toward that embodiment in reconciliation. This is tantamount in one teaching of N.T. Wright when he says:

"We have often seen Jesus’ challenge as a set of timeless ethics. We have read the Sermon on the Mount, people still read the Sermon on the Mount, as though it were simply a set of rules hanging in midair – it wasn’t. It began life as the challenge to Israel to be Israel."[5]

It is a challenge to covenant people to become in line with the fullness which is professed upon them by taking up that fullness in the present and then expounding it upon creation at the same time. It is a challenge to the covenant people to lay down the claims that mark earthly citizenship (security, greed, selfish ambition) and take up the self-sacrificing nature of the headship Himself to achieve reconciliation of the self to its fullness but to also promote that reconciliation of other selves to that fullness so that the reality becomes marked by the notion that “[f]rom the highest to the lowest, [one’s] self exists to be abdicated and, by that abdication, becomes the more truly self, to be thereupon yet the more abdicated[.]”[6] One progresses the Kingdom of God by diminishing the self and pushing for the progress of the other and reconciliation of the whole of creation to the restoration of an Eden-like harmony – as he stands in the world today and in the hope of its realization in the future and in eschaton. As Adam’s very existential reality was tied up in an identity which heralded God’s authority unto creation, so too does the Christian pronounce God’s rule by the very existential institution of being and becoming.

And finally, as one harkens back to that image of the wild dancing prairie flower, taking up its identity in the fullness of the present and in its participation in existent reality as well as contingent growth, it becomes evident that the Kingdom of God is not simply something that can be sidestepped as an eschatological paradigm, but it demands the renewal of the covenant person’s thinking to address the reconciliation of the world in the present. The Kingdom of God pushes for the covenant follower to take the stance that waves not a flag but the very self in allegiance to the King – Christ. To do this, as surveyed here, it is critical that such a follower would espouse a paradigm that at the same time takes in the full realization of the immanent identity bestowed upon her in the light of her relationship and orientation to the truth of her full-fledged acceptance into that paradigm.And now suddenly, that dancing prairie flower makes sense because it is a metaphor. The flower, caught up in the winds of its being, reveals itself and the Kingdom dweller in this essential tension. And it makes sense that what philosophers only gawk at with their existentialist jargon was something like the Christian message all along – that the covenant people are, and that is okay. The covenant people are, and God loves them. The covenant people are, and God continues to work in them. The covenant people are whole, because Christ, who is their being, is perfect. The covenant people are participants of this new creation, and they can walk with confidence in that manifestation of identity given them by the Almighty creator in His present Kingdom, and they are working for the full manifestation of the Kingdom as a future hope. They are free to once more walk quietly with their God as in the freshness of Eden, and drink coolly the river waters of a real spiritual life unbound by those ideological nooses associated with a life of simple, trivial, and earthly kingdoms and politics– in this example of the flower, God reveals the struggle in the covenant to be and become; God reveals His Kingdom.

[1] Brown, New International.
[2] Harris, Understanding, 504.
[3] N.T. Wright, “Jesus and the Kingdom.”
[4] John Perkins, With Justice for All (California: Regal, 1975), 138-139.
[5] Wright, “Jesus and the Kingdom.”
[6] Clive Staples Lewis, The Problem of Pain (New York: HarperCollins, 1996), 157.

On Being and Becoming: The Kingdom of God as an Existential Posit Part ^

2010-01-11T18:17:00.002-07:00

This, then, is in striking contrast to the theocracy proposed by the original Israelite nation and all of the parameters in its physical manifestation. Robert Bolin touches on the heart of this issue in a striking example from Joshua when, seeing a generation of Israelites preparing for exile and editing its scriptures to prepare for that challenge, he says, “The story of Achan [in Joshua] offers a vivid example of that situation which is viewed negatively in the expression, ‘in those days there was no king in Israel; every one did what was right in his own eyes.’”[1] For, in the gospels portrayal of God’s Kingdom, the faculties of a formed nation are no longer susceptible to the whims of the frail hearted, unfaithful, and anarchistic people, the brush painting Israel here, that was supposed to remember Yahweh at its headship, nor was there to be overt allegiance to the authoritative entities of the earthly realm. No, for God’s Kingdom there is no political union which has any distinguished flag or country to defend, but from its earliest, Christian community “[…]enacted an integrative covenant, embracing Jews and Gentiles, poor and rich, men and women, slaves and free.”[2] In truth, the patriotic is replaced by the faithful and passionate servant; the nation is formed, not by those who are appropriated simply by being born in a geographical section of the earth or by a particular ideological affiliation, but they are that vast population of believing individuals who are united in theocracy by their devotion to Christ as the king of the whole of the cosmos versus any human and diminished authority. And seeing Christ at the headship is only natural in this scenario, of course, since “all the options laid before Jesus by the tempter are ways of being king[…] the title is meant messianically and not metaphysically” – Christ takes up the seat of authority proclaimed by Yahweh in Theocracy and he does it in a manifested and immanent manner appealing to His citizens’ identity and not simply their patriotism.[3]

Again, this appeals to the paradigm of being and becoming. While the believer is able to take up the identity of covenantal orientation to God, she also anticipates the coming realization of the fullness of God. Christ’s parousia is that culminating event that brings history to fullness in harmony with God as Christ ushers in “his return in heavenly glory[,]’” but to the believer, the end can never admonish the present.[4] By struggling and growing, by striving and pushing, the believer is not forsaken in the covenantal identity in the present, she is wholly and fully accepted within those parameters, but she is also continually striving to become what is demanded of her in the Kingdom light so that her identity is “[…] a truth which you celebrate in worship and which you then have to go and work for in the world.”[5] The individual believer continues to strive for the realization of what she is completely meant to be by the imitation of Christ, but in His sacrifice, she, as well as the entire following of Kingdom dwelling believers, is at once and always accepted as fully integrated within that system much like – in a fitting metaphor – a prince is not a king but is continually anticipating the time when he will become king, though, in so doing, he never forsakes his royal identity at any point. Not that the Christian desires to usurp or inherit the divine throne, obviously, but she struggles toward becoming that further progression in identity which aligns itself in likeness to the Divine King. In this one sees plainly “that Christian brotherhood is not an ideal but a divine reality […] that Christian brotherhood is a spiritual and not a psychic reality” – it is not contingent upon our own earthly musings or ideology but wholly on the our professed identity.[6]

This, of course, leads right back to the idea of Israel’s concentric circles and God’s divine presence. In the covenantal paradigm, by this measure, Israel was not producing and practicing the rites of a people group who were desirous of the their deity to come and take over the ruling duties of their nation as an expected and hoped for event in the future, but they took up the identity of a covenant people and lived according to that identity as God ruled over them at the present time; Yahweh was already in their midst as a leading figure in the presence of the Tabernacle. So, even though the dwelling place of God’s presence is disjunct from the holy temple and replaced by the believing heart, how the Kingdom of God manifests, as professed to the Christian, is a similar idea, because “The original meaning of the term basileia [or the word here referenced for kingdom in Greek] is the fact of being king, the position or power of the king, and it is best translated office of king, kingly rule (e.g. Aristotle, Politics 3, 1285b, 20).”[7] The Christian covenant believer is not waiting to enact the covenant identity until some sort of eschatological telos, but she lives in an immanent reality so that it “is not that earth is a kind of training ground for heaven, but that heaven and earth are designed to overlap and interlock.”[8]

[1] Bolin, Joshua, 230; Joshua 7.
[2] Thomas Kazen, “The Christology of Early Christian Practice,” in Journal of Biblical Literature, vol. 127, no. 3, ed. James C Vanderkam (Fall 2008): 601.
[3] John Howard Yoder, The Politics of Jesus (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 24-25.
[4] Stephen Harris, Understanding the Bible 6th Edition (Boston: McGraw-Hill Co., 2003), 406.
[5] Wright, Reformational UK.
[6] Dietrich Bohnhoeffer, Life Together: The Classic Exploration of Faith in Community, trans. John W. Doberstein (New York: HarperCollins, 1954), 26.
[7] Brown, New International.
[8] N.T. Wright, “On Earth as it is in Heaven”; available from ; Internet; accessed 11 October 2009.

On Being and Becoming: The Kingdom of God as an Existential Posit Part %

2010-01-11T18:14:00.002-07:00

So then, as the gospel and the idea of God’s renewed Kingdom burst onto the scene one has to notice that it is distinctly anti-Caesarian. The word Gospel itself is appropriated from the Caesar cult and used in a fashion that places Christ over and against the authority of Cesar along with many other titles and phrases that appeal to the total authority of the emperor.[1] One might dismiss such a claim as that necessary vocabulary that creates solidarity in the wake of persecution, but whatever the reason, the important thing to note, in searching for the meaning of God’s Kingdom, is that such anti-Caesarian ideas do not make political boundaries for Israel or the new covenant of Christians any clearer. In fact, one might say that it makes the promotion of political association quite a bit more askew. But consider for a moment what Augustine says in his thoughts on earthly kingdoms:

"[God] gives earthly kingdoms to the good or the evil so that his worshippers, who are still children as regard moral progress, may not desire these gifts from him as something great. It is the sacrament of the Old Testament, in which the New Testament is hidden, […] for even then spiritual people understood, though they did not yet openly declare, the eternity symbolized by these temporal things[.]"[2]

While the allegory in this thinking is grossly archaic and, perhaps, too sorely leaned upon, it is striking to note that even in this example of a much earlier time in Christian thinking, earthly kingdoms are seen in a much more diminished light to that of the realization of the “spiritual person” to the reality of a higher value – that such a person could survey from afar, proverbially, the metaphysical territory in which earthly kingdoms could potentially occupy and realize at the same time (and in the same time, no doubt) the self’s participation in and the efficacy overall of the other; by comparing the earthly kingdoms as an allegory to the heavenly, it creates a sense of immanent participation in the heavenly kingdom as a Christian covenant member while at the same time allowing for the potential of a coming fruition of that reality. Perhaps the reality of the Kingdom of God is manifested in a similar way so that it is always in contrast to any sort of actual political dimension as an independent sphere in which those participating (those covenant people) are both striving to see it come fully while also dwelling within it. Perhaps the use of vocabulary that strictly avoided giving political nod to Rome but appropriated it for a different idea of what Kingdom was to mean, by the early church, was really more meant to create something similar to the type of orientation Augustine speaks of; maybe the idea of the Kingdom of God was much less about political ferocity in earthly dominion and much more meant to create an existent paradigm based upon that archaic idea of covenant identity in orientation to the actual ruling Godhead.

So by this, one sees that in the Kingdom of God there is no earthly boundary created in which the new political messiah can thereby rule from a kingly or imperial throne, but what it does do is complete that work which the exilic psychological effect began in Israel’s orientation to God. That is to say, instead of keeping the covenant people on hold waiting for the re-installment of God’s earthly kingship, God reinstates that harmony that was lost with the fall and which Israel could not keep in their own monarchy. Christ’s proclamation of the Kingdom of God, finishes the job of severing the political and human ideology which had suffocated Israel in her monarchy and reinstates the intended harmony originally meant by the installation of theocracy. The covenant identity that Israel has always clung to and which, even in the exile, defined her, fully lost the expectation of human institution through monarchy that kept it from the true harmony intended in theocracy; God, through Christ’s declaration, reestablished His own rule once again so that “what we are really talking about is a verb, an action – God ruling, God reigning.”[3]

[1] Shane Claiborne and Chris Shaw, Jesus for President (Michigan: Zondervan, 2008), 65-73.
[2] Augustine, Political Writings, trans. Miachael W. Tkacs and Douglas Kries (Indianapolis: Hacket, 1994), 35.
[3] N.T. Wright, Reformational UK.

On Being and Becoming: The Kingdom of God as an Existential Posit Part $

2010-01-11T17:53:00.002-07:00

One should not here argue, obviously, that Israel gave up whole heartedly on the restoration of political nationhood. It is an obvious thematic expectation in the time of Christ. However, by breaking out of the political parameters and into the religious, dogmatic, and eventually Pharisaic sphere, the nation of Israel created a space where their being was inseparably associated not as much with their national affiliation but more with their covenantal duties and rites. So, while one sees Ezekiel proclaiming the resignation of God from the temple and the land and Israel herself waiting expectantly for the arrival of a political champion and messiah, their orientation to God is still espoused through a covenantal identity.[1]

Taking this sort of identity into view, it is necessary to next see the historical landscape that surrounds Christ’s proclamation of the Kingdom of God. Looking to the culture at large, it is not hard to find evidence that the idea of prudence in an authority’s, namely the king’s, relationship with legality and the divine was essential to the Hellenistic lifestyle. In fact, one need not look much further than Aristotle who was one of, if not the, most prolific philosophers of the Hellenistic era, who says:

"Therefore he who asks law to rule is asking God and intelligence and no others to rule; while he who asks the rule of a human being is importing a wild beast too; for desire is like a wild beast, and anger perverts rulers and the very best of men. Hence law is intelligence without appetition."[2]

While Aristotle and the Platonic school of thought traditionally substitutes the pantheon in real faith for a more monotheistic model, the affect of such thinking on the political realm cannot be thought of as diminished simply by the sheer magnitude of influence it had in relation to the ruling imperial power. By the time of Christ’s rise to ministry, the penance due to God by the ruling and legal strata, as suggested by Aristotle here, had progressed from mere conjunction with or subordination to God in the Hellenistic ideal and law to that which was most essentially tied to the political backdrop of the Caesars. If even, in the beginning, some of Rome’s emperors did not accept a divine title, it was certainly being professed of them and demanded of the later ones so that the union of God and law was the human emperor.[3]

Here, one might suggest that at least some of the synoptic accounts are written in light of the persecution that had arisen toward Christians in the political realm. Perhaps this persecution is meant as a backlash to the Jewish revolt and the early Christians associations therein as a Jewish sect by the Roman stance. Either way, “proclaiming Jesus as the Lord, was to destroy [the] vital ideology of the Roman imperium, and the reaction it called forth was the persecution of Christians during the first three centuries.”[4] By creating a kingdom reality apart from the imperial eye, Jesus’ pronouncement of the Kingdom of God sets up kingdom boundaries that encompass the whole of creation and the entirety of one’s paradigm(s) – it disorients the centrality of Jerusalem in Israelite tradition, but more poignantly Roman headship, and gives the whole of creation the potential to be that holy land occupied by that holy people. Scholar N.T. Wright notes this when he says, “Kingdom of Heaven/ Kingdom of God is not the place called heaven where God rules. It is the fact that God who is in heaven rules.”[5] By claiming the divine title, the Caesars had transgressed upon the sacred territory of the divine and so God’s kingdom is a call to not only remember the truth of God’s sovereignty but to also live it out as that separate sphere.

[1] Ezekiel 10.
[2] Aristotle, The Politics, trans. T.A. Sinclair (New York: Penguin, 1984), 226.
[3] Craig Blomberg, Jesus and the Gospels (Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1997), 36-37.
[4]Colin Brown ed., “Basileia,” New International Dictionary of New Testament Theology 5.1, in LaserD[CD-Rom] (Michigan: Zondervan, 2005).
[5] N.T. Wright, “Whatever Did Saint Paul do with the Kingdom of God?,” Reformational UK: A Christianity Without Gaps (June 2007); available from ;Internet; accessed 11 October 2009.

On Being and Becoming: The Kingdom of God as an Existential Posit Part #

2010-01-11T17:48:00.003-07:00

As one notices that there is little provision for those nations “out there” in the wilderness for their access to the inner circle of holiness, as concerns the original Israelite covenant and this concentric circle paradigm, she might also realize that this more reflects the actuality of Israel and God’s concern with the outplay of covenantal being; Israel was that people who were meant to restore the harmony lost in Adam as an immanent and intermediary agent. With God at their head, Israel was meant to have a proclamatory stance to the world, but they were not doing this through their words or propaganda. No, they were to do this through their very lives – the very way in which they were being.

In seeking a view of God’s kingdom from a Jewish standpoint, one can imagine that this type of thinking was progressed in the age of the monarchy. Here, the temple replaces the tabernacle and national Israel replaces tribal Israel. Though one sees that God is no longer in the seat of the “king,” it is no less significant that the expectation of the king was always meant to be that agent of Divine will. God was still meant to be the head of the structure and His presence was still meant to be within Israel housed most specifically in the most holy place in the temple. Now, as one sees Israel’s identity get wrapped up in the idea of nationhood, it then collapses (to vastly over-simplify the details of their exile!). With the death of Josiah, one sees the nation Israel at the brink of collapse and their identity as the covenant people in jeopardy. It is here that some suggest the idea of nationhood begins to evolve in the face of such destruction. One biblical commentator, Robert Bolin, notes this about the evolving face of Israel’s nationhood in the context of exile:

"What began with Yahweh’s conquest (read “pacification”) of Canaan had issued most recently in Yahweh’s defeat and destruction of the northern nation-state (Dtr1). After the death of good King Josiah, the same was in process for the southern kingdom. It was about time to make a new start – with Yahweh the King of Israel."[1]

It is interesting that the conquered people do not look collectively to the earthly realm to fulfill the need for an overarching authority even when faced with their enemies, but they raise up God as an authority in response to, and one might argue in defiance of, a foreign authority. In conjunction with this, one might suggest that the priests’ role in the covenant community becomes heightened, if this truly is the time that a priestly addition was made to the Torah, so that the authority of Israel’s identity is housed within the confines of their religious or temple components. Thus, the idea of political countenance is relinquished, but the sovereignty of identity, of their being, becomes something unattainable by the foreign and pagan kings, for at the point of exile in the history of Israel, “the community of believers puts at the center of all decision-making the value of the individual, the quality of responsible life[…] and the willingness of the individual to be governed by ethic, to be ruled by the[…] ever-free and ever-reigning Lord.”[2] By transforming their nationhood into a borderless paradigm, Israel is then able to maintain a covenantal identity within the world; by making their reality more about Torah stipulations and obedience than earthly monarchal countenance, Israel is able to maintain a collectively psychological orientation to pureness and covenant as well as at least the hope, if not reality to some degree psychologically, of theocracy.

[1] Robert Bolin and G.E. Wright, Joshua. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (New York: Doubleday, 1982), 545.

[2] Bolin, Joshua, 544.

On Being and Becoming: The Kingdom of God as an Existential Posit - part @

2010-01-11T17:41:00.003-07:00

One thing to think about when considering such a posit is the nature of what it means to be a covenant person of God. If one takes a look at the idea of Ancient Israel and their orientation to their own cultural paradigms, one thing begins to become evident in the way they viewed the manifestation of holiness in the world. This is the idea of different spheres of holiness that are concentrated in the most holy and are then espoused to less holy concentric areas as one moves further away from the center or most holy sphere. In this, one sees that “[t]aken together the results seem to suggest that spiritual life occurred [for Ancient Israel] in three concentric spheres.”[1] This, of course, is found in the idea of the tabernacle and its interplay with both Israel as a people and the world. The Tabernacle is, of course, that most holy place, but beyond this it gives way to the next but less prominently holy place in the camp of Israel. After the camp of Israel, by this model, the concentric spheres lead away from the tabernacle to the ultimately destitute nations and land outside the camp in the wilderness, into chaos.

It is easy to see that Divine presence becomes less and less the further one journeys through these concentric spheres.[2] This type of structure gives heir to Israelite identity as a covenant community. Here, one might argue that any spiritual factors aside, this type of existent worldview has a pronounced psychological stance on the orientation of the self, in the Subject of an Israelite, to Yahweh and that realm of holiness. When God proclaims Israel a nationhood of priests, He ultimately shapes them as that people bound within the confines of not only national boundaries but much more psychical boundaries as related to their actual orientation to Him.[3] While sin was definitely present and accounted for in the Atonement sacrifices in Ancient Israel and while the full extent to which God’s manifested presence is found in the holiness of the tabernacle, the nation of Israel, through the theocracy of God, found itself as that identifiable intermediary between chaos and the divine.

The idea of God reaching out to the world through a human intermediary was not simply started with the rise of Ancient Israel, in the biblical tradition, but one might argue that this is an idea that was set out and expounded through the very moment of first creation in Adam. Scholar Richard Hess takes this idea up when he speaks of Adam’s likeness to God by saying:

"What then is the meaning of the terms image (tselem) and likeness (demuth), used here to describe the image of God? It is best illustrated in the practice of ancient Near East kings of erecting or carving out images in order to represent their power and rulership over far-reaching areas of their empires. These represented the dominion of the ruler when the sovereign was not present in the region[.]"[4]

One here sees that Adam himself may have been a symbol of that divine work in creation and thus that herald to Divine authority in creation. With this idea in mind, it can be noted that the very core, in the Israelite orientation to theocracy, was always meant to see humanity as that which announces Divine presence and authority. So, when interacting with these concentric realities of earthly living, perhaps the emphasis is much more meant to express a covenant identity of such an intermediary role in contrast to a ritualistic or legalistic promulgation so that Israel is much more measured in the way that it lives out covenant reality. Not only is God a jealous God, desiring their affection, passion, and commitment, but Israel itself is set up as that to which the Divine is present, and they are meant to embody that identity.

[1] Richard Hess, Israelite Religions (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2007), 183.
[2] Hess, Israelite, 183.
[3] Exodus 19:6.
[4] Richard S. Hess, “Equality With and Without Innocence,” in Discovering Biblical Equality, ed. Ronald W. Pierce et al (Illinois: InterVarsity Press, 2005), 81.

On Being and Becoming: The Kingdom of God as an Existential Posit Part !

2010-01-11T17:30:00.004-07:00

There is a whisper in the wind as it blows through a field of wild and vibrant flowers set high in the back hills of a rolling, prairie country side. The animated colors vibrantly dance and swoon through the arms of their love, the wind. To spend the vast portion of their days lost in the frail rhythmic sway between them, leaves a mark on their being that is more incumbent than the long strings of borrowed time in which they would suffer to be trapped in daily – playing for themselves merely the contingent truths of this moment to that. But here, in this primal movement on the hills, there is something more…something deeper. There is some great connection; there is some primal truth that connects them with the heartbeat of what it means to exist, thumping and pounding in a syncopated pattern from the deep cavern chambers of the life of being. There is the unspeakable and yet familiar which comes near to these flowers as created beings flailing in the wind and yet beckons them to blossom, to grow. What does it mean to be? What is it to exist? How do we allow ourselves to be enraptured in the fullness and frailty of the deepest existence? How do we engage a reality in which we are one in being with Christ and yet know the equal reality of His working and refining as an on-going process in our lives? What does it look like for a child of God to sit confidently at the Eucharist table, a whore and yet a child? How does one take up the question of being and becoming as the whole of the Christian community upholds its identity as Christ's Kingdom?

To speak of the Kingdom of God, for the Christian, is to more rightly bring into focus the whole sweeping paradigm of what it means to be a Christian. The Kingdom of God is that much anticipated reign of God for his covenant people; it is the restoration of the harmony lost in the fall at Eden. However, at the same time, it is more than this. The Kingdom is also realized by means of the process in achieving harmony as well – God’s ultimate means of reconciling the world to this harmony. Tragically, and far too often, “[m]any of our traditions have taught us about a Jesus who wasn’t into shaping a world but into escaping the world – that’s the worldview out of which Gnosticism grows.”[1] In truth the urgency with which this topic comes, is revealed by the very nature that the full scope of realization in Yahweh’s theocracy has its heart in the tensions found in that minute space between being and becoming, an existential posit.

Here, one can lean on the ideas of the French philosopher Guilles Deleuze who, when speaking of language, talks about the pronounced anti-systematic intermingling of major and minor languages. This idea has to deal with the interaction of minor dialects in language to the overarching languages that house them and the extent to which the evolutionary nature of language is expressed when those dialects, as the minor language, over take the role of the primary creating a new language all together or, more accurately, the new phase of their common language. So, for example, one could look at the seemingly foreign tongue of Old English in classics like Beowulf and note that while the text was English, it was also becoming English; the phases of growth are actually contained within the identity of the whole so that “[t]here are not, therefore, two kinds of languages but two possible treatments of the same language.”[2] This is a fitting parallel for the orientation of the Christian to the Kingdom of God. It is that necessary position which speaks the truth of Christ’s message on the Kingdom as that reality which waits in expectant hope for Christ’s parousia and full reign, but it allows also one to take up an identity of full fruition in their orientation to that Kingdom as Christ does His work in the world and in the personal life. The Kingdom is and it is becoming.

[1] N.T. Wright, “Jesus and the Kingdom,” InterVarsity Press Conference (January 1999); available from ; Internet; accessed 11 October 2009.

[2] Guilles Deleuze, “Language: Major and Minor,” The Deleuze Reader (New York: Columbia UP, 1993), 148.

The Bibliography for "On Being and Becoming: The Kingdom of God as an Existential Posit"

2010-01-11T17:21:00.002-07:00

Aristotle. The Politics. Translated by T.A. Sinclair. New York: Penguin, 1984.

Augustine. Political Writings. Translated by Michael W. Tkacs and Douglas
Kries. Indianapolis: Hacket, 1994.

Blomberg, Craig. Jesus and the Gospels. Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1997.

Bohnhoeffer, Dietrich. Life Together: The Classic Exploration of Faith in
Community. Translated by John W. Doberstein. New York: HarperCollins, 1954.

Bolin, Robert and G.E. Wright, Joshua. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. New York: Doubleday, 1982.

Brown, Colin ed. “Basileia,” New International Dictionary of New Testament Theology 5.1. LaserD. CD-Rom. Michigan: Zondervan, 2005.

Claiborne, Shane and Chris Shaw. Jesus For President. Michigan: Zondervan, 2008.

Deleuze, Guilles. “Language: Major and Minor.” The Deleuze Reader. New York: Columbia UP, 1993.

Harris, Stephen. Understanding the Bible 6th Edition. Boston: McGraw-Hill Co., 2003.

Hess, Richard. “Equality With and Without Innocence,” In Discovering Biblical Equality, ed. Ronald W. Pierce et al., 81. Illinois: InterVarsity Press, 2005

____________. Israelite Religions. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2007.

Kazen, Thomas. “The Christology of Early Christian Practice,” In Journal of Biblical Literature, vol. 127, no. 3, ed. James C. Vanderkam (Fall 2008): 601.

Lewis, Clive Staples. The Problem of Pain. New York: HarperCollins, 1996.

Perkins, John. With Justice for All. California: Regal, 1975.

Wright, N.T. “Jesus and the Kingdom,” InterVarsity Press Conference (January 1999); Internet; accessed 11 October 2009; available from http://www.ntwrightpage.com/.

__________. “On Earth as it is in Heaven”; Internet; accessed 11 October 2009; available from http://www.ntwrightpage.com/sermons/Earth_Heaven.htm.

___________. “Whatever Did Saint Paul do with the Kingdom of God?” Reformational UK: A Christianity Without Gaps (June 2007); Internet; accessed 11 October 2009; available from http://www.reformational.org.uk/index.php?option=com_frontpage&Itemid=1.

Yoder, John Howard. The Politics of Jesus. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994.

Something New

2010-01-11T17:15:00.004-07:00

I said I was going to be blogging more about... mmm... five months ago or so, and thus far - bupkiss ( is that how you spell that?).

Well, here is the truth, my meager yet eager following, there is something coming, and I don't have a ton of time before I get bogged down in study again. So, that means I need to get at least the first part up soon. Until then, please enjoy this wonderfully and exacerbatingly dense piece I wrote about the Kingdom of God, and i am going to do it in increments so that you don't have to digest it in full. In it you will notice that I developed some of the language from previous posts, and as Gimli says after he has fallen off of a horse, in the second Lord of the Rings movie " Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers: "That was deliberate! That was deliberate!" yay!

brazos de El Paso.

Let it BURN!

2009-07-13T17:09:00.002-06:00

There are times when I am full of this murdering rage. When the life of another seems simple and trivial as that of a knot on the end of a balloon – with one twist, one prick, without any hesitation and little force, every inch of air can be cut right out. And the balloon, it will wither and deflate with awful gasps and gaseous groans. It will writhe in the immanent departure of vitality – jerking side to side like a candle struggling in the gust of a door blown open by a tempest wind. And eventually, it will lie pathetic and malformed, lifeless on the ground, and I will envision it with once sultry eyes that have been burnt out. They will beckon me, those eyes, to return to sanity, to return to some sense of decency, but they will have been ill-informed on the manner and nature of my sympathies. For, what the eyes do not know is that dwelling in the cold dark cavern chamber where a heart should be, is the foulest void that is not only lacking anything like feeling, but actually has the power to suck sympathy and life from others like a light ray trying to out run the reach of a dead star; of a black hole.

In that moment, I will imagine that these fake eyes upon this balloon will harbor long and treacherous nights staring into the very core of me as if questioning my motives; as if begging an answer to the question “Why?” I also imagine myself staring back at them in a determined psychosis, laughing.

“There is no ‘why’,” I would say and then heartily explain that I did it for the mere enjoyment of stealing a balloon from a child to watch it deflate!

Yet still, other ideas come to mind, in the times of such macabre imaginings – in those moments of folly or triumph…depending on your perspective. Like one might think death on another to be swift and forceful, and the only fitting metaphor is actually more an associate of sound. It would be like the puff of wind that blows out from something enormous hitting something else enormous and then silenced – like a boulder falling hundreds of feet to the earth, exasperating all of its fine kinetic energy in a single blow of force, and then simply rolling to one side in an almost post coital dose. That would be the end of a life! Grandiose and extreme – but only a moment’s breathe in length. I can imagine people around standing dazed as to whether or not the killing they had just seen was one that had actually taken place or if, by some miracle, it was no more than the flash of some inventive subliminal marketing scheme trying to get them to drink soda more or have sex better or make their kitchens cleaner or die later, but there the evidence would lie pooling at their feet or splattered upon their faces. It would be that hard evidence to reassure them that they were witnesses to such a crime – if indeed one could call it that. Again, maybe it is all but a game of perspective.

But one should not be crass, there must be some reason for these instances of psychosis, for without reason, death by the hand of another is something crude altogether. It is like a prostitute’s kiss – it is something that seems like it should be a natural part of a common proceeding, yet it is strangely out of place. What sort of action can bring someone to the point of such confusion; to such madness as to drive and crack the mind into hinterworlds of homicide where the ground drinks blood and the stomach longs for nothing more than the entrails of another. Perhaps, and I am no expert, it is mere agitation. Maybe, when there is the presence of some sort of overt annoyance like the buzzing of another in the ear when they come far too close to the face than would naturally be expected, and the stink of them seeps into the lining of your nostril and their very air blows lightly onto your neck where no breath beyond a lover’s should be - when it ceases to stop at the appropriate distance that marks a place of comfort. Perhaps, it is when the one is left with wringing hands and a sweating brow because of a mere sound made by another. Maybe, the mind is more fragile than would have been previously implied – maybe this psychosis lingers so close to the natural frame of mind that it is not really so foreign but a true mark of conformity. Maybe it is so close to all of us that it IS the natural, and its suppression is the true psychosis.

And maybe the one who is reading this will give stern warning to me for their distaste of the reproachful subject. Maybe, they would soon rather see me ostracized than read any more of this garbage. “And you call yourself a Christian – respectable – decent- whatever,” they would say, and I would murmur with that rabid foam of murder still trickling from my chin, as it droops down to stain the shirt upon my chest, that I apologize for nothing. For, even now as it alights upon my knee giving little electric ticklish jolts, and while it prods around my thick layer of hair and flaps near my ear with a high pitch squealing buzz, I have no sympathy for this little fly that has invaded my home or the millions of friends I know it will bring with it tomorrow. So, when I catch it I will crush it, and I will dance upon its body with the exuberance of ten marching bands on a Thanksgiving Day parade! And I shall be at peace!

But for now, let this heart blaze with a fury like Jupiter! Let it rage with the sounding of Mars’ battle horn! Let it brood like the furthest depths of Hades’ kingdom!

Let this heart burn! Let it burn! Let it burn!

Juarez Reflection: Quiero Mi Ciudad en Paz!

2009-06-09T21:48:00.007-06:00

This is a chat I had with a friend as the violence in Juarez heated up and our ministry began to fall apart.

Random – Hey!

Matt – ‘sup poopster? I am going to start calling you poopster

Random – Poopster? Matt? Really?

Matt – Yep. Just changed it in my phone!

Random – Little Jerk!

Matt – You are no longer “El Weenie”!

Random – Was it really “El Weenie?”

Matt – Yep, It always has been!

Random – you would. I didn’t know that!

Matt – We had a talk about this remember?

Random – uh huh.

Matt – Whatevs poopster!

Random – (sigh) oh gosh!...;/ How are things down thur?

Matt – Mexican –y… with Mexicans.

Random – you’re in a weird mood, aren’t you? I think I like it!

Matt – I guess. Today is my office day – I am a little loopy right now.

Random – haha! Nice! Office Day?

Matt – You know – we sit around and do blogs and finances and stuff. I don’t go to Juarez on Fridays

Random – where are y’all staying right now?

Matt – a church on this side…on our side.

Random - …how is it?

Matt – its cool – kind of stifling. We stay in the basement dorms. Its ok.

Random – mmmhmmm. How are your teammates?

Matt – cool. We don’t really have any major conflicts –we aren’t as “all across the board” as my team was last year.

Random – Is it safe to assume that’s a good thing?

Matt – mmm. Just different

Random – How’s Juarez?

Matt – Bloody. Like the Wild West.

Random – Really?

Matt – Yep. Here is a little taste:

Two weeks ago, a man was dropped off in front of the police station missing three appendages, burned beyond recognition, and a sign was posted basically saying that the cartels were going to do this to whoever got in their way. The main prosecutor for corruption in the police force, and the man who was promising protection for journalists in the cartel situation, was gunned down in broad daylight with a journalist in his car.

Random – I don’t even know what to say to that. Are you okay?

Matt – Yeah, its just nerve racking – there are a lot of folks who are just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Random – I would tell you to be careful, but it doesn’t even sound like there’s much you can do.

Matt- Some of our community members from site one are saying that the cartel members are going to their children’s schools to demand money from the teachers and if they don't pay they are going to start stealing kids. One kid was found in TJ (Tijuana) with acid injected into his veins.

What do we do when they tell rich American missionaries that if we don't pay, a child we love is going to die, or a mother is going to be executed or they are going to set fire to one of the churches we work for? What do we do when they demand injustice or our community will suffer?

Suddenly, we are responsible for the death or torture of a child in our community let alone what might happen to us - you know?

Random – I am still speechless

Matt - There was one guy that one of the interns was talking to who said that someone from the cartel came to his shop and demanded that he pay $5000 a month (well, the equivalent in pesos, anyway) from his earnings or they would execute him. He caught the guy on tape, identified him, took it to the police, and they told him they could do nothing about it. "Here are your options man, starve or...be killed!"

Shitty.

Random – I just can’t even imagine.

Matt – yeah, its just way beyond some of the petty nonsense we had to deal with last year.

Random – Yeah, I’d say.

Matt - I saw A---'s son the other day on the street, and I just prayed he didn't recognize me, because we are pretty sure he is the one who coordinated breaking into our house when it was ransacked a couple months back. That is why we decided to leave – you know?

Random – really? Oh, wow!

Matt - In that neighborhood - the police have told us they won't even show up for a call until 45 min later - they just don't want to deal with it. there is no consequence, no justice, if A--- Jr. were to just go on a rampage you know?

Random – It just makes me sick

Matt - yeah, it churns my stomach pretty much every day. I was convinced I was getting an ulcer over it last week my stomach hurt so bad

Random - oh Matt...
I just really don’t even know what to say.

"Juarez Reflections"

2009-06-09T20:10:00.002-06:00

It is true that I no longer am doing missions work in Juarez, Mexico. My time there, for the present, has ended, but there was much about the experience I did not say; there was much I wanted you to know. Now that things in my life have "settled" so to speak, following the wedding and post Mexico craziness, I hope to relay to you life, philosphy, theology, and everything I can think to pen, but mostly this note is meant to let you know that all the following blogs entitled "Juarez Reflection" are things I wanted to say and never did or are things I had been working on to tell you when it all (the ministry) fell apart. That said, enjoy!

Theology of Being - A Dream of Flowers

2008-11-24T19:51:00.002-07:00

A Dream:

And the flower, having danced its dance, having connected with what it is to be a wild prairie flower, having grappled fully the contrast between simply fulfilling a destiny of the subjective self and taking up the seat of being to dwell completely in its existence as a flower, one finds (for the sake of metaphor) that the glinting streams of spring’s light are fading as a new and boding aspect of its being harbors on its brink - death and winter see their way to the horizon like a viper sliding on ice.

And, as if you the reader, were actually in some grand dream – slipping from consciousness to consciousness, the scene changes. One no longer stares at the flower in the wind. One no longer sees the onset of winter. So, as the glinting light of Spring fades into the cold and daunting pervasiveness of death, darkness and nothing else are the only things that can be seen for but a moment, when suddenly the first flickers of light begin to shade this abscence, this negative space, like sparklers on parade, and what begins as simply a fervent and yet erratic spark gives way to blindness of a different sort – to overwhelming light. The only thing perceivable is that rustling of cloth and the padding of bare feet as they take their steps onto rock and dust. You are aware. You think, and you are.

Your awareness reveals to you two men, seemingly full of vitality, sitting calmly at either end of the bed in which the Crucified Christ once lain; the guarding cherubim of that sacred place where God dwelt; the form of that to which was cast of gold atop the sacred Ark of the Covenant. When the eyes, finally adjusted to the awareness of light and following the foot tracks made in the dust, dart up to the entrance of the tomb and out to the bare and scarred back of the true king of Israel framed by the doorway, breathing in the fresh air of the garden, and soaking in the praise due him by even a single blossom, one realizes that he is witnessing the single most anticipated event in the entirety of creation. The king is ascending his throne. It is a procession. Christ, once crowned with thorns, walks amongst the praising creatures of his new and marvelous tabernacle; his new and marvelous creation; his renewed, impervious, and marvelous body. And one can almost hear the very grass and all of nature in their seemingly silent effigy screaming at him from every corner of the earth, “Hosanna! Hosanna!”

He turns to make eye contact, smirks and winks subtly, lowers his head as if waiting for an applause to quiet itself before some great inauguration, turns once more to admire this exploding newness, and then he passes. He moves out of the framing door and into the wild in order to will and to act in the manner He sees fit; in order to breathe life into everything; in order to let heaven intersect with earth; in order to let this new and Romantic tabernacle of nature release the thick curtains of dogma that man and creature might dwell with and in the risen Christ; that humanity might realize the words of Paul when he tells it that one can take up this seat of newness as well participating - one in BEING with the risen and victorious Christ - in this resurrection here and now as if heaven itself were descending upon Jerusalem; in order to free humanity up to BE those trifling humans He has made them to be.

And suddenly, the dream makes sense. The reader sees that the flower is real. One sees that the flower is a metaphor. The flower, caught up in the winds of its being, reveals itself and the human, and this tension is not merely a Socratic juggling of words but a real mystery in which one can “work out [his] own salvation [,]” and yet realize that “God is at work in [him as well], both to will and to work for his good pleasure”( RSV phil 2.12-13). And it makes sense that what philosophers can only gawk at with their existentialist jargon was the Christian message all along – that we ARE, and that is okay; That we ARE, and God loves us; that we ARE, and God continues to work in us; that we ARE perfect, because Christ, who is our being, is perfect; that we ARE, and Christ not only “saved” us from sin but put to death, like a sweeping Passover cloud, any manner in which we might be found blemished; that we ARE participants of this new creation, and we can walk with confidence in the positions of honor given us by the Almighty creator, just as no attention was given to the proverbial stains of the prodigal as he took his seat of honor at his father’s table; we ARE free…we are free to once more walk quietly with our God in the freshness of Eden and to drink coolly the river waters of a real spiritual life unbound by those nooses of religio-systemic squawkings.

God reveals to us the flower. God reveals to us our being. God reveals to us himself.

Juarez Reflection: An Ink Blotch

2008-11-11T16:01:00.000-07:00

As the steam rises from a boiling pot of the sweet milky drink in this Mexican school kitchen, an elderly lady the people call Herman Santa (or “The Holy Sister”) meshes the corn flour mixture with her moist hands, preparing the gorditas for lunch that day. She hums a Spanish love song to herself in the absence of a radio, and the other women buzz languidly about the kitchen, setting their stations for the hordes of kids that would soon bombard the cafeteria for lunch. The smell of cooking meat, the heat of the propane powered stoves, and the chattering women give way to a feeling of normalcy and rightness as the morning overtakes this simple block and concrete lunch room.

A small cat passes by the barred window that allows the early morning light to stream through, and as it peers into the kitchen with its tail flicking from side to side; a sense of calm presides over the kitchen like a cosmic blanket settling lightly on fresh sheets. Then, its head jerks suddenly hissing as it turns to flee, and a flock of pigeons take flight agitatedly. The harsh whip of a military helicopter, with its high caliber rifle manned and at the ready, blows pass the school and its surrounding neighborhood darkening the room as its turbine wings wheel through the air daunting and low– circling and circling.

While I sit quietly cleaning the dishes and hoping for the return of day, my mind can’t escape the image of a grand and masterful painting with an ink blotch on it.

Juarez Reflection: I Saw A Storm...

2008-11-01T19:25:00.000-06:00

I saw a storm. It was not at a distance, and its green hue shaded everything. I think, if I were to have focused on it, it would have been violent and tumultuous. I would imagine it in a snapshot, and there would be a young woman shivering in its midst, gripping her arms as she huddles into herself trying to find protection from the cold. Her hair would have been slowly dancing like a young virgin upon a pagan altar, and my entire being would have felt a cold shiver of upheaval, rebellion, in the dark presence of this storm. But, this is not the terror that haunts this dream. This is not the terror that stalks me even in the daylight…

Three men descend, resolved, from the dusty Mexican hill. An older man sits with his hands in his lap, enjoying a cigarette, letting his taped cane rest against his crooked knee, and his eyes are shifting slowly like the dangling rain clouds of a summer prairie storm; like a caged beast, hoping to break free his cast iron chains to dine a succulent jugular. My eyes wander back to the three men, and the blue bandana that one of them wears, sears into my mind. I turn to my companion in the truck to continue our chat. We have just pulled up, in the newest truck of our fleet, to the bottom of our hill in the impoverished landscape of the Juarez barrio. My mind is clouded by the warnings of my bias; I try to quiet the stereotypes in my mind, convincing my psyche to let go of the initial negative thoughts I had of the three men; I try to find the grace with which my Father views them – inviting them to dine on the supple Eucharist feast. I have only a moment to transgress these thoughts before the blue bandana blinds my vision as he flings open the cracked door of my traveling companion. He makes certain to cock the handgun he is pointing at us as he screams in Spanish for us to exit the vehicle. A hand seizes my wrist as one of the three opens my door to usher me out.

My companion and I sit dumbfounded breathing the carbon-monoxide of our truck as it speeds away. We head up the hill slowly as we try to catch our breath. The old man sits grinning and silent. He catches our eye and nods as the flash in his eye mimics the fierce tempest within him; there is a hole in the fence and this beast shakes free his chains to feast.

The harsh dry air, filled with that satiating dust, sears my lungs as the passing light of the bright and brilliant day gleams out from the setting sun. Time fades as the dark radiance of the blue bandana sets itself through terror into my psyche, and my spirit longs for the time when the tapping of my heart could find a peaceful tune of pattering rain; in which this fear would pass and it could once more see a stilled portrait of death and smile.

Juarez Reflection: Like a Bullhorn in a Library

2008-10-24T16:16:00.001-06:00

Her swollen eyes rolled toward me in salutation, and I could see that the anguish which they expounded was not from any sort of physical pain but rather from her intense psychological distress; from the breaking of her spirit.

Hermana Jenny said hello to me quietly as I brushed past the hordes of people to enter the kitchen of “El Comedor.” Every word spoken by Jenny was tightened by her quivering lips, and her eyes rolled and swayed from side to side as if she were intensely checking some list or roster for a missing item. In reality, one could tell that she was probably going through her recent purchases trying to figure out what thing she could have scrimped on – what luxury or extra dessert or fashionable article of clothing or ice cold venti latte had lead her empty handed to a place of need.

Over the clatter of talking folks and the banging of dishes in the kitchen, Jenny’s desperation screamed out like a bull horn in a library. She hadn’t brought enough food. There were so many hungry mouths and too many empty spoons. She knew in her heart that, like the multitudes on only crumbs and a prayer, her flock would be fed this day – even if it meant there would be a screeching metal sound as the spoons brush the bottom of the pan. The pantry, however...

There wasn’t enough.

She couldn’t give them their meager portion of rice and beans.

Some would walk away downtrodden and worried about tomorrow.

In that clamorous kitchen, she sat alone in her dark subjective prison, panting and sweating under the weight of her cross.

Juarez Reflection: Becasue I Was Enticed...

2008-10-01T20:12:00.000-06:00

As it is, bug stories are far too frequent in Mexico to be of any great value, however, since I have been enticed to relate such a gruesome tale, I will share one of the more recent events involving one of these grotesque creatures:

One evening as the interns return to their barrio home set cozily in one of the hillsides of the Colonia Fronteriza Baja, they notice that there is a copious amount of water dribbling down the hillside and spilling onto the street. As they ascend, toward their house, they realize that the water is coming from their home. Curious as to why, they rush toward the door to see that the copper piping, actually being of great trade value – especially to someone with an addiction or a hungry family, had been torn out of the wall and taken from the spicket and the hot water heater.

The water, though pouring out like a river raging, was being rightly blocked by a well placed stick which jammed most of the flow keeping the gushing stream from spilling out. As the two lady interns, head inside to put away the groceries, as well begin organizing and cleaning the roach infested kitchen, the male intern as well as the Area Director stay outside to see if they can temporarily fix the problem. As the male intern readjusts the casing that was supposed to help protect the piping, he sees the stick neatly placed in the bowels of the copper tube. As he is leaning down to examine the scene in the dimly lit area, something becomes jostled. Water by the buckets full, by the gallons, comes flying out onto the intern and the patio.

Soon after, as the male intern, soaked to the bone, rushes to turn off the main water line, an emphatic and terror filled scream erupts from inside…

While the male intern begins his inquiry of the running water, the two lady interns enter their simple home on the hillside, set on their mission: the eradication of cockroaches. Armed with bleach, cleaning solution, aerosol cans, and if need be bug bombs, they set to work trying to make the kitchen and living space in their small abode safe for the storing of groceries. After taking all the dishes out of the cupboards to be sanitized, it becomes evident that the task before them would be a daunting one. Every cupboard opened and every drawer emptied, revealed even more creatures scurrying from the light, but the two ladies knew that the biggest mystery would be the small crack of darkness that separated the sink cupboards and the food cupboard right next to it. What ominous creeping thing could possibly be dwelling there? What darkness of life could live to seek an abode in that shadow? What mystery, with dark blinking eyes, would be watching them at that very moment?

The girls set their faces toward finishing this great work. Raising their cans of aerosol, they doused the small crack with a mighty spray in anticipation of the mythic battle about to take place with this creature of the night. And though their hearts were stout, no amount of bravery could prepare them for the onslaught they were about to face. As the smog from the deadly gas slowly dissipated from inside the crack, a slight scurrying sound accompanied the hordes of cockroaches that rushed out from the crevice, crawling and pining over each other, the floor, and the counter tops like a teeming cauldron of some black witch concoction. They zagged in every direction toward any shadow they could find, and chaos erupted as the panicked interns began hopping about in terror and resolve. One by one, the interns began their slaughter of these creatures, and the continuous sounds of spraying and crunching intermingled with each other as of some sharp violin in a horror movie as they gassed or crush each and every one. The ladies screeched and yelped and screeched and yelped as their hearts raced ever faster, and the battle raged on in a cloud of noxious fumes and deafening splats.

Having had to lay flat in the dirt to shut the water main off, and having had many attempts to "ghetto rig" the water system so that everyone could have showers that night, the male intern enters the home to see why there had been so much ruckus. He stands in the doorway to the kitchen dripping from his entire body, and there is mud caked to his face and side. He is barefoot, having shed his shoes in order to keep them from getting dirty. The lady interns stand there bewildered. Each of them is holding a half-empty can of insecticide with a multitude of oozing cockroach exoskeletons lying at their feet; the corpses of their victorious battle field.

They all connect eyes. They are blinking fast and breathing heavy. They laugh.

Jaurez Reflection: A Theology of Being? 1

2008-09-26T15:14:00.001-06:00

There is a whisper in the wind as it blows through a field of wild and vibrant flowers set high in the back hills of a rolling country side. The animated colors vibrantly dance and swoon through the arms of their love, the wind. To spend the vast portion of their days lost in the frail rhythmic sway between them, leaves a mark on their being that is more incumbent than the long strings of borrowed time in which they would suffer to be trapped in daily – playing for themselves merely the contingent truths of this moment to that. But here, in this primal movement on the hills, there is something more…something deeper. There is some great connection to Earth; there is some primal truth that connects them with the heartbeat of what it means to exist, thumping and pounding in a syncopated pattern from the deep cavern chambers of the life of being. What does is mean to be? What is it to exist? How do we allow ourselves to be enraptured in the fullness and frailty of the deepest existence? How do we engage a reality in which we are one in being with Christ? What does it look like for a child of God to sit confidently at the Eucharist table, a whore and yet a child? How do we take up the question of being as we uphold our identity as Christ's children?

Juarez Reflection: Blessed is the Man Who Trust in You.

2008-05-19T00:32:00.003-06:00

As the truck rumbles and bumps down the narrow and unpaved Juarez street, I cannot help but think to myself in trepidation that the outcome of this particular venture will turnout to be one of discord with my personal well-being. That is to say, I was pretty sure I was going to get my ass kicked. I look to Fransisco, who sits my opposite and watch his face as the dim street lights pass on and off it as we whiz by them like the dull glow of air bombs flashing in the midnight sky of some pilot on an ill-destined raid party. He smiles nervously back, apparently thinking the same. He is preparing himself for the worst.

My mind wanders back a week earlier to the beginning of this horrid mess, and I can see the outside of the church I was working on. We had a group come from the States to help us finish some work on the new staff housing we were building. As the leader of the site, I had of course fifteen different things I was trying to manage at one time, and this particular morning was no different. Until I realized my passport was no longer in my possession, I actually remember very little about the morning other than the fact that as I slowly placed said passport into the backpack I was carrying, instead of my pocket where it would normally be and would be the most secure, I thought to myself – “Make sure you grab that later. It shouldn’t be in there.” Then, around lunch time, as I am searching for tools, I notice that I am no longer wearing that bag, and I have no idea where I set it.

That night, after several frantic searches of the church property, an interrogation session with some of the adolescent boys who had been on site that day, and a nervous phone call to the American consulate in Juarez, my mind began to have little rest as worry permeated its inner reaches like a sponge soaking in the last remnants of bile and blood from a butcher’s table. Days passed, my hope had long faded, and I cursed my psyche for its betrayal of trust in my Lord, for every morning I awoke to a fresh sensation of imprisonment. I felt a constant nagging to run from this place and never return offset by the inability to do so, because I feared I would be unable to cross back into my homeland without proper documentation. I begged God to medicate me in the Spirit, to remind me of his mercies, but these moments were few and far between. Then, as I sat praying in the dingy yet Spirit-filled kitchen of one the churches we were using, pleading with God to remind me of the Peace and Hope I am supposed to have in Him, the impossible happened. One of the interns I was working with, walked in holding the primitive looking Mexican cell phone, and stared at me in bewilderment.

“We found your passport!” She said.

“What?!”

“Someone called A--- (a community friend) from the phone you had in the bag!!! They found your bag in a store somewhere!! They want to meet to return it!!!”

My mind snaps back to the moment as my nose stings from the thick dust caused by the truck coming to a halting stop. From the front, I can see a child standing cradling his small rusty bike. He comes to the side window asking who we are looking for. By this time, the road has gone to the outskirts of the neighborhood, and the street lights have ended. He motions for us to follow him, and we creep along slowly behind continuing to anticipate the outcome of this horrid situation. As we pull up to the dimly lit barrio home, Fransisco and I turn to face it with our guards raised. Without warning, seven or eight large stalky Mexican men begin to file out from the woodwork, each from a different part to stand at the pallet made fence.

My heart begins to race, and I wait for something to happen, and soon the crowd parts as a frumpy, worn, middle-aged Mexican woman comes to the front. This is Maria, the woman we had been unsuccessfully trying to meet for nearly a week now since she first contacted our community friend. She hesitantly hands the bag over, sheepishly admitting that her family had pressured her to sell the passport on the black market, and accepts the meager reward I offer to her and her husband. We make small talk for a bit – a lovely exchange. Then we leave grateful for the protection granted to us. Later that night, I hold the passport in my hands, and my eyes begin to well with joyful tears, not at any sentiment of relief or weak hearted-ness really, but at the glorified name of Christ who gives dew and sun to the lily as well as sustenance to his beloved.

And as the new sun rises the next morning on what would have beeen my continued accursed mind, His Spirit gently flows into my own like the small trickle of water running down hill from a heap of snow in the brisk spring of the Colorado mountains, and He gently reminds me that as Psalms states -

“Blessed is the man who trusts in you.” – Psalms 84

Juarez Reflection: From the Fisherman's Grip

2008-04-11T22:58:00.000-06:00

As I exited my vehicle this evening, I was struck by the familiarity of a disturbing scene. Just beyond the front bumper, were two dogs struggling with each other and making a ruckus. I stopped to take in their interaction and realized that the aggressive male dog was in fact doing everything in its power to overcome the other for sex. Both dogs snarled and bared their teeth to each other, and the female often attacked the male dog – biting, scratching, clawing, desperate. She screeched in pain as her body was often jarred in a position of defense struggling time and again, successfully and not, to squeeze out from under each piercing violent advancement of the pursuing animal.

I turned from the perverse scene knowing the outcome. Though much larger, the female will eventually be unable to thwart the persistant pounding heart of animal instinct, and she will soon be pregnant with one of her many litters as she lies tired and defeated in the unsheltered street. The other will leave to scrounge for what little bits it can steal whilst continually prowling for another breathing thing to fulfill its driving mechanical needs unaware of the despair caused to a puppy plagued with mange, disease, starvation, and neglect.

And now, as I stare out at the interaction of this city, I see each rooftop and disquieted human, each drug addict and federal police officer, each wisp of feces and pile of rotten garbage, and each rooster crow and bolstering mega-phone as it paints the very face of this brimming cup of human calamity.

It is like a bowl of dampened worms slithering over each other to get free from the certain death of a fisherman’s grip.

Juarez Reflection: The Fiercest of all Horrors

2008-04-11T22:56:00.001-06:00

The flashing police lights turn just ahead of us, and I slow in observance. Following the flow of traffic, we pass creeping by, and I lock my gaze on the woman's corpse, rigid with rigormortous, and she is surrounded on either side by police men with their patrol vehicles. Her back arches stiff seemingly from the pain, she wears a blue blouse over black shorts with one shoe kicked off, and her teeth bear in the grimace of her face.

The image seers into my psyche like this unrelenting desert sun, and my shock comes from inside myself as I search for the wells of compassion and empathy within only to find them blown and dry as they gradually fill with sand. My spirit collapses torturingly slow under the immense weight of desensitization, and I search desperately for the arms of my Father as I cower and stare timidly into the sunken eyes of apathy – the fiercest of all horrors.

Juarez Reflection: To Kneel in the Darkest Place

2008-03-11T16:10:00.001-06:00

Breathless, the two men meet eyes. Hesitant to do the inevitable, they stand for a second, allowing the sweat to drip slowly down their beards. “Who will it be” – each wonders. Will the beloved disciple lay it all on the line to enter the tomb on the Sabbath even though both know it is forbidden, or will Peter, the ardent Jew, seek to redeem is past betrayal, by diving headlong into discrepancy with his faith? Perhaps to his shame, John admits that though he had clearly beaten the dogmatic Peter to the tomb, it was not he who could over come the presets of his faith and embrace fully his love for the Rabbi he had devoted himself to these last years. It was not he, who was loved, that could find himself justified enough before the bloodied throne of grace to kneel in the darkness and receive the light; he could not strike the pharisaic voice enough to embrace the true priest; he could not follow his king into the darkness.

At times, I watch the setting sun casts its rays beyond the sierra mountains of Juarez, and as the dwindling rays wrap slowly and diminishingly past the decrepit cross set high upon the building of one ministry here, I envision the days light setting solely upon myself, blanketing me in a shroud of complete night. Here, in my mind, I kneel at the slab in the tomb where my fallen king had once lain beaten and dead. His blood trickles on the floor near me, and I can see nothing for the darkest place is here. I can feel the torment of my being as it stands toe to toe with the very presence of evil – the very presence of death. Yet, upon me comes the greatest hope, for though my nemesis, darkness, stands my opposite, within dawns the light of life; from my interior comes the everlasting morning; from inside begins the never-ending day.

And as I am taken back to the rising coldness of night and the descending sun of Mexico, I wonder if I will follow merely because I love Him even when it makes no religious sense; even at the sake of conformity; even when it leads to the grave. I wonder if I can know this light that can reach the furthest corner of Tartarus – this light that would allow me to stand in the presence of God even when I kneel in the darkest place imaginable.

Juarez Reflection: Indwelling

2008-02-24T15:49:00.000-07:00

There is the smell of smoke and excrement intermingled with the freshness of spring as I stand tiredly holding a dripping paint brush. I am painting a mural on the outside of a kindergarten. I am alone and silent. My thoughts wander in the last hours of daylight…

What is the nature of indwelling sin? Does it have the face of a man who would beat the woman he loves more than anything in the world? Does it look like a young man so deprived of any encouraging word that he must seek his dominance through violence and rage? Does it have the look of a girl who believes what is said about her worth, so she solicits the stares of middle aged men on the market streets and border bridges? Is it a mother who cannot fathom trying to fight uphill to provide for the family she already has and so bounces from whatever beds will give her children a meal? Does it look like the person who, even in the midst of poverty, is so consumed with an adherence to material things that he would vandalize, terrorize another to prove any sort of boundary between the two? Does it look like an American missionary making vast assumptions about the faith of another based not on any spiritual aspect, but solely upon their physical dwelling; when one assumes the character of another's spirit or level of inherent happiness and peace because of the décor or placement of their shack? Perhaps it is actually more when a large group of people seeks to appropriate the practice of others in order to justify their own unsatisfying and unwarranted pharisaic cravings. Maybe it is when tolerance…no love takes a back seat to dogma and pride. Maybe it is when I actually hinder others from believing the stark liberation of this thing called the gospel because I refuse to not simply practice but believe it. Maybe it is not when I am being inadequate of pardon, but more truly when I refuse to believe that I am so pardoned; when I lay down what it means to be truly spiritual for the interplay of a man made system; when I skip over life's chapter on the peace of the indwelling Holy Spirit and focus on those of the ever present darkness; when I forget the Apostle Paul's urging to remember that I have the same Spirit as Christ.

Dusk falls upon me as I drive home, and with the last streaming rays of sun I struggle to suppress the thought that I should leave this place. That life at home would be much easier – not from any sort of facet of comfort, but as a retreat from the poignancy of my vast inadequacies. I struggle to remember Christ and the peace of His Spirit. I struggle to remember my salvation. My heart wrestles to recall the place where I might be free and encourage others to be the same. I climb out of the truck and examine the paint splotches upon my clothes. I take note of the aroma of food filling the trash-filled streets where families struggle and play.

Juarez Reflection: Flame

2008-02-17T21:48:00.000-07:00

The chilling wind bites into my hands and grabs hold of the bones in my fingers. I can feel my joints slowing as I push for every step further. I am fighting with my mind, trying to convince myself that it is fine to be out right now. I generally like to go out earlier in the day before the Chollos or gangsta-wannabe’s come out to play soccer or loiter about. It is not that they are ominous in general, but having never really seen anyone keep a regular running schedule in this neighborhood, I have become somewhat of a pseudo-celebrity for the kids and family, which means, of course, the attention of the older youth is exacerbated; sometimes they just need someone to mess with. At the moment, they are occupied in their game of Futbol and pay little attention to me. As I round the bend to one of my final laps, I see a figure ahead of me. It is a young boy holding a bit of a large stick. I come closer behind him and whisper, “¡Con permisso!” Obviously having startled him, he turns and raises the stick ominously ready for attack. I smile at him, and I say, “¡Hola Chavo!” as I pass by. I see his face relax, and he continues to poke around the trash and bushes. Continuing on my way, I see a group of his friends coming to join him. I continue around the outer fence of the school for another lap.

As I come around once more toward the place they are playing, I see that they are continuing to dig and prod in the neck high line of tumble weeds that is nestled between a high hill and the outer fence of the school. Finding this strange, not only for their careless attitude toward what grimy creatures could live in those dark branches but also for the fact that they are downright prickly, I proceed with caution at the sight of their actions. As I pass by at a very slow pace, I realize the malicious nature of their activity, for there at the height of my knee I see the kindling flame of what would soon become a blazing brush fire half a city block wide. What can I do, but be dumbfounded. I continue to run, wondering what, if anything, anyone would do in this neighborhood. No fire truck is going to come here to put out a brush fire. No police are going to look twice at a potential arson until the damage is done. No one is going to care about these kids’ safety. It is just the same as the time I saw a man being beaten in the street, and I knew no police would bother to think twice about helping a Chollo. And it is the same as the time it took the police three hours to show up when we had a theft at our place. Or the time some community contacts kept vigil over a house in their neighborhood all night because the police refused to come when a woman was being beaten by her husband outside.

I watch from the other side of the dusty field for a few moments as the fire rages and the kids scramble up the steep cliff embankment to try and escape the fire. No one even looks or thinks twice from the Soccer game. A few Chollos meander to the side to watch the flame, but most are enraptured with their game. Waiting for a bit, just in case, I head home humbled by the sometimes thick and striking presence of injustice in this place, and in the true fashion of Joyce, my eyes burn with anguish and anger.

Juarez Reflection: So There We Were...

2008-02-17T21:07:00.001-07:00

Every good story starts with…

So there we were winding through the streets of Juarez on our typical Wednesday morning routine. Jenny Tapia sat just to my left smiling and humming contently in her quiet way as she always does. Suddenly, as we are dodging every large crack, crevice, and pothole that composes the street, there reared up in front of us a very peculiar looking creature. Truth be told, I thought it was massive black furred possum looking to attack our vehicle.

“uh…um…” I said, slowing the car and glancing at Jenny inquisitively.

“What is that?!” she muttered disgustedly. “Its standing on it’s HEAD!!!”

As we passed what we could only describe as alien spawn, we realized that the dog drinking from the street had played an optical illusion on us making it look like it was either some ominous otherworldly creature or it was literally doing an Irish jig on one foot. I glanced at Jenny who immediately burst into an uncontrollable and hysterical laughter that did not end until we reached our destination, the Comedor. Even over a week later, she admits chuckling: “Every time I think about it I can’t stop laughing! It was standing on one leg! It was like it was doing tricks for us or something!!!!”

Juarez Reflection: I Saw A Storm, But I Did Not Fear It

2008-01-26T16:29:00.000-07:00

I saw a storm, but I did not fear it. The rolling fields of thigh high prairie grass gently lapped against my body which was vividly green against the backdrop of the dilapidated barn house. Many cyclones dropped from the dark sky in the distance; they split as many from one – plodding and planning. Each swirling column spun a cloud of dark debris reminiscent of a black smog from the ASARCO smelting plant – thick and noxious. With anger and ferocity, it was as if a caged lion bearing the brunt of a captive life, walked the thin line of his cage searching for holes in the gate; searching for an opportunity to strike; waiting for his turn to pounce.

The warm breeze kept me calm as I made my way toward safety in the cellar, but I never rushed or hurried because I had no trepid feeling of immanent danger though it sought to be the death of me. No wind had come nor any downpour. There was a storm on the horizon, but the calm preceding it did not just warn me of its immanent danger. No, it enraptured me in the peace of preservation. It kept me calm not only in the face of dying but also in the real possibility of it. It was a peace unwarranted of any word or phrase. I made a slow gait to the barn house smiling in the headwinds of death.

And as I awake to the morning chill of Juarez, I seek to know the meaning of this dream – why the brooding vehement animosity of the storm might seek my end. These passing thoughts fade as my day begins and the joys and trials rush upon me. The days pass on and the week moves through whatever mundane attributes it can muster, and all the while my mind fades from this encounter. Then, on a day full of rain, I climb tiredly the hill on which we live, and I shake the coarse dripping mud from my jacket which I had obtained from digging tree trenches at one of the ministries nearby. I stop and peer up. There, at the top, is a red faced elderly Mexican man surrounded by nearly ten horse drawn policemen and a silent frustrated staff member. Profanity and rage spew from the man’s mouth as he curses the police and the staff who struggle to remain calm in the mounting danger of the heated confrontation. The man is a raging storm, a caged beast, hoping to break free his cast iron chains to feast a succulent jugular.

The pattering rain falls steadily and splatters on the muddied steep road as the steaming breath of the chocolate police horses protrudes from their nostrils. Time fades while the darkened rain clouds roll in, and the tapping of my heart finds a peaceful tune which could see this stilled portrait of death and smile.

Juarez Reflection: Homage to the Night

2008-01-15T00:17:00.001-07:00

A black cat stares down at me from her perch on the concrete level above as I work out in the small area we call a court yard. It is late, and behind her a full moon casts its daunting glare on the girl's bedroom window as it peers out from the frosty desert clouds. Juarez is quiet tonight. Even the dogs are paying silent homage.

Juarez Reflection: Like the Sun

2008-01-15T00:09:00.000-07:00

Before leaving for Christmas break, I find myself in the dingy inner room of a women’s shelter handing out stockings to the eager little children and their moms. A young girl peers eagerly at me, but I know the mere idea of a gift is foreign to her; she does not know what it means to receive; She cannot understand provision. I show her all the things in her stalking and try my best in pleading with her to understand that they are hers to keep. I desperately want her to know that she gets to have all these gifts not watch as they are taken from her by the other children. I find a small bottle of bubbles and open it for her. She stares inquisitively as I dip the small plastic utensil into the bubbly water and bring it to my lips. As I produce a large and dripping monstrosity which rises but for a moment and then sinks quickly to the ground, I see something incredible. The young girl, having never seen a bubble before, throws her hands out shaking, widens her eyes, gyrates her entire body, and lets out a near deafening screech! And it is not only this first time but every time she sees one. For almost a straight hour, this ecstatically intense noise fills the deadened scene of the shelter. I am convinced that if joy could be bottled, it could never be as real, refreshing, or invigorating. It is as if the young girl is the sunrise, and her excitement is beaming off a single drop of dew as is streams through a spring’s morning cloud like the rays of the sun… There is something profound here I think.

Juarez Reflection: Like Chocolate and Venom

2007-12-16T13:08:00.000-07:00

"Immediately, the boy's father exclaimed, 'I do believe; help me in my unbelief!'" (Mk 9.24 NIV)

I am laying in my chilly uninsulated room in the barrios of Mexico. The glow of the small propane heater, set next to my bed, creates lingering shadows upon the darkened walls. I am reflecting on the happenings of the day, thankful that it is ending in the same way it began: I am pleading with God. I am asking him for hope, encouragement, strength, wisdom…joy. I believe that somewhere between His grace and my complete unworthiness He has given me grace to be free; freedom to be His son with no qualms or questions. Though all of my being cannot accept this reality, I choose to believe it. I choose to believe for I have no other hope.

One shadow, dances off the wall reminding me of the vehicle I drove into a ditch this morning causing me to be at the whim of angry neighbors and a vacationing Youthworks! staff. Another, flickers with the event of community contacts standing me up even after I drove a half hour to meet them with presents and baked goods. Still another, displays the bleak hopelessness of the Woman's shelter I visited, and it tells of the ever growing helplessness I feel when I think upon the dim futures of the children I played with. Still another, reminds me of the stuck valve on the propane tank I assumed was shut and began loosening in our living room. The tank, after a frantic run outside by one of the Youthworks! staff, thankfully spewed the deadly fumes into the air instead of toward the stove someone was using. And still another, reminds me of the team tensions and frustrations between our very eclectic group and our aggravating recent interactions with the community. And one more reminds me…and still one more relates…and yet another tells me…

These dancing shadows creep ever closer to my flickering light, swaying and moving with a sultry toxic message – as of venom yet sweet as chocolate. There I lay, cradled close to the last security of the dimming light, ever aware of the advancing dark, and pray:

"I choose to believe! Overcome the black night of this unbelief!"

Juarez Reflection: A Feast of Praises

2007-12-15T17:38:00.000-07:00

The steam of the nearly boiling water warms the otherwise frigid kitchen of the small church Salon de Sociale. In the background is the ruckus of rowdy Mexican youth and the leaders that are working tirelessly to keep them entertained as they offer a relevant message of Christ. I have been commissioned to cook for this overnight event. It is nearly ten, and I can't help but worry that the children are getting anxious to eat -though truly, this may be the best meal some of them will have all week; a spread of feasts for a crew of peasants. I subtly remind myself that eating in Mexican culture generally happens later, but I still cannot shake the nagging of my brain.

My thoughts dwell on the youth here and the frustration one of the leaders confessed to me; the realities of in-depth inner-city ministry had met this visionary minister face to face. He has been wrestling with some real and weighty issues in his work: How does one overcome the street life and show the great joys of the love of Christ? How does one stop the cycles of poverty so that a group of youth can see that there is more to life, namely the love of Christ, than drugs, violence, and an eclectically active sex life? How does one show the love of Christ in a place that teaches their children to lay Him on the wayside? How does one keep hope when every effort seems to end in disappointment?

I am reminded of a time of worship recently when the leaders, having pleaded with the youth to stay and worship, lifted their praises to Christ; hopeful; prayerful; alone. In the middle of one of the songs, the youth boisterously flooded the room returning and paying no attention to the meaningful praises of God, and the leaders continued to sing even amongst the obnoxious distraction. In that moment, my mind's eye dreamt and saw a time when these children, by the faithful and exhausting efforts of these young leaders, might someday bow their entire being at the throne of Christ, thankful for the life they have been given; worshipful for the mere chance to do so; reverent of His mighty power and love. I saw them – beautiful. I realized that these rough city kids had returned because they found no other like it anywhere else. They needed this place of safety and hope. Could they have found an even more "relevant" place to be in the druglord's house? definitely. But they would not have found the hope and Christ-like love offered here.

As my mind revels in the idea that one day the praises of this youth would ascend like the pungent altar incense of old, the rising steam from the boiling water reminds me of the task at hand. I thank God for His goodness and ask Him for encouragement in this desperate place for those that are faithful. I stir the pot and chuckle. We may not live like kings here, but tonight we're all sure as hell gonna eat like one.

Juarez Reflection: Walls Cannot Contain

2007-12-03T11:22:00.000-07:00

I try to hide my shivering from the others who had come more well prepared than I have. The pastor has leant me a jacket displaying the allowed and appropriate colors, but it does little to fight the biting chill created by the shade of the building we are forced to stand in. As we make our way inside the penitentiary, things become very real and very sobering. All along the way, Mexican police officers garbed fully in modern war armor and SWAT gear stand guard with their fingers taut against the triggers of their M-16 rifles. Drug dogs run the line sniffing out any who might try to breach the borders and parameters of this guarded community. With me the pastor, the mother whose son we were to visit, and the pastor's assistant. We heave the weighted load of food and supplies for the young man to eat, bathe, and do laundry on to the inspection counter, and the undying love of this mother hits me for the first time. Without her, this man would starve. Without her, this man would die.

As we enter numerous inspection lines, and give our lives and identities basically to the whims of the Mexican prison system, I can't help but lean my entire being on the hope that God would safe guard me – that the sayings of Psalms 121:8, displayed proudly on one of the walls of our apartment, promising He would secure my path for eternity, would not fail me now. I am helpless to all but trust in Christ.

Once through these seemingly unending security checkpoints, and with my visitor card tucked safely inside my clenched and white knuckled fist, I proceed into the courtyard. In Mexico, there is no separation of inmate to visitor. Once one is in the gate, he is directly in the prison community. As we walk past starving and begging addicts, gangsters, and swindlers (who apparently were not as lucky to have caring family on the outside), and made our way to the young man's cell, It becomes strikingly obvious that, for some, prison might be the better option. For, inside these walls is a small community; inside these walls is a virtual paragon of commerce; inside these walls, men are free to sell, trade, and barter without all the hassles of having to worry about needing shelter or providing for family. That is to say, they are free to do so if they are given the proper provision which all are not. We reach the young man's cell, which is not unlike some of the two person dorm rooms of my university, where he has just risen and his cellmate slumbers continually never showing his face. His mother hands him the package of supplies which his shame permits him to take. I see a mother's heart breaking.

He walks us to the courtyard where we buy some coffee and cookies from one of the inmates there, and watch some of the men cook their breakfast on the gas stoves provided. We talk of various things. We converse about the recent riots inside and some of the horrors of death and violence the young man had seen, we spoke of the differences he has noticed in serving time in the States and serving time in Mexico, but most of all we spoke of God's undying love for him – we spoke of the liberty that Christ can offer.

We leave, and I am overwhelmed. My whole being, everything in me and of me, desires to scream and yell and pray as loudly as I possibly can for this young man:

Father! Show him the freedom these walls cannot contain!
Father! Show him the freedom these walls cannot contain!
Father! Show him the freedom these walls cannot contain!

Juarez Reflection: La Cancion ~ For When The Birds Sing

2007-11-12T12:31:00.001-07:00

Follow me here…In the mountains of Colorado, one might find himself, in the early morning hours, staring at a bird in the branches of a pine tree, and that bird might be singing a frail yet powerful song as the breaking rays of the day's first light rush past illuminating the small creature. He might then realize that it is neither the pine tree, nor the sun, nor even the bird in itself that creates this magnificence, but rather it is the way in which all work together in their mere being to reflect and shine out the glory of God; they exist; they dwell; they are. Their mere identity in creation makes them.

As I sit in the community building of the site 2 church here in Juarez, my mind is captured by the captivating scene which I can only relate to that of a singing bird. For a brief second, I find myself watching the members of this church, and I am astounded at their liveliness – their realness. For but a moment, a haze is lifted from my tired brain, and I have awakened to life with renewed clarity on the vibrancy of God’s humanity through the interplay of these people. It is as if I am watching a grandiose painting coming to life; as if beauty itself is being manifested from a picture; as if I could dwell, in the purest sense, within the manifestation of the most wondrous imagination. In my panoramic and continuous view, I see – I think – the very face of the church. In one corner sits Maggie, a smiling elderly lady. She is quietly singing an awe-inspiring Spanish hymn to herself. Another older man, Antonio, just stands around reflecting the wisdom of his years as well as the true nature of his gruff exterior marked by the frailty of years. Pastor Jorge buzzes to and fro playing with the kids and laughing with the people. One member grills tacos to enjoy. The kids are playing and teasing each other. There is an abundance of joyful conversation. People are living together. God is manifesting himself. The church is being revealed.

This forces me to necessarily think on the times when, in my own church at home, we too had an aura of truth and beauty around us, and I found the more I thought of it, the more I believed it to be similar moments as these. We weren't the church when we were trying to put together relevant worship services, when we sang the latest song, when we had new and swank art shows, nor when we took up any sort of post-modern rhetoric. All these things positively played into the way we worked out our identity, but it was in those times when we shared our hurts, reveled in one another's beauty, struggled with one another's flaws, when we ate together, sang together, and lived together that we most became the bride of Christ.

As the singing lark – perched steadily upon a low pine branch – whistles its endemic and coercive tune, arguing in its mere existence the presence of the almighty, so too do the people of God supplant any temple or dogmatic worship, and by doing so, reflect in their community and existence the true nature of a loving deity.

Juarez Reflection: Here is a Story...

2007-10-29T11:55:00.000-06:00

The anticipation is building as we wait in line for the Mexican "Scream House." Surrounding us are the cheap imitated body parts of the horror spectacle. We are here with some of our community friends who we have been meaning to hang out with. This spunky crowd of late teens and early twenties only helps to heighten the mood. One of my house mates, Whitney (who I continually tease in what I hope and assume is loving banter), is becoming more and more fearful as I and the others hype up the grotesque and sordid nature of what we were about to see. As we enter, Whitney gains a death grip on my shirt, and at one point begins refusing to look around. This happens intermittently through the show.

At one point I feel the familiar tug at my shirt, which I generally find pointless since I usually in turn try to scare Whitney further, and I turn expecting to see her. However, as I turn I notice, amidst the noise and flashing lights, that it is actually not Whitney but rather a Mexican girl with whom I have no association. With wide eyes, her white knuckles cling to my shirt, and she whispers:

"No, Senor, No Senor, No Senor!"

A little shocked, I chuckle to myself and think, "Hey! Do what you gotta do"

Truth be told, most of the jargon, not unlike the "Hell Houses" in the US, hurt my heart as we entered different rooms of "Scare Tactic Christianity," but I was not here to judge or govern but merely to support and encourage. Hopefully, God was with us that night as we sought to encourage our ministry partners and friends.

Juarez Reflection: The Bridge

2007-10-22T12:29:00.000-06:00

Having recently found a great enjoyment in tea, I drank fast the now lukewarm beverage as I anticipated the coffee I would soon be enjoying from the gas station on the way to Jenny's (She runs the comedor – or soup kitchen at Youthworks Site 1 – it is our responsibility to pick her up every Wednesday morning to help bring the food across for the people). The line on the border bridge is relatively short this morning. I am listening to a sermon by a good friend of mine, Jeff Cook, as he traverses through the Pauline doctrine of Philippians. I have my hands tucked deep in my hoodie pockets, and all the windows are rolled up tight; the mornings have become increasingly cold. I inch ever more closely to the border. I pull out my passport, and go over what I am going to say to the border guard in my mind. Finally, I make it to the front and the guard waves me forward. We go through the typical exchange – "What are you doing in Mexico?" – "What are you bring into the States" – etc. However, there is something different in his eyes; there is something shifty; there is distrust.

The guard asks me to step out of the van and open the side and back doors. As I do so, he mumbles something that I cannot understand, and I, having been prodded to respond in Spanish while learning in the last week, unhesitatingly reply, "¿Que?" This, of course, is not the right response to an officer who already seemingly thinks you are trying to put something over on him. He steps back, he becomes very stern, and he begins to look me up and down. I pause and wait for his response.

Then, the question…

"When was Paris Hilton here?"
"what?"
"You know, Paris Hilton. She was here not too long ago with her kids, huh? When was that?"
"I-I don't know man! WHAT?"

Realizing that I was not a Mexican national, that I was not trying to trick him with anything, and that I apparently did not keep up with the doings of one snobbish Ms. Hilton, his embarrassment was evident.

All that said, sometimes border crossing is ridiculous…and I am glad I finally got my passport.

Juarez Reflection: Woe...

2007-10-15T10:24:00.000-06:00

The messiah's hardened face glared into the fallacy of those that had for so long lead his people into the turmoil of spiritual being; he sets his face toward Jerusalem; he sets his face toward that dogmatic system that was killing his people.

"Woe to you Teachers of the Law and Pharisees…"

Woe to you Teachers of the Law and Pharisees for not wielding the law in order to be more fully human and less a slave; woe to you for allowing Israel to become more man's than God's; Woe to you for forgetting.

The small girl pushes the chair with all her might. For a few minutes, I am hardly aware of the activity because it seems to mold into the background of what else is going on. The prolonged activity seems to be very strenuous, and the few times that I do notice the girl, she seems to be exhausted with the work though her determination is evident. The metal legs scrape ever fervently across the concrete floor, hitting every bump and squealing the whole time. Finally, she reaches her destination. There is a small table in the corner of the room, and she bangs the back of the chair hard against it. She ascends to the seat of the chair, upon its back, and finally to the table top. Suddenly my full attention is enraptured in the intent of this small girl. Her eyes bounce around the room as if the bewilderment of her accomplishment had overwhelmed her, her face brightens as a glass of champaigne spilling overtop, and she begins to do something marvelous. She jumps. It happens only about three or four times, and never mind whether she was actually supposed to be up there or not. She jumps…she simply jumps, and for a brief moment the whole room seems to stand still (if I had been outside, I might even venture to say the whole world) that this girl's contagious laugh might echoe out into the roaming desert and to the hearts of humanity. Then she climbs down and goes on with her toddler day.

The Spirit taps at my heart. "Don't forget to be human – Don't forget to be mine!"

Juarez Reflection: The Sinking Heavy Ships

2007-10-07T22:32:00.000-06:00

There is a song that sings:

"'I do not EXIST!' We faithfully insist.
While watching sink the heavy ship of everything we knew.
If ever you come near I'll hold up high a mirror.
Lord, I could never show you anything as beautiful as you"(Weiss).

The bright orange paint runs ever slowly down my side, and the shock of the falling bucket continues to prod my racing heart. I take a moment to peer out into the freshly painted rooms, newly brightened with color and vibrancy, and I try to wipe the ever increasing stain on my clothes from the spilled paint. It has been a full day's work. I nod to my Mexican counterpart, both of us sweaty and beaten from the incessant hours of painting, and I bid he and the rest of the crew farewell (or whatever happens to be spill from my broken Spanish).

As I leave the orphanage, and the grand hospitality of the couple that ran it, I breathe the dusty Mexican air and remember that it was I who only hours before dreaded the day and the time spent with the beautiful people of God. I think on all those who had generously and graciously struggled through the language barrier with me through out the day, and upon the various beaming children that had been at the building heading to and from school on Juarez' half day schedule. I remember that I walked into this great day fearing my interaction with these people and doubting my decision to be at this particular ministry and ultimately my entire purpose for being in Juarez this year.

I climb tiredly into the rustic and typical Youthworks! vehicle feeling every tired and satisfied muscle. I drive home aware of each moment, each mile, each turn of the wheel, and my soul is bemused by the simple and yet overtly stunning sunset. I listen to the ever faint but steady rhythm of my heart as it rhythmically sings a lofty tune –

"I DO NOT EXIST!" I faithfully insist.
I watch the sinking heavy ship of everything I ever knew
If ever you come near
I'll hold up high a mirror.
Lord, I could never show you anything as beautiful as you!

*Weiss, Arron, “Messes of Men”. Brother, Sister. Mewithoutyou. Tooth&Nail Record Company. 2006

Juarez Reflection: OOOOOHHHH!!!!

2007-09-30T16:12:00.000-06:00

This is one of those moments that make you say… "REALLY?":

So we have a community contact over for dinner the other night. It was a fantastic time! She brought her two children over while her husband was at work, we made her dinner, and she (being a baker) made us brownies. However, there is one moment of the night that is most memorable. Over the joyous laughter of the interns, the children, Youthworks! staff, community members, and the sizzle of grilling chicken I was cooking on the stove, came a distinct and familiar sound. It was a snap. The snap of a mouse trap, in fact. The Interns have become very acquainted with the sound since we moved in. It has been a constant battle to keep the rodents out of our food and off our counters, and to that point, and currently, we had been winning with various glue and snapping traps. I am usually the only one excited over the death of the creatures whom I have humorously dubbed "El Mickey Diablo" or "Mickey de la Muertes".

So, naturally I turn to take account of my victory, but am dismayed to see that it is not a rodent I have caught. No, it is a child. There at my feet in our small apartment, is a young toddler with a torturing grimace upon his face and a mouse trap dangling from his four fingers. And then…the scream. It was the kind of scream that has to build first. It takes time to develop its full intensity, which is probably why none of us thought much of the snap at first.

Well, the lad is okay. Mousetraps aren't actually all that powerful, but they do sting – believe me. Needless to say it has been an encouraging, eventful, and sometimes crazy week of community interaction, and (hopefully) we will remember to set the mousetraps off before we have kids over again.

Juarez Reflection: Joy in Darkness

2007-09-23T09:59:00.000-06:00

Morning breaks on the dry desert surrounding of the small hill on which our block house is situated, and the air feels thick as my body breathes in the dusty air which mingles with the smoke from a trash pit two blocks over. As I stand on the porch, which is set just off the side of the apartment, sip softly the cup of coffee I have prepared to shake the last moments of sleep from my brain, and look at the impoverished ragtag neighborhood just below, a small black cat leaps, almost alights, atop what is left of a standing wall overlooking this small valley. His tiny frame is accentuated by the sheen glow of his fur as it soaks up the dawn's first gleaming rays. Immediately my thoughts are taken back to the women's shelter we had visited the day previous, and I remembered the small child that spun in ecstasy on the floor. I also remembered the mother whose daughter had been abducted only a few days before and the mother in Mexico city being treated for the wounds she had suffered after being sexually assaulted on her way to work. In this moment, I see the cat and the child interwoven. One gives glory to God in her youthful revelry, and the other does so merely by displaying dumbfounding beauty in creation. All of this is in strict opposition to poverty, degradation, injustice, and need. I finish the last sips of my coffee, breathe deep the tainted air one final time, I turn to go inside, and I pray for wisdom. I ask that I might know how to be the child dancing in the face of oppression; be that perfect creature of beauty in a disjunct and decrepit environment; bring joy to this seemingly dark place.

Rosebud: Fury

2007-09-08T09:33:00.000-06:00

From fury, one returns to fury; angst to angst; hell to hell. The siege of rage entreats upon my soul.

Often, when I need to clear my head of ridiculous human drama, I go running. So I did. It was dusk. I chose a road that was guaranteed to deliver solitude. The dust rose to my face filling my lungs with brown mucousy mud. Around me the echoing belching of canines burned louder than the music from my headset, and I was troublingly aware of their presence and the fact that they were uncontained. Many, territorially, kept steady on the invisible line in which they drew between myself and them; a warning only. Soon, I came upon one who, like a crack of luminous thunder, came suddenly close to me appearing from no where. Drawing his territorial line with the path of his racing legs, I thought no more of it as I passed to the farther side of the road. In the next stride, as my heel went up, I felt it smash hard against something in the upward motion. It was the dog. Upon this realization, I had no more than an instant’s time in which to process before I felt the sharp sting of the dog’s teeth as it sank hard and deep into the flesh of my leg and was gone. Bleeding, and with a desire to chase and murder the creature, I had no choice but to run the several mile trek back before treating the injury.

From fury, one returns to fury; angst to angst; hell to hell. The siege of rage entreats upon my soul.

Rosebud: The Wind

2007-09-08T09:29:00.000-06:00

“Get inside! Get inside!” I yell to the seventy plus people, that I am somehow in charge of, running to find protection from the pounding wind. I look back to see the caravan of white vans swaying methodically – melodically- to the erupting chaos of the coming tornado which is rising around them. I stand in the portico of the emergency wing of the hospital, tense, fervent, and soaking. I can feel the rain, as if a rush of river, flowing and dripping off my arms and limbs. I am overwhelmed by the duty that forces me to be here, and I am confused by the calling that gives me the authority over these people. Why send a ragamuffin to lead the infantry? Why, when you need a general, do you choose a beggar? Why was I here? What was God’s purpose?

Here, for a brief instant, the glorified Christ entreats my mind, shining and beautiful. I can see him in a garden – he is in a garden near Gethsemane, and he stands amidst creation vindicated. My emotions play a fickle tune akin to a dirge of mourning, for I realize that I am nothing, and I stand as a prime example of unmitigated and unceasing failure, unworthiness, and morose need. What purpose is there in Him fighting for a world born with a noose upon its neck? Why in the hell would He die to bring peace to an unfaithful line of children? Yet, here I am, I realize, sitting at the metaphorical transcendent table on which the Eucharist is served; I am here with the great multitude of siblings, quibbling, sneering, fighting but also loving, respecting, and enjoying each other; each breathing deep the air of the father’s house; each sitting accepted as a beloved heir; each embodying an identity of child – of accepted. A son never earns his title – he is born that way. No, a son only ever moves in a necessary way to fulfill his IDENTITY as a son, and in the process, he moves to fulfill a commission to become a father; he is ever fulfilled as a part of the whole, the family, and yet ever becoming fulfilled within the whole. And So, there stands Christ in this instant – glorified, deified – calling me to lay down that ideology that would be legalistic and strictly kharmaic, and he beckons me to rise, as the son that I am, to stand with Him in the new Eden; dwell in being; be a part of new creation; to live.

I am brought back to the moment, and the wind continues to rush and sway. The hordes of people run to make it in to safety, and I usher the last, and excruciatingly slow, man into the building. I turn to view the last of the scene. The trees swaying, dancing, move a little faster and a little more intensely for a second, and then suddenly, a line of them near the end of the parking lot flip back and fly forward in the force of the wind, cracking like a whip. Nature’s fury, this time a tornado, has come calling for a visit, and the rush thunders like a troupe of elephants racing toward some archaic battle front, and the trees bend and crack as they are forced to lay down in the immense power of nature; chaos. I enter safety with the wind and wild behind me, and I move toward the people which God has given me to lead and manage; I move toward my identity; I move toward my being.

Rosebud: In the Night

2007-09-08T09:20:00.000-06:00

The echoing silence of the prairie grass dancing along the plain melds my soul into a confused mix of euphoria and anxiousness as the height of danger is intermingled with the sheer exhilaration of trust, faith, and adventure. My breath is harsh as I struggle to maintain some sort of weekly exercise which, this night, takes the form a jog around the Pine Ridge housing facility. My mind sways as it fights the burning and incessant call of my body for sleep – it is only my determination, or perhaps stubbornness, that keeps me out in this tar black night. Inside rest the little heads of all those whose burden is mine to bear for the summer – those who, unbeknownst to them have become my tiyospate…my family. The night is clear and the stars beam down infinitely. In the distance, I can hear the unceasing cry of one howling rez dog. Soon, another echoes his cry, and within seconds there is a howling chorus filling the once still air; animal; demonic. Time after time, I remind myself of the words of Paul when he says we will be mastered by nothing, and I entreat upon the Lord to keep me safe from the prowling pack moving through the untamed grass merely a few feet beyond. Besides, to flee would be death.

As I round a corner fighting the fear that would forsake my sanity, I am met with the stark outline of a strange figure. In the dark stands a person. For a moment, I envision the burning fury of a demon crazed mad man plagued with alcoholism, meth, and rage – my personal homicide. This, however, is not the case. I realize that it is actually a small child here playing in the dead of night. He shines a laser pointer on my chest, and, wondering his intent, I pause to see his movement. No doubt imitating something he had seen on television or that which had been modeled for him in his home, he points two fingers at me and makes a strange noise. “Bang, Bang” he shouts, “Head Shot!!!” My slaughter is a joyful game for him. His laughter fills my soul with dread, and as he passes into the light I can see no hope for him, no light of his own which might give peace and justice to his lost innocence.

My time in the night is over, and my safe harbor beckons. As I head inside, extreme sadness overtakes my heart because I know that the only refuge from the horrors of home for this child is the dim styngant arms of night.

Transcendence Act 5: Revive The Primal Beast

2007-06-03T11:30:00.000-06:00

In light of this, one sees that scientificity dominates the psyche as the myth and metaphor slowly slips into oblivion, and the nexus of knowledge becomes only one more appendage of the ever increasing size of the human subject. This is not necessarily an epistemological function but also a mark toward the human desire of omniscience. As the plane of shadow decreases, that which is unknown to humanity, knowledge reigns as the safeguard against the wrathful hand of transcendence, but, as Baudrillard notes, we are no longer necessarily the creators of “integral reality” but also its byproducts – the circularity of such an existence streams directly to the forefront. It is here that one is reminded of a world Adorno paints when he says, “[r]egressive listeners behave like children. Again and again and with stubborn malice, they demand the one dish they have once been served [,]” and one sees the onset of a macabre reality in thinking which is best characterized as a closed system and protrudes a matrices of synthetic thought (290).
And as the Leviathan, a transcendental paradigm, flounders under the harpoon point of the post-enlightenment subject, one begins to see the correlation between the two. The human subject simply replaces the mystical seat of divine and becomes himself that to which praise is due, but too readily is this shift taken. As the subject inputs into his “integral reality” so is he shaped by its output which forces a technological eternal return. But what does this say about human thought today? It relates that transcendence has become a vulgar word, that nihilistic tendencies are masked as a veiled truth tricking the agnostic masses to buy-in to the conspiracy of an orderly and appropriated objectivity, and reveals the way in which human fear of the unknown creates a mental void in which such topics as “the soul” are ardently dismissed as scientific heresy. The cryptic grip of post-Freudian and Nietzschean thought have reduced the human subject to a mere apparatus of conceptual processes and have ignored the possibility of a basic function of the primal subject, a transcendent force of conceptual cognition – that which lies just behind the line of the objective. How does one seek refuge from an “integral reality”? Progress the noumenal. Seek the transcendent. Let off the synthetic Mosaic veil covering the fascia to see the true noumenal and primal glorification just behind.
This is the paradigm in which one primitive hunter finds himself as he stares into the cold eye of a defeated monster of mythology, that hideous Leviathan, only to realize that the flicker in its eye is not drawn out but merely resting, and that its breath has not ceased but simply slowed for a moment. Soon its bulging muscles and whipping tail shall gather strength again to over throw its predator; it will rise with ever more hideous vitality and primal ferocity. The Leviathan, that transcendent creature of incredulity, shall shake free tight ropes and harnesses that tie him down as if they were but mere spindle strings, and he will once again make his way to his proper place – the unending sea and the unforaged wilderness. The Leviathan will reclaim his grounds in the darkened wild and in men’s dreams; he will dwell in the unknown and free men once more to wonder.

Transcendence Act 4: A Teleological Complaint

2007-06-03T11:22:00.000-06:00

It is in the midst of all this that a formal complaint should be set forth. These fundamental restrictions in the progression of thought walk hand in hand with philosophical development in epistemological history. That is to say, in the most obvious and general sense, that one can glean from the progression of thought the sense of a grand narrative. The supremacy of an “integral reality” forces one to reflect on the way in which the human psyche and philosophical inquiry has seemingly progressed from a state of high transcendental efficacy to a one that is almost devoid completely of it. It is clear, in the progression of human thought, that there are movements away from high transcendental paradigms. This occurs broadly, in a progression: from the mythical, to Platonic thinking, to the Christian thinkers, eventually to the Cartesian Cogito, to the Enlightenment, and presently into an “integral reality.” Thus the complaint: the anthropical nature of a post-enlightenment teleology should in no way lead to the conclusion that teleology itself is dead; though humanity has seemingly “evolved” from a status of lofty and incorrigible transcendental chains, the current interim epistemological king, Scientificity, has masqueraded a type of intellectual libertarianism, the idea which tells the world it actually exists apart from a contingent reality and is explainable within itself, and has caused the negligence of the possibility of any transcendental element in human thinking. On this Baudrillard says, “[i]f, in the past, the world reached toward transcendence, and if, in the process, it fell into other hinterworlds, it has today fallen into reality” (Fringes 25). It is not that humanity has knocked the feet out from under a teleological or even transcendental reality, but the abstraction of Christian thought and the subtraction of a transcendental paradigm have merely replaced the teleological function of service to the will of God.
So, it is that humanity’s purpose, in the post-enlightenment age, is to no longer serve God, but it is to serve the self – High Humanism. The subject has taken up not only the seat of discourse but also the seat of deity. The humanist glorification of the subjective creative ability has left the mind to its own egotism causing itself to become the teleological center of its existence. While Nietzschean thought screams that God is dead and leaves the door wide open for an ebb and flow chaos of a world devoid of transcendent power, the effects can only be seen as a call for permissible appropriation of human deification. In that sense, science and the ability of philosophy to subtract god from a “given” equation of truth has not necessarily executed Him, but rather God, in the post-enlightenment human psyche, is truly alive and well; God cannot be extracted from the human thought process – only His attributes may be shifted. One might say that God is dead, but what that truly means is that the human is now God.

Transcendence Act 3: Behold, My Monster - Ideology

2007-06-03T11:17:00.000-06:00

This example leads to another that lies hidden with the semantic carceration of the subject. The sign, being stripped of all power in its natural objectivity, begins to show the way in which the nexus of semantic imprisonment, the prison of concept in which the mind is held, gives way to the immense pressures of a matrix of totality – an all encompassing linguistic mapping of the sign. As the sign breathes its last gurgling breath, so too do the doors of the semantic prison clang shut revealing something even more horrific – a closed system. The appropriation of the sign points directly to the appropriation of concept, for “[t]he apparatuses, relations and practices of production thus issue, as a certain moment (the moment of “production/circulation”) in the form of symbolic vehicles constituted within the rules of ‘language’” which must necessarily include a specific moment in which the concept within language itself is appropriated as a “symbolic vehicle;” the sign no longer projects from a natural relation with the objective manifold, but it is treated rather as a byproduct of a systemic ideology (Hall 128). If this is the case then the seeming eternal return of the sign in an “integral reality” actually shows the integration, appropriation, and eventual manipulation of the concept itself, for “[…]the universe becomes a universe of fact, a positive universe, a universe ‘as is’, which no longer even has any need to be true. As factual as a ready-made” (Fringes 25). The subject cannot help but be bound by linguistic and conceptual chains, but it is an even greater atrocity that such an imprisonment actually becomes the source of its own binding. It is no longer that “[t]he meaning(s) of a text will also be constructed differently depending on the discourses (knowledges, prejudices, resistances) brought to bear on the text by the reader” (Morley 171). Nor is it the case that the subject merely dwells among the concepts, but, in post-enlightenment thinking, the mind manufactures them, he distributes them, and he patches them together to create his own monster.

Transcendence Act 2: Thus Ceased The Sign

2007-06-03T01:04:00.000-06:00

The death of the sign seems a most obvious point to begin when seeking the process by which the transcendental is lost. The semantic incarceration of the subject (meaning the way in which cognition of the world is necessarily bound by its use of language to make sense of it – humanity created the means by which it knows the world) lends only to the realization of a continual discourse of subject versus object as the two stand opposed to each other. The former must appropriate the latter, but as these signs become more fully integrated into the subjective cognition, they return as synthetic; humanity appropriates and then re-appropriates the sign as a cognitive function so that it no longer mirrors a "reasoning entrapped in representation" but vice-versa (Ellis 193). That is to say that naturally, as the sign moves through the discursive apparatus of the mind, one notices a one to one ratio between the actual phenomena and the subject that interprets it. However, as the sign is appropriated, changed, synthesized, remodeled, and tweeked to perfection, it becomes the case that the normal function of the sign apparatus is no longer a dominant case because "[…] if objects exist outside of us, we can know absolutely nothing of their objective reality. For things are given to us only through our representation. To believe that these representations and sensations are determined by external objects is a further representation" (World 39). In fact, it reveals that the sign may be no more, in the technological age, than an extension of the subjective which seems even more plausible when one remembers that "objectivity can be conceived without a subject; not so subjectivity without an object" (Adorno 502). Humanity has created a synthetic version of the natural sign sequence. On this, it might be suggested, linguistically, that the sequence of the sign originates with the rise of conceptual thinking – man must conceptually discourse that to which he comes in contact and which would be the interaction with the objective world. However, the subjective appropriation of the sign, moving beyond its culturally discursive function, causes an internal use of the sign. That is to say that the notion of an "integral reality" assumes an ideological system that is not arranged by nature but is synthetic and manmade thus revealing that "[d]istance is obliterated, both external distance from the real world and the internal distance specific to the sign" while also showing "a pornographic materialization of everything" – the death of the unknown (Baudrillard 69). So, the employment of a sign discourse is also synthetically enacted or, in other words, within the confines of the ideological system, but what is more striking is the way in which this points to a third synthetic element which is the teleological nature of the ideological system. An modern thinker does not necessarily lay down a teleological system by chasing evidential knowledge, but he recreates it by these means; the appropriation of the sign into an "integral reality" reveals the rise of a new teleological system.

Transcendence Act 1: Thus Ceased the Leviathan

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The land shakes, and darkness rules. The thunderous breath of the Leviathan steams from its oversized nostrils as it rampages through the wilderness, through the darkness, amid the unknown. The leaves and shrubbery shake, and the stark glint of flickering torches fight the rush of air that blows passed them as they are carried at a sprinter's pace in hot pursuit of the mythical creature. Tonight, it will die. Tonight, man will dine on his own self-discovery. The creature is circled, entrenched, captured, and slain. Each man in turn looks deep into the eye of that which, until this very instance, was mystery –myth . This night security subsumes, this night the babes breath will coo in the ease of its safe-keeping, but more than this, man, the tribe, humanity, will be ever more assured that he is the truth –it is he to which all succumbs.

But what is gained by this high humanism? Is humanity ever endowed with greatness in the absence of the beasts that roam the unknown? And what place does God, the soul, or even the subject have when all bows to the reasoning power of human cognition? These complaints of the neglect of the transcendental become ever increasingly problematic when one sees that the human psyche has not necessarily killed God, but he has replaced Him with himself. So, the human subject becomes the all to end all and lights everything with the torches of the technological age. As Baudrillard has suggested, humanity has entered a period of "Integral Reality" in which the out stretch of the human subject seeks to appropriate and transgress that which separates it from the objective, creating a discourse suited and tailored to itself and creating a world that merely projects from the mind; it is a reciprocal relationship where both continually create and influence the other. This is where one might suggest that God has been slain by the bloody hand of post-enlightenment, but this is not the case. Rather, what has been slain is the transcendental or unknown aspect of human existence. The Leviathan, that which constitutes the dark and transcendent aspect of what it means to be human, lies open and dead to a humanity that depends only on that which can be manifested and manipulated in a carceral nexus of technology. What can this possibly mean? Here, it is most significant to see the processes by which the transcendental is lost.

Transcendence: The Sources

2007-06-03T00:54:00.000-06:00

Adorno, Theodore W. "On the Fetish Character in Music and Regression of

Listening." The Essential Frankfurt School Reader. Ed. Andrew Arato and

Eike Gebhardt. Continuum: New York, 1993. 272-299.

---. "Subject and Object." The Essential Frankfurt School Reader. Ed. Andrew

Arato and Eike Gebhardt. Continuum: New York, 1993. 497-511...:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

Baudrillard, Jean. "The Murder of the Sign." The Intelligence of Evil or The

Lucidity Pact. Oxford: Berg, 2004. 67-74.

---"On the Fringes of the Real." The Intelligence of Evil or The Lucidity

Pact. Oxford: Berg, 2004. 25-38.

---. "On the World and its Profound Illusories." The Intelligence of Evil or The

Lucidity Pact. Oxford: Berg, 2004. 39-46.

Ellis, John. "Ideology and subjectivity." Culture, Media, Language. Ed. Suart

hall, Dorothy Hobson, Andrew Lowe, and Paul Willis. London: Hutchinson,

1986. 186-194.

..:namespace prefix = st2 ns = "urn:schemas:contacts" />Hall, Stuart. "Encoding/decoding." Culture, Media, Language. Ed. Stuart hall,

Dorothy Hobson, Andrew Lowe, and Paul Willis. London: Hutchinson,

1986. 128-138

Morley, David. "Texts, readers, subjects" Culture, Media, Language. Ed. Suart

hall, Dorothy Hobson, Andrew Lowe, and Paul Willis. London: Hutchinson,

1986. 163-173.

The Ecclesian Aesthetic III: The Shadow of Imperfection

2007-01-03T10:03:00.000-07:00

One final way that an aesthetic ideal is presented in Ecclesiast thought comes by view of beauty. Again turning to the philosophy of William Morris, beauty is the semblance of an ideal life. That is to say that expression, whether in deed or in artifice, must be an unhindered action which Morris relates when he says:

I demand a free and unfettered animal life for man first of all: I demand the utter extinction of asceticism. If we feel the least degradation in being amorous, or merry, or hungry, or sleepy, we are so far bad animals, and therefore miserable men (Society 177).

Here beauty is manifested through expression as an immediate function of the subjective self. So, Morris makes a connection to man as an animal so that there might be a heightened view of instinctual and fleshly urges thus promoting the idea of expression, not merely in art, but also in the procurement and progression of life in general. So, in this way expression becomes the path to a higher state of being.

Similarly, the Ecclesiast relates, "Do not be over-righteous and do not be over-wise. Why should you destroy yourself? Do not be over-wicked and do not be a fool. Why destroy yourself before your time?" (REB Ecc 7.16). Besides an obvious contrast to the Platonic stance of a high value of wisdom and knowledge, the Ecclesiast brings to light a similar idea to Morris in that the individual must not seek to over extend himself in the realm of legality, but the true essence of life comes in the free and unhindered life. While perhaps not going so far as to make extinct all asceticism, as Morris does, the author of "Ecclesiastes" most certainly presents a notion of being able to adhere to the demands of the animal side of human nature. So, the legalistic nature of Mosaic tradition becomes, not negated, but appropriated to a new stance on the independence of the individual subjectivity. Asceticism as far as it is related to guilt becomes obsolete, and it makes room for the animalistic and instinctual side of human nature.

Comparably, chapter nine promotes this sort of strike at legalism when it says:

[…] the righteous and the wise and whatever they do are under God's control; but whether they will earn love or hatred they have no way of knowing. Everything that confronts them, everything is futile, since one and the same fate comes to all, just and unjust alike, good and bad, ritually clean and unclean, to the one who offers sacrifice and to the one who does not. The good and the sinner fare alike […] (REB Ecc 9.1-2).

Here legality is struck in order to more appropriately digest the suppressed nature of the exiled nation, and it presents a notion of an apathetic social outlook. This then reverts back to Morris' strike at asceticism by revealing the truly helpless nature of the Israelites. It promotes the idea that the loss of control should be followed by the ineffectual nature of power seeking. That is to say that by noting a strike at legality, the Ecclesiast presents a means by which the Hebraic community is not uninvolved in the tenets of life, but they are untroubled by adverse circumstance; the Jewish community is powerless to change their circumstances and so should stop trying and find meaning in what they are. Other passages, namely chapter eight verse fourteen and chapter eleven verse four, recognize this same theme of striking legality, and this may again be tied to the ancient thoughts of Parmenides.

While the changing nature of the status of the Israelites may be characterized by the hope of future glory, already related to Heraclitian philosophy, the universe yet remains an unchanging constant for it is an extension or creation of the unchanging nature of God so that man has little effect on the outcome of His will. Relating back to Morris then, this ancient philosophy notes a way in which the community members are simply untroubled as they adopt their human nature as a normative function of reality and relent to the Parimedean thought of the unchanging nature of God. The Israelites are free to adopt their new mode of life in exile and yet cling to the tradition that up until that time had expressly required their sovereign independence.

No more do the words of Morris ring clear than when the Ecclesiast says:

Go, then, eat your food and enjoy it, and drink your wine with a cheerful heart; for God has already accepted what you have done. Always be dressed in white, and never fail to anoint your head. Enjoy life with a woman you love all the days of your allotted span here under the sun. Futile as they are; for that is your lot while you live and labour here under the sun. Whatever task lies to your hand, do it with might; because in Sheol [Hades], for which you are bound, there is neither doing nor thinking[…] (REB Ecc 9.7-10).

For, here the unfettered life is given in full proportion so that the highest value in life "is first the unconstrained life, and next simple and natural life. First you must be free; and next you must learn to take pleasure in all the details of life" (Society 178). So beauty, in all areas of life, is the main staple of it even in adversity, even in tragedy, even in toil, even in labor, and even in the midst of failure; beauty is the manifest way of life being lived for the sake of living. The Ecclesiast aesthetic frees the Jewish people to be who they are as they are, and it frees them from the social constraints and guilt associated with their failed monarchy and suppression under foreign leaders; Ecclesiastes screams in to the human psyche (and indeed unto us) to not be hindered by the imperfect nature of its soul and surrounding darkened world, but it calls it to find beauty in the midst of spiritual failure, solace in the wake of guilt, and reassurance in shadow of imperfection.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morris, William. "The Beauty of Life." On Art and Socialism. Ed. Norman

Kelvin. New York: Dover, 1999. 35-56.

---. "The Society of the Future." On Art and Socialism. Ed. Norman

Kelvin. New York: Dover, 1999. 174-184.

Oxford Study Bible. 1976. Ed. M. Jack Suggs, Katherine Doob Sackenfield, and James R.

Mueller. Rev. ed. New York: Oxford UP, 1992.

Ruskin, John. "Modern Painters, IV: Of the Turnerian

Picturesque." Selected Writings. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2004. 82-92.

Suggs, M. Jack, ed. "Ecclesiastes." Oxford Study Bible. 1976. Ed. M. Jack Suggs,

Katherine Doob Sackenfield, and James R. Mueller. Rev. ed. New York: Oxford UP, 1992. 684.

The Ecclesian Aesthetic II: Nobility in Nature

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A second means by which an Aesthetic mindset is presented in the ancient philosophy of the Ecclesiast is by contrasting it with John Ruskin's notion of the "Noble Picturesque" which is an aesthetic object that gains its value through "its expression, namely, of suffering, of poverty, or decay, nobly endured by unpretending strength of heart" (Ruskin 85). In seeing that John Ruskin's idea of that which is the "Noble Picturesque" necessarily accepts and finds its value in its flawed nature, one can make the parallel to the Israelite nation in the notion that the community itself must acquire the ideals of a "Noble Picturesque." So, in light of a post exilic lifestyle, the Ecclesiast philosophy not only gives permission for the community to proceed in their oppressed lifestyle, but it also sets up a noble ideal so that the community actually finds value in its diminished nature. This allows the broken community to maintain integrity even in the midst of struggle and against their monarchic ideal.

On this the Ecclesiast once again borrows Heraclitian thought when he says, "All streams run to the sea, yet the sea never overflows; back to the place from which the streams ran they return to run again" (REB Ecc 1.7). So while the heightened value of the flowing river for Heraclites is its changing nature, the Ecclesiast shifts this thought to maintain that change is only an intermediary state which anticipates the return of the past; the Ecclesiast gives rise to acceptance of circumstance while maintaining the hope of a future return to glory, and parallels the "Noble Picturesque" through the acceptance of flaw as the means of value. In this way, the Israelite community is able to find its identity in its struggle and is thus able to reconcile itself to the sin that, by the Judaic tradition, allowed the downfall of its monarchy.

So, while the "Noble Picturesque" obtains its nobility through its savagery, through its necessarily diminished nature, or by its flawed essence, so too does the Israelite nation parallel this aesthetic quality by the embodiment and propagation of its flawed nature which is further seen in a return to chapter four when the author notes, "Better one hand full, along with peace of mind, than two full, along with toil" (REB Ecc 4.6). Here, again, the author allows for the nature of the present state of being to become the means by which the community accepts its place, and while it does not neglect the hope of a future glory, it leans toward circumstance as an almost teleological function so that the nature of existence of the Israelites is the function of who they are. By this then, struggle and flaw become the ideal. As a teleological function, the flaw of the present must be the ideal as a progression toward the future glory, and thus an aesthetic ideal is born out by a parallel to the "Noble Picturesque."

The Ecclesian Aesthetic I: The Appropriation of a Human Nature

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Emerging during the high point of ancient philosophy and borrowing the famous thoughts of other Hellenistic philosophers, "Ecclesiastes" presents a starkly contrasting view to the a sundry collection of ancient philosophies. While traditionally associated with a grim out look on the uncertain nature of life, the book of Ecclesiastes actually presents an example of ancient philosophy that promotes an aesthetic outlook on life as it seeks to reconcile the grim nature of Israelite political reality with the liberation of a joyful life of a free expression. An aesthetic ideal can be seen in "Ecclesiastes" through an examination of social circumstances, by noting parallels to John Ruskin's idea of the "Noble Picturesque," and by an appeal to the search for beauty in life.

One way to see the book of "Ecclesiastes" as an ancient appeal to an Aesthetic mindset is to see the social aspects of the Jewish community of the day. Having an original composition of sometime around the third century BCE, "Ecclesiastes" meets the Jewish nation at a place in their history when they are broken and exiled (Suggs 684). The fall of Judah to Babylonian power had grave effects on the religious psyche of the Hebraic community. No longer able to maintain the claim of the sovereign and chosen people of God, "Ecclesiastes" meets this once independent nation in a place where they are desperately and completely destroyed, and it is here that the mindset of the Ecclesiast intermixes with the Hellenistic philosophers. Operating at around the same time as Aristotle, the author of "Ecclesiastes" presents a philosophic and religious view that would entertain and satisfy the arising need of a broken subjectivity, in the Kantian sense, of a community of folks that has been stranded and forgotten.

It is here that one might look to chapter four as the mainstay and call toward a Marxian notion of power. As the author proceeds there is a strict sense of a parallel to a sort of class struggle. While not expressly in the bourgeois sense as with the rise of capitalism, what chapter four presents is the notion of an oppressive ruling group opposing the lower class. So, when the text says, "Power was on the side of their oppressors, and there was no one to afford comfort[,]" it intrinsically creates a sense in which the Jewish community is experiencing such oppression at the hands of the dominant ruling society (REB Ecc 4.1). The once powerful and independent nation is now at the whims and fancies of their oppressors.

This becomes important in chapter five when the author mentions that God, in terms of their oppressors, "has watch over them all" (REB Ecc 5.8). Here what develops is the notion that, though suppressed and in the hands of the enemy, the Jewish God still maintains the authority over his subjects. In this way, God appropriates the role of the panoptic gaze in the Foucaultian sense so that God becomes the all seeing eye of all humanity's action. This striking development presumably extracts the notion of a collective responsibility to the Jewish deity, and replaces it with an independent and individual nature of faith; by placing God in the role of the panoptic gaze, the author of "Ecclesiastes" creates the means by which judgment is no longer based on the deeds of the Jewish community but on the individual self. This becomes more striking when one returns to chapter three and begins to contrast it with previous ancient philosophers such as Parmenides and Heraclites, and here the famous "for everything its season" passage takes on new meaning as it embraces the Heraclitian ideal of changeability especially in light of the Jewish exile to Babylon. The exile becomes necessary and inevitable which then allows the community to rightly assume a new identity as exiled members and calls for permissible acceptance of circumstance. So too, when the chapter later goes on to say about God's power that "there is no adding to it, no taking away[,]" the deity necessarily assumes the function and embodiment of Parmenides' philosophy of the unchangeable nature of the world so that appropriation of both philosophies allows the nation to function as they must without losing the power of their deity (REB Ecc 3.14).

In all of this, the aesthetic ideal emerges as one focuses on the newly acquired relationship between the individual and the Jewish deity. The adoption of a Heraclitian type philosophy of change allows the community to step beyond a communal look at a relationship with God and into one in which the individual affects the way the two interact. For the Ecclesiast, this relationship is manifested in the familiar progressions of human activity. So while the universe is unchangeable through the nature of the deity, by the acquisition of Parmenides' thought, the individual becomes more sanctified merely by being human; every action has its place; every detail has its setting; every individual is liberated to be the human that they are. One might here bring in the aesthetic ponderings of William Morris when he says, "Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful" (Beauty 53). In this way, what is beautiful for Morris becomes the necessary outpouring of the subjective individual so that, in the noumenal sense, the mind must take action on the evaluation of beauty, and in such liberate itself from any sort of overt and dominant cultural ideology that might strike at the genuinity of such an evaluation. One might postulate that the same liberty is found in the exercise of the individual subjective of the Ecclesiast philosophy because it allows for the individual to assess for himself the means by which any and all action is within its right "season" so that a relationship with God comes not only by usefulness or reverence for Him but also by gaining beautiful aspects. Here the Aristotelian thoughts on the high value of moderation is implied since excess might cancel out the appropriation of beauty and negate reverence for God; the Ecclesiast does not promote hedonism, but he merely makes human nature and endurance of circumstance permissible.

Kant and John .3: Perfection Are We

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Subjectivity endure

Perfection are we

If one looks with significance on the scene of a woman in the presence of a man, Eve (Gen 3) and Mary Magdalene (John 20), to signify the relationship of the chosen people Israel to God, what is presented is the manifestation of an interested nature within the deity. By the appropriation of a system of legality in Genesis, which occurs the moment rules are introduced to the newly created humans, Christ as a deified human reveals how God becomes completely interested in human subjectivity. Israel portrayed as a woman who has somehow disjointed humanity from creation makes the mode of creation a necessary expression of the fragmented nature of the relationship between God and man because it splits the two. One can say that union or unity of man and God becomes disjointed when the fall of man happens, but what seems more underlying in the situation is the split between the subjectivity of the two. So, in some way the aesthetic representation of God, the perfect creation, through man's failure is no longer operating as a means of endowing humanity with divine subjectivity, but it in itself can only point toward that being so that while man is a part of creation he is in some way distinctly separate from it.

It is also important to note that in the Garden of Eden, one scene depicts a separated humanity and deity, a fallen man who is unable to fully be the divine manifestation to the woman Israel, and the woman Israel controlled by the subjectivity of the man. In John's garden, however, there is still a man and a woman present, but in this scene the man is the manifestation of God and so one sees that the woman Israel is redeemed through submission to the perfect unity of God and man; God, through Christ, reappropriated himself to the subjectivity of humanity. The love of God becomes much more apparently universally accepting of the flaws of men as He decides to reunite the two together so that just as after the objective creation in the Garden of Eden there is a moment on the seventh day when he and humanity are standing in the first day of a perfect creation, so too after the seventh miracle, the resurrection, Christ as God is standing in the first day of a perfectly united creation. There is a sense, in this scene, that God can no longer be disinterested in the perfection of his creation. Kant says that "[i]nterest is what we call the liking we connect with the presentation of an object's existence. Hence such a liking always refers at once to our power of desire, either as the basis that determines it, or at any rate as necessarily connected with that determining basis" (506). By combining the subjects, God has become wholly interested in the aesthetics of His creation so that He no longer stands apart from creation as a separate entity, and somehow he no longer stands aloof from that perfection but is endowed with and in it; His omnipotent desire has overpowered the entity of creation no longer allowing it to be a separate perfection.

Subjectivity endure

Perfection are we

Kant and John .2: There is a Mind of All Union

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There is a mind of all union

By which this story is bound

Safeguarded by destiny from somber crime

Revealing in boldness both Christ and Time

Ferverent to hold the thread bare world of fine

And hug us by death, an undue vigil and sign

It is in the sense of disinterestedness that John's gospel brings forth the idea of the subjective overtaking the perfection of creation. John relates, in reflection of the Genesis story, " In the beginning the Word already was. The Word was in God's presence, and what God was, the Word was[,]" which illustrates a point in which the objective reality of creation is no longer the focus of what occurs in the beginning, but rather the emphasis becomes a direct appeal to the subjectivity of God (REB 1.1). His eternal attributes are established, and though presently separated from creation, through the lens of John, "[…] without him no created thing came into being" (REB John 1.3). So that when Christ is risen and is presented as the Logos or "The Word" there is a sense that the subjective element of God has in some way entreated into the objective world seeking a form of unity to it. The image of Christ in a garden standing with Mary Magdalene creates a metaphorical tie to the same image of Adam and Eve standing in the Garden of Eden at the beginning of the new creation of the objective. For, after six miracles, which one may take to correlate with the six days of creation, Christ and Mary are participating in a form of new creation that has been presented in light of the death and resurrection of Christ. So, the fragmented unity of God and man is restored to by the resurrection of Christ, but even more, the subjective portion of God's thinking existence has taken on objectivity and proves His power over it so that in some sense he overtakes and participates in the perfection of it. This is further related in the garden scene of John when the deified Christ says, "'[…] go to my brothers, and tell them that I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God'" (REB John 20.22). Here John is revealing the mind of God, Christ as the embodiment of Logos, is creating a distinct equality with a lesser humanity. By allowing humanity to retain the same position as He himself has with the divine, there is a way in which Christ is pointing out and letting it be known that there is a new unity between the subjectivity of both man and deity; not only is the relationship now restored, but there comes unity in all levels of existence including the mind.

There is a mind of all union

By which this story is bound

Safeguarded by destiny from somber crime

Revealing in boldness both Christ and Time

Ferverent to hold the thread bare world of fine

And hug us by death, an undue vigil and sign

Kant and John .1: There is an Art that Burns but Not of Flames

2006-12-20T12:48:00.000-07:00

There is an art that burns, but not of flames

Creation unbound by marble and clay

Acrylic and canvas nor bronze and wood

A mind concealed, so sweetly, of inner humanity

Burning in order to touch you if ever so faintly

There is an art that burns of passion

To begin the search for the Kantian aesthetic through a discourse of John, it becomes imperative to see that the opening chapters of John set up a connection to the opening chapters of Genesis. In Genesis, though there is an express and intentional appeal to the spiritual intervention of God, it presents the creation of the physical world. One will observe that in the initial sequence of events, after the six days, there is a picture presented in which creation is new and perfect, and in this new creation stands a man and a woman, Adam and Eve, on the first day of a new and perfect reality. One can infer that this picture, especially in contrast with John's picture, shows an overt appeal to the objective world so that the subjective mind of God has begun His great work by separating himself through materiality from his perfect creation; there is a bridge between the existence of man and God which manifests as the objective world (the external world of things)

This picture of creation as a perfect objectivity masks within it an expression of the Kantian aesthetic through the idea of disinterestedness. Genesis relates, " In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth" (REB 1.1). God in this instance becomes the creator, just as a painter might create, but what is more implicit is the separation between God and His creation that is assumed. One might say that because creation is perfect at this point, it is somehow at one with the author, but creation, with similarity to an art piece, anticipates a nature, and may be a reflection of the innate nature, of a disjointed human mind; though one may argue that creation, in this scene, must be linked subjectively to its creator (that is to say that because the creator has a mind), it anticipates a time when humanity and divinity are strictly subjectively separated, but through this "we glimpse for an exhilarated moment the possibility of a non-alienated object, one quite the reverse of commodity, which like the 'auratic' phenomenon of a Walter Benjamin returns our tender gaze and whispers that it was created for us alone"(Eagleton 78).

Though separated from perfection, humanity is able to gaze upon it in a some formal sense. Also, with the world being the canvas of an almighty creator, one sees that it is not through the interest of even God's own subjectivity (again his mind) that the world is presented as perfect, but that through some sort of innate characteristic endowed onto it by its creation it is able to know perfection, for "[…] the presentation of this object is also judged to be connected necessarily with this pleasure, and hence connected with it not merely for the subject apprehending this form but in general for everyone who judges [it]" (Kant 505).

True, God was the one to give essential characteristics to His perfect creation, but even here, beyond the point of actual creation, the world knows and embodies perfection only by its appeal to the very nature that is endowed to it by the universality of its beauty which was established by God so that, in some sense, once creation is presented as perfect, even the omnipotent deity is helpless in disinterest to its display. Terry Eagleton has an interesting take on this when he says, "However contingent their existence, these [aesthetic] objects display a form which is somehow mysteriously necessary, which hails and engages us with a grace quite unknown to the things in themselves, which merely turn their backs upon us" (78).

One may here object that an omnipotent God could in fact change creation in anyway that He saw fit so as to extract His own disinterested association to it, but this would suggest that perfection at some point would not have actually been perfect due to some defect of God's handiwork and would thus actually strike at his omnipotence.

There is an art that burns, but not of flames

Creation unbound by marble and clay

Acrylic and canvas nor bronze and wood

A mind concealed, so sweetly, of inner humanity

Burning in order to touch you if ever so faintly

There is an art that burns of passion

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*Eagleton, Terry. The Ideology of the Aesthetic. Oxford: Blackwell, 1990.

*Kant, Immanuel. "Critique of Judgment." The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed. Vincent B. Leitch et. al. New York: Norton, 2001.

*Oxford Study Bible. 1976. Ed. M. Jack Suggs, Katherine Doob Sackenfield, and James R. Mueller. Rev. ed. New York: Oxford UP, 1992.

Crash; My Angel

2006-12-11T21:06:00.000-07:00

I think I met an angel tonight. His name was Crash, and he smelled of cheap liqour. My only penance for the disquiet of his his spirit was the solace of a clove cigarette. He told me he was a true American, and I could only see irony in the statement as I knew the bench he sat on would be his bed this night. After I told him I studied English, he shared with me the good times he had in his earlier days of school. He reminisced on the times he would carve crosses in his arm during English class -- it was his favorite subject he said. His greatest advice? -- "Don't get too busy! They will steal what you already have! Don't let them steal what you already have!"

I left him to his darkness as he continued to mumble at me. David Crowder's "Obsession" filled my head as the smoke from my lungs intermingled with the steam from the crisp December air, and each street lamp burned its brightest but gave no light.

"Don't let them steal your shit," he continues to say to me. "Don't let them steal it!"

The Correspondence

2006-10-02T22:01:00.000-06:00

Here is the account of a correspondence which I became involved in toward the end of my summer of missions. I hesitate to post this for fear of offense toward the other party, but if any such issue arises I will humbly recant this posting. The woman, whose name is already so cryptic will further have her identity concealed by me through the pronouncement of her name as Ms. X and can choose to reveal herself if necessary. I post this, with also an accute fear of possible pride, in an attempt to receive thoughts. What do you think? How does this affect you? What do you think of the dialogue between us? where have each of us failed and succeeded in our arguments or also in our implementations of debate in a loving manner? This has popped up in my mind off and on since its occurrence and now I seek your thoughts. And it begins...

From: Ms. X
Sent: Wed 8/9/2006 5:40 PM
To: Deharte, Matthew
Subject: Re: [After the Tempest...A Murmur] 8/06/2006 09:35:44 PM

I have a hard time with someone professing to be a follower of Christ who has profanities throughout their writing. Have you thought about how that comes across to others?

--
Posted by Ms.X to After the Tempest...A Murmur <> at 8/06/2006 09:35:44 PM
--
Ms. X

"Go from the presence of a foolish man, when thou perceivest not in him the lips of knowledge." Proverbs 14:7

On 8/8/06, Deharte, Matthew <> wrote:

Ms. X,

As an experienced follower of Christ, i appreciate your concern with my moral well being, and to be honest I have reflected on the way that such profanity would be projected out into a hurt and dying world. The conclusion that i have made and the standard i continually try to reach is one of honesty and sincerity. I hold nothing back of my broken self when I confess and interact with God, and i have decided that the public deserves the same, not a cheap mask (metphorically speaking) that most American church goers hide behind in the modern era. As for myself and being a light...well I know that I have reached more who do not have a relationship with Christ in a broken world by being real with them than I have ever done by trying to please "the saved", and I say to you, with as much grace as i can muster because I mean it with all sincerity, that I don't expect you to understand and that is okay. Thanks for the commentary! i love hearing peoples thoughts whatever they are. Much love & God Bless.

Matt DeHarte

________________________________

From: Ms. X
Sent: Wed 8/9/2006 5:40 PM
To: Deharte, Matthew
Subject: Re: [After the Tempest...A Murmur] 8/06/2006 09:35:44 PM

I'm impressed that you responded to my comment. I really didn't expect you to. I was just cruising through some blogs and found yours - and it was interesting, so I spent some time reading...and then the profanity started jumping out at me and to be honest, I was somewhat startled. My experience has been that new Christians and carnal Christians have trouble cleaning up their language, but most mature Christians I know have done as Romans12:1-2 has told us to do, and of course not under our own power, but by submission to the Holy Spirit. I know that in the flesh, I could very easily slip up and use words I shouldn't - and sometimes I think them even if I don't say them. But it bothers me because I'm convicted by the Holy Spirit. We are to strive to be like our holy Christ.

I really think that the profanity lessens your cause. You don't have to be like the world in order to reach the world. You obviously have a yearning to see the lost saved. May I suggest you try a new approach - after spending time in prayer about it of course - and see if God doesn't actually increase your effectiveness by your obedience to choose your words more carefully.

I hope you understand that the spirit in which I have written this has not been a condemning one, but rather a concerned one.

Thanks again for emailing.

Ms. X

[There is an email missing here in which I challenge Ms.X views on the "end times" and the European Union's association's with that event. I expressly use Apocryphal books to compare and relate to Revelations, and she responded. I think you can pick up the rest of the context]

On 8/10/06, Deharte, Matthew wrote:

Ms. X,

Fear not! it is not too easy to offend me. Anyway, I too am under the conviction that the apocrypha is not a part of the inspired word of God, but do find it interesting to compare and contrast such texts when looking at books as "Revelation" which are a part of the same genre of ancient Biblical texts. Anyway, I would love for you to make a longer reply over the weekend and am still interested in hearing those views on the European Union.

However, you have now struck my interest in a new way! I am grossly interested in hearing your thoughts on the emergent church movement! Do I detect signs of a Southern Baptist? Ah, the good old boys! J/k

Anyway, I immanently await your reply!

Matt

PS - once again, I mean not to offend, but explication of scripture should not be restricted to one or two verses here and there. I believe you have used both passages that you have sent me out of context, though I will say that I respect your conviction on the use of profanity and will encourage you in anyway to stay steadfast and strong in that conviction for it is right and honorable.

________________________________

From: Ms. X
Sent: Thu 8/10/2006 9:09 PM
To: Deharte, Matthew
Subject: Re: [After the Tempest...A Murmur] 8/06/2006 09:35:44 PM

You are turning out to be a challenge, Matthew.

First of all, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I am not SBC. I don't have anything against SBC, other than I don't like using the new Bible versions and because I believe in the local church autonomy and authority.
I must immediately protest your accusation that I have taken the passages I referred to out of context. First of all, for Romans chapter 12:1-2: We are to present our body (our life) to Christ as a living sacrifice (the Greek for "present" here is the same word translated as "yield" in Romans 6:13) and we are to stop being "conformed" (molded) from without (by the world) and start being transformed from within and live according to the will of God - in other words, in total surrender. A Holy God will not have us speaking profane words.

On Proverbs 24:9 - it means just what it said. The thought of foolishness is sin. Foolishness = "'ivveleth " meaning foolishness or folly - the definition of folly includes 1 : lack of good sense or normal prudence and foresight
2 a : criminally or tragically foolish actions or conduct b obsolete : EVIL , WICKEDNESS <> ; especially : lewd behavior

Lastly, Matthew 12:36 is not just a random verse taken out of context either. It is a promise. We WILL give an account of every word.

Well, had to get that in. Talk to you more this weekend. Don't have time to go into the Emergent Church's panthiesm/new age/mystic/easternized/gnostic teachings at the moment.

Ms. X

On 8/11/06, Deharte, Matthew wrote:

Oh Ms. X,

I must be honest that I proceed here in caution. I fear that we tread the line of no longer sharpening one another, and that our correspondance may devolve into a spiritually unhealthy bickering (I am not expressly accusing you of such, but I think we must keep this in mind as we proceed).

Anyway, I too think that we are to be transformed from within by the working of the Holy Spirit as we give our lives in sacrifice to Christ Our Lord, but I must here refer you to my blog on the diversity of the body in order that you may recieve a glimpse of what that sacrifice is in light of the diverse and eclectic body of believers. I also find it to be a vast jump that you take from us living in total surrender to God and us not speaking profane words. One may here assume, through conservative American culture and not by any true biblical standard, that abstainence from cursing is part and parcel of a holy life, but it is important to remember that Paul is not laying out a Pharisaic world view that would have us pick apart those two verses in order to defend what we assume to be holy, but he is rather trying to strengthen and encourage a fledgling church that faces persecution in every way as well as the temptation to return to a pagan life of idol worship and (most likely) worship via prostitution as were the traditional marks of Hellenistic forms of religion at the time. Also, it is especially significant to remember that Paul himself curses in scripture to heighten his point in the famous 1 Corinthians 4:13 passage.

Here I find it most helpful to dive into a cultural explication of the Post-Exilic text of Job in which we find a broken and lost people (the israelites) churning out a story of a man who does nothing but rebel and (at least to the orthodox redaction of his friends) blaspheme against a wholly just God. Yet, one finds that Job is exonorated by God for his honesty in his relationship with God, and it is his friends, chasing blindly after legality instead of a right and true relationship with God, that must seek repentance (REB Job 42:8). God seeks trueness of heart and faith in His soveriegnty from us and not legalistic quandries. That of course is not to mean we are to have no moral compass, but we are to seek His good perfect and pleasing will through the transformation of our minds as the passage you have pointed to expresses.

As for the passage from Matthew I find it most concerning that you do not see the use of this one passage to be out of context mainly in light of the the theme of the whole chapter which stresses Christ's opposition to the Pharisees who, as historians would tell us, were leading the people astray in First Century Palestine in order to gain prestige and wealth. Sure, this passage is a promise. It is a promise that Christ has broken the cycle of sin and death in His own death and resurrection, and it is a promise that the sharp and harsh legality that is presented by the pharisaical paradigm is in direct contrast to the ministry and gospel (euggalion) of Christ and therefore God; it is not, and never was, meant to present a world view that would force the children of God to hide their emotion and heart from God or the world.

Also, I feel that you have failed to present an accurate argument which would say that Prov 24:9 is in anyway contrasting the use of profanity. I do not mean to dodge this question that ends one of your previous emails, but I do think that the burden of proof is aggressively in your court to show that the "thought of foolishness" in anyway refers to one's use of profanity. Rather, I think it is improtant to look at the whole of Prov 24, and to see that the ancient writer is contrasting the search of Wisdom with the folly of living a life of ignorance, but mentions no where the use of profanity.

Well, Ms. X, if I have forgotten anything then press me at a future date, and as before I eagerly await your reply. 'Til next time

Your Brother,

Matt DeHarte

From: Ms. X
Sent: Thu 8/10/2006
To: Deharte, Matthew
Subject: Re: [After the Tempest...A Murmur] 8/06/2006 09:35:44 PM

At this point, Matthew, your exegesis of Scripture is so totally different that I too believe we tread that line. Suffice it to say that I choose not to participate in these discussions further. It saddens me to see someone professing Christ who is so anxious to defend, yea celebrate his right to use profanity. It is time to part ways. My journey is much different from yours, and our paths are not horizontal. As to what version of Scripture you are using, it matters not, because none of the words of I Corinthians 4:13 in the original Greek are what I would call curse words, though Paul was speaking of the despicable, he did not resort to profanity.

I suspect that you will be tempted to respond to this, but I will let you know up front that regardless of whether you respond, or how you respond, my responses have ended. You are either being foolish, or you are not truly a born again Christian, or you have been totally misled by whatever religious body you have been associating with. I will not, nor can I, make that determination.

END OF CORRESPONDENCE

Red Lake VII: The Skull

2006-08-21T21:31:00.000-06:00

Red Lake is clear and the crimson sunset bounces off the glassy surface. The light then pitters out leaving only its passing memory and the thick woolen blanket of night along with the awareness of its darkness. Our fire flickers off the faces of my staff as we sit in meditative silence reflecting on the ending of our journey; the conclusion of our hard days and nights of ministry. Mosquitoes buzz about wildly infiltrating our comfortable bubble and eerily heightening what none of us could express. Our summer had been poignantly marked with demonic attack, and we were all grossly aware that our mission was meaningful because we were being hindered.

Lights flash and roll across our (their) little section of sandy beach, and they stop; they are fixated on our gathering. Soon two ladies emerge from the car and walk, as best they can, toward our fire. "Hey! Hey! What you up ta?" Both ladies are extremely intoxicated to the point that I fear for their health. They plop down next to our fire and continue their binge with cans that they carried with them. "Who are yous? What are you doing? What's that you're drinking? COKE?!" we explain to them who we are (not really expecting them to understand), but as it turns out I am convinced that they knew who we were and what we were doing as workers in ministry.

"Gaaaah! Yous are too innocent for us! What are you doing? We should go! On our fucking beach no less! Yous should watch yourself, we're nice, but you're gonna get murdered! People will fucking KILL you! Gaaahhh!" says one, and here the tirade begins and we know that our meeting was no accident; that the God of the universe was humbling us, growing us, talking to us through his broken creation. "Hey! we know God too!” says the other. “ Giitchi Manito! He lives in the sky...wait...wait...Manito - He's right above you! He's right above you!" She motions to my Site Director, and for a brief second reveals a sincerity of awe that can only be described as Divine as she repeats that she sees God above him, but soon, through the wrestling expressions of her face, it becomes apparent that the darkness would take this round; The alcohol would win.

"I'm S----- Fucking Sumner! You tell them I was here! Get off my fucking beach! This is our beach! You're out of place! Get off our beach!" Engrossed in the moment, the Spirit leads me toward an aesthetic experience, I begin to mold in the sand the image of a human skull. Atop the skull is a cross, and around the whole is a large heart. Why I am lead to create in this volatile moment I can only attribute to God, but in it, as these ladies remind us with their continued verbal assault, I am faced with the reality of our inadequacy to bring lasting joy and love to Red Lake and these ladies iconic representation of the struggles that their community deals with. I watch the light flint and flicker off the image of the skull as it flinted off our own faces earlier, and I am starkly reminded, especially sitting in the skin crawling darkness that clouds this place every night, that the cross of Christ is not a glamorous object; it is not through crowns and the riches that create beauty that our Lord saved us, but it was through His ultimate suffering, death, and the grotesque subtleties of human nature that He gave himself; it is only He who can bring lasting joy, nothing that we can do, and it is only He who can strip this community of the demons it houses.

The next few minutes are spent coercing, conniving, and at times almost wrestling these two ladies as we try and put out the fire and worry about their trip home in the car that they had arrived in. We leave the beach with a grim reminder that for all the work we had done, God's sovereignty rules all. And ours? We have none. I envision the darkness crawling off our cars like purple flame as we wind our way back to our housing site. The mood can only be described as somber especially when my Kids Club staff recognizes one of the ladies as the mother of a child that we minister to, and it is like a spike of ice being driven in our hearts as we contrast the scene we had just been in with the faces of the children.

In all this I am given over to Paul's words in Second Corinthians when he says:

"Since God in His mercy has given us this ministry, we NEVER lose heart. We have renounced the deeds that people hide for very shame; we do not practise cunning or distort the word of God. It is by declaring the truth openly that we recommend ourselves to the conscience of our fellow-men in the sight of God. If our gospel is veiled at all, it is veiled for those on the way to destruction; their unbelieving minds are so blinded by the god of this passing age that the gospel of the glory of God, cannot dawn upon them and bring light to them [emphasis added]" (REB 4.1-4).

I cannot judge the condition of souls even when presented with such darkness, but I do know that, in the example of Paul, I will never lose heart. I know that at times like these that passion that would stir such an emotion in me is the only thing to cling to, as I fix my eyes ever on the cross and do my best to declare the truth openly that the veil which may blind the eyes of this beautiful people might be lifted, if ever it existed, and they may walk hand in hand with a God of glory. I also know that in not losing heart I might take this lesson of God's sovereignty, turn it in a positive light, and depend, with fervent intercession, on the great power of God to work for the people of Red Lake; I can know that the unfailing love He has for me can be applied for them as well.

Here ends the documentation of my brief and honoring travail into the culture and people of Red Lake. Pray for our brothers and sisters there as God moves mightily among them. Thank you for hearing.

Red Lake VI: Another Strange Moment

2006-08-06T21:28:00.000-06:00

The Korean group – So often when I feel stressed or, I’ll be honest, bloated I will often take a run around the school that is our mission site, and more lately I had been actually running around the community (this I had previously avoided due to the abundance of stray and venomously volatile dogs running about but had since gained a confidence which was based on the mere fact that doing laps is more boring than scenery). On one occasion as I ran I became grossly aware of a strange gathering of folks on the road before me, for the path I usually take leads me down Highway 1 which runs through Red Lake. I found this to be odd, mostly because it is ridiculously hard to get any type of gathering in Red Lake let alone one that, from a distance, seemed so vibrant, joyous, and energetic. From afar I could see that this group of young people was armed with banners, matching T-shirts, and an unsurpassed enthusiasm. “No way this is Native Youth!” I thought to myself (no offense to any who read, but it just seems culturally true that native youth are generally more reserved). As I came closer I realized that my previous prediction had been correct. In fact, this youth were far from Native youth. They were Korean. I had seen signs around the reservation advertising the coming of this group, a Korean ministry, that held cultural exhibitions to attract crowds to hear the gospel. So, here I find myself running down a highway on a closed Indian reservation passing hordes of exuberant Korean youth. Strange enough? Not quite.

Later that night as our group did our weekly cookout for participants and community members at the Catholic Mission, we get invited to go and see the cultural exhibition that this group is putting on. Intrigued, we take our participants to the back of the mission where the school gym is for the viewing. As I sit there I realize that this is a multi-cultural experience put on by only one culture group. So, again, I find myself in the most strange moment as I realize I am watching this Korean youth perform an African tribal dance with a group of mostly Lutheran (a.k.a. not the most culturally enthusiastic folk or just enthusiastic in general for that matter) participants while sitting in a Catholic Mission half filled with natives on a closed Indian Reservation. I just kept thinking of my close Asian friends and their probable thoughts on the situation had they been present for it, and I think comments may have included “F@#king Asians!”, “That’s SO Asian!”, or “We’re taking over the WORLD!” I still chuckle just thinking about it. It was just weird!

Red Lake V: Diversity in the Body

2006-07-31T21:30:00.000-06:00

There is a worship song that sings, "Take me to that place, Lord, to that secret place where I can be with you; you can make me like you! Wrap me in your arms! Wrap me in your arms! Wrap me in your arms!" I think on these words and wonder: What does it mean for me to be like you Father? How can you wrap me in your arms when I am too soaked in my own putrid filth and mire? What does it mean for me to pursue a life devoid of earthly dealings and yet full of your life giving bounty? How can I journey with my brothers and sisters on a road that is too narrow for any of us? How do we unite and proclaim a gospel of love in which I remember John's words when he says, "[...] love must not be a matter of theory or talk; it must be true love which shows itself in action. This is how we shall know that we belong in the realm of truth, and reassure ourselves in his sight where conscience condemns us; for God is greater than our conscience and knows all (REB 1 john 3.18)?

This I think is a glimpse:

As the stage vibrates with the bouncing of the chosen children who have come to serve the Red Lake community this week, I sing and drum and dance in jubilance knowing that they could not possibly know or accept the truth which God has been growing in me as of late; they too would have to journey a similar path to the one that I have walked in order to be convinced of the beauty of Christ's bride. This particular group knows what it means to worship. They have tasted the meaning of giving ones heart in ardent and joyful praise to their God, they have served in a manner fitting of the kingdom of God, and they have begun to open their minds to the love that Christ speaks of and John reminds us of. I see them here in trueness as they pour out their thanksgiving to God, not for earthly spoils and treasures, but because he has been faithful to them in their search to be humble servants of Him. These people, these kids, they are vibrant and free; they are the body of Christ.

In contrast to these who are charismatic, I find myself dwelling on the thoughts of the week previous to this one. It was then too that Jesus began to open my eyes to the vast, eclectic, and diverse nature of His body. See, it is not that the charismatic are any more sincere or ardent in their love and expression of faith, but it was that they are allowed, through the culture of their faith, to be free, open, and expressive with an exclamation of praise; they could dance; they could spin; they could scream; they could bow. But what other groups lack in expression, many times, they redact by means of genuinity, for it was the week prior to this one that I saw a group of Catholic kids, on the opposite end of the spectrum, pour themselves into the work of the kingdom in a way that I had little seen surpassed by any groups in the two summers of work in that community. And in the midst of a chaotic and expressive session of worship, I knew that these two groups, had they been coincidentally joined together on a trip, would not have been compatible in their faith expression and may even have been hostile to one another. Even still, in the vibrancy of the worship scene, I could not help but dwell on the sincerity and beauty of a hymn sung A Capella the week before by a more structured crew. It is in the depravity of cultural walls and the hostility of organized denominations that I might find disenchantment, but ever so subtly does the Father remind me of His sovereignty and His undying devotion to all who would proclaim his truth. He reminds me that I have glimpsed the notion of the earth full of His glory; though separated by qualms and brokenness, that it is by His name His children are unified; that the earth, including the sovereign nation of Red Lake, will know and does know Him by our love, not our take on Calvinism/Eucharist/ baptism/insert-secondary-issue-here.

I look on the faces of the kids that we are touching in this place, and I think on the families that we are doing work for and it is here that love as a petty appearance of words begins to lose its meaning and endows itself in the trueness of action. I fear for the decrepit aura that surrounds the future of the children that have touched my life and I know what it means to love in truth. What if the kids fall at the hands of the darkness that has engulfed their community? What if Eugene finds himself in a life of violence because of the gang culture that seems to confront him in every aspect of life? What if Jeff loses his vivacity and joy as he is swallowed up by the biting cynicism, brutality, and anger that he is attacked with daily? What if Zack, one of the most intelligent eight year olds I know, never realizes the potential of his mind because of distraction and lack of opportunity? What if the beautiful Angela finds herself tied to a man who can barely take care of himself because she bought in to the lie that her only worth is in her sexuality? What if Andrea never realizes the beauty of her smile and laugh, because she is too worried about finding her next fix of alcohol or meth? What if Flower loses herself in an addiction of eating as she deals with the abandonment of her mother and family? What if some of these families have to live the winter out in houses that lack windows and doors? How will some of them live with the shame of a house that is in shambles? What joy would be lost if the love of Christ was never known here?

--What if ...we lose? What if there is no hope? It is here, in this fear, that God reveals His faithfulness and sovereignty in His love of man as one remembers His promise to Israel, in Jeremiah, to never leave nor forsake them if they would only seek Him; as one remembers His promise to never leave or forsake us. Here, through the diversity of His body, He opens the door of realization to know what loving in truth really is. It is here that the body and bride of Christ can be unified in commonality as they raise a banner in their own lives and denominations that proclaims the end of apathy and shouts out conviction which would end the plague of darkness that sabotages the hearts of men. It is the bold and coercive doctrine of truth that would proclaim the love of Christ. It is the secret place where Catholic and charismatic, broken and healed, bold and meek, poet and priest can be with Him; can be made like Him; can be wrapped in His arms, wrapped in His arms, wrapped in His arms.

Red Lake IV: I Couldn't Make This SH#T Up!

2006-07-31T21:28:00.000-06:00

1.) See comments

2.) One day a Kids Club kid who is half Mexican and half Indian says to my Area Director “ I’m not Indian; I’m Mexican!” To which my AD promptly chuckled, and I said, “Well, its kind of true,” and I thought, “YESSSSSSS mexicans”

3.) One of the older Kids Club kids was in trouble and I happened to walk by with my kids club staff when one of the Adult leaders was chewing him out saying to the child, “So you’re telling me you didn’t just punch this other kid and say –um- blanktey-blank-blank-blank!?” Curious and surprised at the laughable censorship of the situation, both my Kids Club staff and myself turn to the kid and asked him what he said. He replied, “Um…I mean…all I said was… he was beating on my brother…so…I mean…I said ‘get off my f---ing brother you f---ing savage!” I literally almost cried trying to hold back my laughter. Don’t worry! He was reprimanded…maybe I should have been.

4.) It has become the joke around the Catholic Mission on the reservation (from the lips of Father himself) that you will wait five minutes for the indians, ten minutes for the elders, and fifteen minutes for the Youthworks! staff. On one particular occasion as I was leaving mass Father shook my hand and whispered, “We will need to get you a watch!” I shook my head and chuckled. Presently, the Indian lady behind me grabs my arm, pulls close to my ear, and whispers, “Don’t worry, his watches are slow!”

5.) It is 11:30 on Sunday morning, and my staff and I have been sitting in the back of the sanctuary mainly because we showed up about twenty minutes late for mass and we came armed with caffeinated beverages which aren’t allowed outside the fellowship hall. Anyway feeling sheepish and a little distracted by the noise and raucous of a few new children that had come to mass that day, we tried to avoid the eye contact of the Father who was presiding over the service because we knew that these combined things may have been slightly distracting and frustrating for him. Suddenly during the Eucharist celebration, a cell phone goes off continually ringing for a couple of minutes. Father seemed particularly angry at this point as he gazed out into the crowd. Finally, it stops ringing and mass continues. Afterward, we are leaving the sanctuary, and much to our great relief Father did not seem that angry with us as we shook his hand at the door, when a phone begins to ring once again with the same tone as the one in the service. With a reddened face, Father lifts up his robe revealing the lay clothes underneath, reaches into his pocket, produces a slick looking cell phone, and silences it. Shocked and stunned, my staff begins to chide him ferociously, and he replies, “But I played it off pretty good didn’t I!” – Hilarious!

Red Lake III: Strange Moments

2006-07-31T20:13:00.000-06:00

There are a few moments in life when the ridiculous seems only too familiar. These are my strange moments in this great sovereign nation.

The Mennonite Woman – As it turns out there is actually a fairly large Mennonite population in Minnesota. Who knew? Anyway, I do not actually know very much about their culture or their beliefs other than they seem “Amish-esque” (if you will excuse the strange euphemism) in appearance and practice.

They do seem a little less conservative as I have noticed that many of them actually have vehicles, deal in real money, and do things of that nature, but one can always peg them in the stores because they make all their own clothes and what not.

The strange occurrence begins one day as my Site director and I are traveling from the local store in Red Lake to return to the site, and we pass a Mennonite couple selling various fruits and things out of their car. Intrigued, I decide I would like to get out and support them. So as I approach, the woman (large and gruff in appearance) is neatly arranging baskets of raspberries.

Not particularly interested in raspberries but still not wanting to walk away empty handed, I ask her how much for the baskets. I see her large, dirty, dry, and calloused hand begin to tremble a little. She began to mumble something, and it becomes very apparent that she does not speak English very well. Also, there is something else lying dormant in her reaction; she portrays a nervousness that somehow makes it all seem extremely awkward. As my mind quickly races through the different reasons for this intensity, her husband (also large and dressed humbly in a flannel shirt, overalls, and a straw hat) lumbered from around their mid-sized truck with a barrel of squash in hand. He pauses for a moment to spy the scene, and it dawns on me that this woman, beyond her lack of English skills, is also extremely nervous to talk to a man who is not her husband.

The Husband dropps the basket and hulks his way to the merchant table. He points his bloated and worked hands at the differing sized baskets of raspberries and loudly says, “These two and half! These three and half!” I gladly hand him a five and pointed at the smaller of the two.

As I return to the car I pause and reflect about the scene that had just occurred and think, “I just bought raspberries from a polish speaking Mennonite man whose wife, being probably three times my size in (mostly likely) sheer muscle, was completely intimidated by me and had immediate cultural biases toward me, on a closed Indian reservation in the middle of a summer of intense ministry – This is weird!”

Red Lake II: The Sovereign Paradigm

2006-07-16T11:39:00.000-06:00

“When you’re on our land, you need to obey our rules!” The stern face of the police officer only reinforced the guilt and pallid face of truth of my unworthiness to serve the God I love. My head hung low that day as I knew that my stent at being a good steward with the things that God had given me had been wrongfully neglected, and that I had truly been negligent with valuable property.

There is an old myth that no one ever gets pulled over on the rez. The police there are to busy handling bigger problems (or more actually living in a strange anticipation between the more hefty things that they have to deal with such as the rise in gang activity, alcoholism, and meth busts – its only a matter of time) than speeding and traffic, but when you cut a cop off so you can pass the person in front of you because they are going the speed limit, it is pretty blatantly obvious that you are going to be pulled over. It is the worst feeling in the world when that car flips around and those lights go on, but what is worst is that as the policeman took my information I became dreadfully aware of the strange paradigm that faced both of us. Red Lakers truly do believe themselves to be a foreign country when they are on their land, and it became painfully clear, as I sat on the two lane road, that this may in fact be a much greater ordeal than would normally be expected as I treaded less than lightly on this land that was sovereign and free; I found myself sickly stricken with the realization that I had been an unruly guest in an all too alien home. If only I had been more committed to the stewardship that had been preached to me before; if only I would have not let go of my tenacious hold on integrity; I had let my self get lethargic and apathetic in that arena; I made a mistake.

I told Jesus I was sorry, and in fact, I could think of nothing more sincere in my heart at the time. The Spirit, as always, comforted me in my time of distressed, and I knew that this meeting was no accident, and that my unworthiness only revealed His worthiness all the more. The officer grilled me sternly about the rental car that I drove, but there also seemed to be surprise and awe in his interaction with me. It dawned on me then that it may not have been normal for him, beyond the roadside questioning, to have someone be so compliant with him; to have someone ready and prepared with paperwork; to have someone openly admit that he was in the wrong and so willing to accept the punishment due to him.

“Mr. DeHarte, I’m not going to write you today. We appreciate what you are doing here, but when you are on our land you have to obey our rules! The speed limit through here is _5, so please watch your speed.”

“Yes Sir. Sorry Sir” I mustered meekly as I realized the ramifications of not only my actions but also the fact that he knew who we were and what we are doing here, and that Jesus had used this opportunity to share a little of his light through his unruly servant.

Why in my darkest times does a glorious Father reveal Himself all the more fully in love? Why when I am the most obviously broken would He choose to shine all the more brightly through me? Why would He choose one no better than refuse to carry out such a grand responsibility? There are times when I am forced by the ship wreck known as my sin-nature to adore him all the more for being a flower in the middle of my garbage heap and for showing me how to do the same; that’s a convoluted way of saying I have no clear words to express His beauty.

The gospel of John tells us of a time when Jesus served His disciples by washing their feet. He tells them that to do the same, to humble themselves to the uttermost to serve, that this is the “path of blessing”. It turns out that when I try to do this that my spirit is willing but my flesh is weak—sorry.

“My God, my sacrifice is a broken spirit.”

Red Lake I : The Grate

2006-06-24T22:37:00.000-06:00

I sat as my arms moved rhythmically over the air grate. I scrubbed and scrubbed in order to cleanse it of that day’s latest conflict. This beating had been particularly bad as I remember seeing venomous hate emote from a boy who was too young to know what manhood truly was, and fearfully never would. My hand (protected by latex) worked ever so hard to cleanse the area in the gym of Red Lake Elementary school where the swarms of children would play day in and day out. Some of the blood sopped up easily, and some of it took work. I wondered on this for a moment, for though this was the last task that I was performing in this particular duty, the former being that of cleansing the boy and the whereabouts of where he had journeyed in his time of injury, I knew that the time spent was hardly enough for the blood to harden in such a way. It was then that I realized that it was not only this boy’s blood that I dutifully cleaned, but it was that of previous and equally violent confrontations. This boy’s blood mingled with that of others, and the spots were marks, prideful insignia, of the battles won (or lost) in this particular area; I realized this grate was one symbol of many of the life that was to be lead here, the life that encased these children when they weren’t dancing joyfully here at YouthWorks! Kids Club; they lived a life unknown of discipline, joy, hope, opportunity.

Later in the week I would get the chance to interact with the boy who had started the fight. He called me an asshole and promptly threw a large projectile (a rock) at the van that we had just courteously taken him home in. My heart sang the saddened song that echoes Paul’s word to Timothy proclaiming him the worst of sinners because my head battled intensely my heart’s desire to allow the flesh to rise against such ardent and blatant disrespect and violent temperament. Luckily, Christ knows the struggles of the human heart and gave me the courage to live a moment in love and peace, and again I saw his light in the wisdom he gave me through the kind words that exuded from me as I spoke friendly to a girl who had been dropped at the next stop. She had been chided by the boys for wetting herself, and in a moment of distress, Christ gave me the words of peace to speak to this child. Within minutes I realized that my spirit had entered into the extremes of battle the darkness within to releasing all inhibitions to his grace through me and seeing the fruit of love; If only at all times I could hold out my hands and scream with passion and intent the famous words of the Five Iron Frenzy Song “Here’s my heart Let it be forever yours!”.
It was in these moments I knew the true nature of the mission that God had sent me on. To see beauty in the eyes of a child of hopelessness, and to give love to a child suppressed by a desperate and violent culture. The blood on the grate revealed the struggle of a community to overcome the battles of gang life, drug addiction, lethargy, apathy, alcoholism, and decay of spirit in every way; it was that of an eight year old. Satan tempts me with the lighted cavern wall of despair and needlessness. He would have me give in to thoughts of failure and helplessness in the face of such an ardent and hard ministry, but in the light of day it is the window of the Spirit that ultimately freshens my spiritual eyesight anew and reveals the glories of His creation in a single child’s laugh; in the marked and astonishing intelligence of most four year olds; in even the small time of day that a child gets at least a little structure and love; from the experience of giving children a place of safety in a volatile community, and showing them the light of Christ if it even makes up a minute portion of their lives.

This is Red Lake. It is a darkened place, but even here the light of Christ anticipates the hearts of men and shines out in the beauty of His making.

Identity: The Gathering Nature of the Jar

2006-05-20T08:35:00.000-06:00

This truth that follows from the father is a truth that is fulfilling; it is a truth so focused on the cleansing of a people of dirt; it is a truth of universals; it is a truth of who we are in Christ; it is a truth eternal:

Recently, a friend of mine, whose talent until this point I had only known in rumor, came to a talent show and displayed a couple of the paintings she had done. In one of these pictures, she had beautifully displayed a still life of jars which were set on a table covered in white linen. Each was on a different tier of the table, and each had its own characteristic in the makeup of the perspective of the painting. One in particular I found to be of an interesting stature as it was the one jar, in a seeming array of colored pots, which was found to be whiter, blander, less decadent than the rest. This struck me to be a crazy contrast with the rest of the painting, and more still when she described the theme of the painting, which escapes me at the present, I found that I related to it in a deeper and more spiritual manner in that it seemed that this jar seemed to encompass, in its aesthetic aura, an exegetical commentary on the condition of a multitude of aspects of the life of the jar and subsequently our own.

German Philosopher Martin Heidegger, in his essay “The Thing,” actually finds in his own way a similar commentary when thinking more generally of the mere thing “a jar.” It is here that Heidegger finds the thing, and to be sure all things, to encompass in their very existence the culmination, or gathering as he puts it, of the four main things, those being earth, sky, divinities, and mortals. It is here, in the thing (Das Ding), and namely in the example of the jar as he gives in “The Thing,” that one is to find the meeting place of the dream and the reality; it is the common ground of the divine and the mortal. This, of course, is a seemingly mystical spin on what seems to be merely the application of philosophy; here Heidegger finds truth in the aesthetic existence and applicability of the thing rather than the philosophical. In this one can see that the jar, used as a sacred tool and as a mere watering vessel, finds itself in the common ground of that which is divine and that which is mundane. So too, as I pondered on it, did I find similarities in Heidegger’s discussion of the jar as the gathering of the four fold and with my friend’s painting. I began to think of the jars as they stood in existence as jars on that white and sterile environment of linen. I began to think that they were merely standing to be filled; they wait, in their very essence, to be poured into. Anything will do, and they can never truly be anything without the continual anticipation of that one thing; that perfect paradigm; that perfect possession; that perfect person; that perfect situation; that perfect anything that will make it right. There seemed to me to be this innate and continual waiting for some sort of immanent and glorious fruition essential to the existence of the jars in the painting.

Then I began to think of the one jar which lay on its side. It was obviously different than the rest because it was in an altered state, but more it seemed to be in rebellion of the rest. It struck at the normalcy and complacency that seemed to be tied to the others as they blindly and fruitlessly grabbed and groped for approval and fulfillment in an invisible and non-existent pouring out of that which is empty; there was a quirk in this jar that divided it from the rest who seemed to merely be searching in darkness for something they could not see nor find. In this there seems to be a connection to what Paul speaks of in the first and second chapters of Ephesians. Here one sees that Paul tells us in chapter two of this book that the body of believers has been raised up with and in union to Christ in the heavenly realms and we have been enthroned with him there in the heavenly places. What is more, Paul, earlier in the book, speaks of the follower’s inheritance and share offered in Christ and the assurance of who we are as children in the kingdom of God. This began to bring into clarity the fusion, at least in my mind though I am sure Heidegger would be the first to strike at this gleaning of his work, of the jar as that gathering thing of the four fold, as the obstinate figure in the painting, and as the picture of a believer in the household of God.

What does it mean to be a follower of God? What is it be that person who is not groping, wailing and biting, to find anything to fulfill that which cannot truly find any sort of lasting physical fruition? What does it mean to be poured out of the earthly and dark nature, of physical desires, instinct, and evil imagination as Paul puts it? What does it mean to be that rebellious and obstinate figure in a world full of spiritual specters? How does one find meaning with their existence in the here and now, the immediate, the realized state of the grace inflicted child?

It is in this mindset that Paul addresses his flock; it is with these struggles that one sees Paul meeting the Ephesians. Paul tells the reader, in the perfect tense of the word “saved” in Greek, that it is not that we were once saved and have marked that as the point in which the culmination of that act is found, but rather one sees that Paul is telling the Ephesians that salvation came inherently in the former realization of the grace of God but, and I feel more prominently, also in the immediate; the here and now; the immanent. It is here that salvation is realized; it is not an acted that occurred and can be forgotten about, but it the glorious fruition, the process, of being saved that is where the believer finds themselves. It is not that we were once saved and are left now to our own devices and strength to struggle on in a cold and dark world, nor is it that we are working and working to hopefully one day find that the salvation of God will fill us as we once waited for the things of the world to fill us in the same fashion. Rather, it is that Paul is telling us that it is in the here and now, it is in this moment, this reality, this realization, this struggle, this battle, this joyful expression, this unknown element of life, this quandary on the mystery of grace, this life that we lead that God has seated us in union with Christ in the heavenly realm; we need not wait to be filled by anything, for it is not that we are waiting for this event to occur but that we realize it is not that thing that fills us, strictly in terms of this metaphor of course, but it is who we are in Christ as we are now that defines us. We aren’t waiting for God to change us because He already has. We already embody the new creation.

It is not that the jar’s purpose, in the painting, is to relinquished in its rebellion to the empty earthly desires that its peers seek to bring joy, but it is that the jar finds that none of what the world has to offer is in anyway equal or as precious as the knowledge that it is in Christ. It knows who it is in Christ and in its mere acceptance of such a truth. Here one can see the relation of the Heidegger text, even if it seems to present a flawed metaphor, in that it begins to make clear the knowledge of who one is in Christ. One can see that as the jar gathers the fourfold so too must we be that vessel that finds itself in the crossroads of a broken and sinful world, and we must come to a spiritual realization that we are those who are placed, like the jar, on our side that our earthly desires may be poured and the truth of who we are might be realized; we are that which is the gathering of earth, sky, divinity, and mortal in that we are the intercessors of change for the divine in a world that is earthly and full of flesh; we are the vessel that finds itself to be stuck in the mundane struggles of a dying world and yet wonderfully full of the spirit and truth of god as we are glorified in the heavenly realms; we are that vessel in which the dream of salvation can be realized even in the continual conjoining and honing of the sin nature. With all of this one can see when Paul speaks of us in Ephesians 2 that the truth of God is shines through in that–

This truth that follows from the father is a truth that is fulfilling; it is a truth so focused on the cleansing of a people of filth; it is a truth of universals; it is a truth of who we are in Christ; it is a truth eternal.

Rag Dolls II

2006-04-26T14:20:00.000-06:00

I have a clear and distinct memory as a child of a cousin of mine who had an odd obsession with her doll (it may actually have been a blanket, but for the sake of the metaphor...). I can recall her ridiculous obsession with this thing as far back as my memory serves. She and I, at one point were close peers, mainly because her brother and I were close. Anyway, I remember once that my aunt became aware that the obsession with the doll may have actually been to an extent that it was an unhealthy one. Being a concerned parent, my aunt began a campaign in the family to help rid my cousin of her love for the rag doll. One may even describe these actions as vindictive as they caused turmoil to the point of loss and desperation on the part of my cousin. On one instance, my cousins and I were haply playing in the living room of my aunt and uncle's house, and with sudden shock I noticed that my particular cousin, the one of topic with the rag doll, had a shift in attitude. Her face moved from one of joy and child like bliss to one of extreme terror and trepidation! She then proceeded to storm the house in a vehement display of emotion and prowess. Those of us in company soon realized that my aunt had craftily stolen away the doll while my cousin was unconscious of it, but more importantly we realized what deep connection my cousin had to this thing. Her love for this ragged, snot filled, and ugly piece of cloth reached farther than its appearance and accomplishment because she loved it for what it was; she loved it because it was hers. No power, to my feebly mind, could seem to separate the love of the child and her rag doll.In my later pondering I thought on this as a grand metaphor for my own dealings with my wretchedness of being. I often come to passages in Paul where he states "If God is on our side, who can be against us?" and later:For I am convinced that there is nothing in death or life, in the realm of spirits or superhuman powers, in the world as it is or the world as it shall be, in the forces of the universe, heights or depths -- nothing in all creation that can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord (REB Rom 8.31-39).He paints this picture for us that places all things under us as that which is less valuable. He raises man to a height that is insurmountable by any other thing in creation. Has he done this to swell the pride in our heart? Hardly! Paul here, most notably but all through his doctrine, persuades the reader of the undying love of the deity; the connection between the ragdolls and their master. We are His, and by some strange phenomena, He is ours. John parallels this picture in the twentieth chapter of his gospel when he reveals a broken and second class citizen, Martha, entrenched in her own grief, who is to be the one the risen Lord is first proclaimed! Martha was no saint, pardon the pun, by any means! Scripture tells us she was the house of sevon demons when Christ came to her; she was a harlot; an outcast; a "not good enough"; a woman in first century palestine; a rag doll. And yet, it is in this picture that we see the love that Christ has for us.In our most wretched, filthy, and angst ridden humanity, He would suffer and die to a world that didn't deserve him; He would give any and all in desperation to find his missing and beloved children; his missing and beloved rag dolls. In some sense, I had to embrace this truth to find my true identity in Christ, but in no way did I find my self deserving of this action. This grace, for which the very word is all too unweighted for the manifestation of its actuality, is only that which can be bestowed; that in which we are immersed in by the loving creator not for Him as if we were the ones to attain salvation; that which is the hefty dowry for our own undying devotion.As I recall that night in which my mother rejected me, I know for certain that its validity can be found as a stepping stone for such a deeper truth than any other I could have known. I also know that in her broken state, she could never have loved me as much as I find Christ loving me, and that though this incident fanned out a myriad of situations that only confirmed my self doubt and hatred, it was not her design that ultimately lead me to a deeper and more substantial foundation in love. As I look back on it I can find only the utmost admiration for her as I remember the struggles we battled through together and the sacrifices she gave on a daily basis to prove her devotion to me. It was her words that cut so deep, but this, I come to see, is only the evidence that she too is broken; that she too is a wretched rag doll in need of a loving master. So, it seems that I, like my mother and all of humanity, am a rag doll in need of a savior to which Christ is saying: "Come! It is I who love you!"

Clarification of "Evolving Deity"

2006-04-23T13:11:00.000-06:00

It has come to my attention that I have been a little unclear with the term "Evolving Deity." My intention in using the phrase is to be as unbiased as possible in a direct and clear way of looking at the Israelite community. In general I try to use the term in a consistent way with Stephen Harris' in his book "Understanding the Bible," in which it is a term meant to designate the metamorphosis of the portrait of the Israel deity as they progress as a nation.

One notable example is in the twelfth chapter Ezekiel (12: 12-20) when the deity shifts from a community based relationship to one that is sourced on an individual basis. This distinction, and most with the "Evolving Deity", seem to go hand in hand with the shifts of political and cultural changes within the Israelite community, but no clear and distinct reason is given for this; it is solely the responsibility of the reader to interpret and infer the source of these shifts. Also, to avoid any biased and prejudiced leadings on the part of the "blogger" to the "blogee," no clear and distinct position will be taken on the blog concerning this particular issue. I appreciate the concern of those who seek first and foremost the truth, and I encourage them to continue to do so.

I will however say, to the detriment of being too transparent, that it is very possible to see this problem in the light of an "Evolving Humanity" in which it is not the deity that is evolving but the people (which could be solely of a divine revelation or not depending on the view each aspires to). This, however, raises its own complications in the way of application of an evolving society in the twenty-first century, and that may in time be an excellent blog but is too lengthy for the present.

Rag Dolls I

2006-04-12T10:28:00.000-06:00

I can recall a time, as a small child, when I knew that I was a burden. This story is related like this: when once a small child looks around at his small and meaningless world and sees that in it there is no one who loves him, he begins, and rightfully so, to doubt the worth of his existence. When one comes to realize that not only has his father deserted him and left the life to be lived in shambles but that those that would love him are the same who would be nothing but burdened by him, a sharp and stiff sword of truth impinges upon his side; he is unloved; he is undeserving of love. I once recall a time when my mother told me that her life would have been better if she had put me up for adoption. One can sneer at this comment, excuse it even, but it little changes the fact that it was stated. That evening I recall hearing the poisonous words drip from my mother fangourious lips, and as I lay on the sofa that was my make-shift bed, I began to realize what horridness my life must be. In that cramped house with my brother's room which housed rage and pubescent ferocity, my mother's room where she lay alone, lonely, and in despair, and finally my own little world of a couch which was, especially at that moment, cut off from the heart of those who were to care, I knew for certain that there could never be worth that ran and exuded from my being. I would suffer the days ridden with filth and mire which took the form of ignorance and self-angst to which all would feel the burdened weight to carry; obligation was the only ally on my side. Only by obligation of the necessity to love could any view me as worth anymore than the rubbish I believed myself to be.

The Garden Near Golgotha

2006-04-08T23:25:00.000-06:00

I have taken a keen interest in the gospel of John lately which is mainly due to the fact that my church has been going through it. However one theme seems to run through it that I had never picked up before that I find most intriguing and I will begin speech on it like this:

There sits on my desk a small pot. It is black with golden lettering, and this lettering relates the verse found in Romans 6 which says "Therefore we have been buried with Him through baptism into death in order that we too may live a new life". I thought this was cute. A novel description of a life renewed in Christ, for just as He found himself beaming from the ground in the new garb of victory, so too do we ascend with Him. Yeah totally... a pot...with dirt... a pot. This is the state my pot had been in for the last week since I received it; a subtle reminder of a truth I didn't fully grasp.

Then I stumbled upon John 19, and I noticed something curious about the narration toward the end. At a lunch meeting with my pastor this last week I made him chuckle with the description of John as the ancient minimalist. So, with this in mind, when I got to the end of chp 19 I knew something was up. John tells us that Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, the secret friends of Christ, took charge of Jesus' corpse. They prepared it for burial, wrapped it, and then, interestingly, laid it in a garden near Golgotha. I knew John wouldn't have wasted the paper or ink to tell us that he was in a garden, and the words of Jesus, with the help of some friends who I later shared this with, came ringing back to me. He said that a seed could never grow unless it first was buried and died (slight paraphrase obviously), and I began to see that this was no mere coincidence.

It was the only place, the garden that is, that was fitting for Him to be placed. It was the only venue conducive to His nature of new life. The same day that I began to wrestle with this passage, I came to my room and saw the pot. Wondering if it needed water, I peered into it and to my utter surprise there was a small sprout sticking up from the moistened soil; what once was buried and dead sprung into creation with new life and new vigor. It is only fitting that Christ was buried in the garden near Golgotha, for just as every new spring reaches forth and extracts from the ground the renewed life of creation, so too did the God of the universe embody His creation, defeat death, and burst from the ground with a heralding of triumph, victory, and honor; Christ's three day germination signaled and somehow entwined His chosen in the new life of the new season, and marked for eternity the end of despair.

I am F@#cking OLD!!!

2006-04-08T23:20:00.000-06:00

I know that i am old. How do I know this one might ask, and I would reply: I know that I am old because I have recently attended a local venue and thought to myself "Fuck! This shit is loud!!!". -- Also whatever happened to the good old days when a local show was guaranteed to have a mosh pit? What is our world coming to? travesty (sp?)!

One Sweet Link!

2006-04-08T00:20:00.000-06:00

You guys have to check this link out!!! Phenomenal!

http://www.willowcreek.com/service.asp?servid=10

my newest reading

2006-04-07T22:15:00.000-06:00

I have recently heard a talk by a man named Rob Bell who was speaking on the temptation of Christ which was extremely interesting! Maybe sometime I will comment on this talk itself, but what I found more interesting, while doing a study in I Kings, was to see the striking parallels between the journey of Christ in the wilderness and the journey of Elijah in the wilderness. Now one point that Bell made was that when a good Jewish reader saw the word "wilderness" they automatically knew that something else was going on in the text. That word would have immediately signaled a parallel to the story of the Jews in wilderness after their departure of Egypt. So when Christ goes into the wilderness one is able to see that where the Jews were unable to live up to the standards of God, Christ in victorious (sp. Mt4). Similarly, one is able to see that when Elijah goes into the wilderness, especially when he is at Mt Horeb (Sinai), I Kings 19, that this is a striking parallel not only to the Israelite story but also Christ's (or vice versa depending on how one looks at it).

Some of the parallels include the vision of stones as bread; while Christ is tempted to turn stones into bread, Elijah is given bread that has been baked on stones both of which parallel Yahweh's ability to provide water from stones as Elijah is also given a pitcher of water. Another is the way in which they are both sustained for forty days; Elijah is given food from heaven by an angel, and Christ is able to sustain himself, in a heavenly way, for the same amount of time; Elijah is visited by the God of the universe through, what Rob Bell postulates as, pure silence, and Christ after seeming silence is pushed into temptation through the word of the ultimate snake of creation; both are ministered to by angels; both go and call their first disciples directly after these experiences in the wilderness; both find their disciples doing menial labor when they are called; Elisha asks, and is granted, to wish his father goodbye, Christ's says the dead must bury the dead(Mt 8).

I have found it increasingly striking to ponder on these parallels. It is as if Elijah was the template for Christ, but that even he was the "unofficial" version, if you will, or he was the non-formal projection of what a Christ figure was to be. Later we see that Elijah, like Christ, is taken in a cloud to heaven. Is this to suggest a direct link to the two characters? How are these related, and how do these relate to the evolving view of the Hebrew deity? More still how does/should one look on this in a manner that coincides with the evolving relationship, knowledge, and cultural settings of man in his relationship with the deity? Curiouser and curiouser...

bloggy mcblogblog

2006-04-07T22:08:00.000-06:00

bloggy mcblogblog from blogsville, taking the blog train down to blog town so we can go to a blog club on blog street and get our freaky blog on!