the fool in my own heart

The fool says in his heart, 'There is no God.' 

(Psalm 14:1)

It is most unfortunate that most believers will read this line and quickly apply it to pseudo-scientific and quasi-apologetic debates regarding the existence of God. In other words, we think that this is the Bible's way of saying, See, there is indeed a divine creator of the universe, and you would be stupid to think otherwise. But really, this line of thinking misses out the point, and ends up allowing us to see the speck in the eyes of others while ignoring the plank in our own.

Through and through, scripture regards the statement 'there is no god' not as a debate over whether or not a creative force exists and wishes to make his will known to humanity, but rather as the willing rejection of that Creator. When the psalmist begins this piece with such a line he is not trying to make an ontological statement advocating monotheism; he is simply unconcerned with engaging such a discussion. Many readers have missed this because they have never allowed themselves to go beyond this opening line to see the remainder of the psalm, which speaks of the evil that is perpetuated from humanity's rejection of the will of God.

We might anticipate the more fundamentalist quick assertion on this point, But humanity's evil certainly comes from the denial of God's existence, so the first line can stand to point a denying world to such a truth. Without regard to the context of the psalm, this might have potential merit as a logical connection. But the main reading of this psalm is that it will cause us to miss the lament of the human condition that exists in all of us. When we put the opening line as a statement against the world we no longer think that it can be a statement against us ... even when it is coming hard against who we are.

When the apostle Paul was charging humanity with their rejection of God's will, he summarized in terms of wisdom and foolishness: Although they claimed to be wise, they became fools (Romans 1:22). Again, his statement is against those who chose to go against the one creator of the world by choosing to live on their own terms; for Paul, this is not a statement of God's existence, but of humanity's depravity in the face of divine wisdom.

The primary reason why getting this opening line right is because it speaks directly to the faith of the believer. I find that in my own life it is easy for me to assert the existence of God, and I simply do not need a psalm to help me achieve this. But when I understand that this opening line is connected a) to the context of foolishness being equated with rejection of God, and b) the foolish-and-rejecting-heart as the source for all sorts of evil, then I find myself at the center of conviction. For there are many ways in which I am willing to say my prayers, check off some religious obligation, but then otherwise take matters into my own hands in navigating this life. And that is not surrendering to the transformative work of the kingdom; that is not being conformed to the cross of Christ Jesus.

It has become commonplace for those in our culture to speak of very worldly behavior with the language of the kingdom. This psalm reminds us that God is looking down from heaven upon all of this, looking for those who are seeking out his wisdom. Instead, he finds an overwhelming amount of people who are corrupted, allowing themselves to be conformed to the ways of this world, replacing his truth with the twisted morality of a mangled humanity. In this willing rejection of the Creator God there is much fear and dread, because God does not dwell among such people – his presence comes to rest upon the righteous.

Although this psalm holds the weight of the world's defiance upon its shoulders, there is still the hope expressed, most notably in the final verse, that God would indeed bring his salvation according to his covenant promise. Indeed, that is the only hope that we have for humanity, for we too often choose to be foolish in the face of divine wisdom.

And so, I must ask my own heart, Why do you choose to go against the one who loves you most? Why do you choose your own attempts at autonomy when the Sovereign Creator of heaven and earth calls your name?

the pure in heart

Jesus was known to bless certain character traits that we typically don't value in our world. Some say he was turning the world on its head, or offering a new perspective on God, or perhaps providing promised rewards to those who can follow the path. It all comes down to that word – blessed. We so often dilute its power into something like happiness or self-satisfaction, neither of which are particularly part of the human experience of blessedness. At least, they are often absent from heaven's understanding of being blessed.

There is something more than becoming contented in the words of Jesus, which is why those who experience the depths of life can find even more depth in his words. This is true even when we run out of human understanding and are forced to think of something beyond ourselves. When we consider the teachings of Jesus we must be prepared to wrestle with things that we simply aren't ready to experience yet. Thus, while we may wonder at his words, we can so quickly ignore his calling as we don't know what to do with ourselves when we meet them face-to-face.

But then there are those among us who seem to grab hold of these blessed traits, and who embody the very essence of what Jesus was describing. Perhaps one of the most challenging is that he spoke of those who are pure in heart.

If you have ever known someone who can be aptly described as pure in heart then you probably have spent a good deal of that relationship shaking your head, either in bewilderment or laughter (or maybe both). For a good many years my wife and I have known someone who we have thought of in this way, which has left us with many good stories. It has been in the last six years that I have come to realize that there is one living in my house, and there is something special there indeed.

One of the problems with those who are naturally pure in heart is that they are frequently misunderstood by the world around them. They can be more than carefree, even to the point of impulsive and reckless. They make other people nervous, and often appear as though they are haphazardly meandering through life. While I cannot speak in absolutes in any direction here, I am convinced that there is something quite different happening beyond these outward appearances.

The pure in heart can be socially clumsy, not because they are unaware of their surroundings, but because they are willing to speak words that convey truth without embarrassment. They will speak of themselves and their thoughts on life, and they will describe others all with an openness and honesty that can brink about a smile or a raised eyebrow. Those who are pure in heart do not evaluate relationships on their ability to manipulate them for maximum benefit. They see people as people and are genuinely interested in others – and speaking truth is part of being a friend, right?

The pure in heart can show signs of reckless abandon, not because they are ignorant of the future, but because they are too busy living in the present. While others may think of the pure in heart as having no realistic grasp of planning for tomorrow, or how today's messes will ever get cleaned up, these pure souls lose neither sleeping nor waking hours on the problems of tomorrow. They are not naive, but rather show us what it means to trust that God will clothe and feed his children, because he has done so for the flowers and the sparrows.

The pure in heart might also be accused of being ignorant when it comes to evil and tragedy in this world. Based on my experience alone, I can assure you that this is not the case. Those who are pure in heart, with their often-worryless demeanor, can appear carefree in regards to life's challenges – even when they are facing them head on. But, and here is one of the most important points known the pure in heart, their trust in God gives them a peace that it truly beyond human understanding. These are the ones who express confidence in the providence of God, both present and future.

And so Jesus refers to those who are pure in heart as blessed, and he promises that they will see God. For most of my life I figured that this was a future-oriented condition given to those who will be able to purify their lives in the gospel. Yet those who are more naturally inclined to be pure in heart show us something quite important for our understanding of the kingdom of heaven: those who are pure in heart – who appear to be naive and out-of-touch by the standards of this world – see God on a daily basis, experiencing his lovingkindness and peace every step of the way. They are often challenged and left hurting, for their pure hearts are often trampled on by those of us who are still convinced that we must use our own cunning and conniving as part of the formula for being a part of God's kingdom. Nevertheless, their pain will not linger for long, for their vision of God will carry them into the next moment, where his healing will be sufficient.

Jesus spoke of those who are pure in heart as being blessed for their participation in the kingdom of heaven. Not many of us have this natural inclination to a pure heart, and so we must work together with the Spirit of God to be transformed into this likeness. But rather than relegating this characteristic to the back-burner of a nice-but-not-realistic-idea that will be given a happy-ending-in-heaven, we might look at those few who show us today what it means to see God every day of this life. And we might discover the powerful challenge of being blessed with a pure heart.

worship in observance

So that I might not be misunderstood, let me say at the outright that I believe worship is a living sacrifice, and that discipleship is an endeavor of active participation.  The comments that follow are not to discourage either of these notions.  Simply stated, I have increasingly come to realize that there is more to our worship than the things that we are doing - saying, singing, swaying.  There are moments that come to us, in some seasons frequently and at other times sparingly, when we have an opportunity to embrace a true worship of our Creator simply because we were aware of the moment.

If you have come to this you have undoubtedly felt an overwhelming presence - a warming of the heart, perhaps - in which an experience became more than the sum of its parts.  A recent moment for me was watching my seven-year-old at her school's spring concert-show.  Watching her, along with other children sing and dance for the joy of doing so - and since this is a Christian school, they were songs of praise - ushered in a moment where I felt as though I was truly thankful and blessed.  I think this comes to us more as we learn how to soak up life more than speed through life, as we learn to treasure more than we check off one experience to start searching for the next.  There is wisdom and beauty in this, for it is a life that is increasingly open to the still small voice of the presence.

Added to this, I have noticed for some time that I am touched when I watch congregations of people worship.  Perhaps some of this is from my experience of being one of the 'up-front' people for much of my church life, as part of the music or pastoral ministries.  There is a joy and an awe that most people never experience - one that I consider a blessing to myself - which is watching the Spirit of God move within a body of believers who together are watching heavenward.  And there is worship in the observance, if we have eyes to see and ears to hears what the Spirit is saying to his own.

I have not spoken in tongues, and my worship is seldom a charismatic experience, in the common use of the word.  But I have heard the voice of heaven speak in my heart and have been moved the very real presence of the living God through the stillness of my heart when I am not so much caught up in the responsibilities of worship as the watchfulness of the moving Spirit.  I do not discount these other endeavors, but seek only to encourage those who seek God to become still and expectant of these moments that take us far beyond ourselves and into his presence.  He will not force us to pause over them, for that is not his way.  But we will be utterly transformed if we allow ourselves to linger in that presence for its few fleeting moments, tasting and seeing.

on the importance of why

This coming week I have a little girl who is turning three years old.  She is the middle of three children, and her development is full of those things that make three year olds the fascinating little people that they are.  If birthdays give time to pause about one's own life, I have found that the birthdays of my children are even greater opportunity for reflection.

As I consider where my daughter is in life, it is noticeable that she is entering into that phase where "Why?" seems to follow most any information she receives.  Until we reach the Why Stage, we simply accept the world for what it is and how it is presented to us.  It is a marvelous world and, as Rich Mullins once penned: There's so much beauty around us, but just two eyes to see . . . But everywhere I go, I'm looking.  That is the wonderful discovery that shapes the life of a child.

Now, if we are to believe that Jesus called us to be as children (which I do), and that our greatest failure comes from being unwilling to be what we were made to be (which it is), then there is a valuable spiritual lesson for us in the three-year-old experience.  When we embark on a spiritual journey we simply accept this new world as it is presented to us.  There might be things that we do not necessarily like, but in our naiveté we simply take it for what it's worth and figure it will all work out in the end.  The same is true when we join along in the gospel narrative.

But there comes a time - there must come a time - when we leave the acceptance stage and enter into a Why Stage.  This is for our own good, even if it is riddled with doubt and failure.  When a three-year-old challenges her world, it doesn't mean that she is rejecting her reality . . . she is discovering boundaries, and reasons - and fulfilling the sense of wonder that was sparked within by her Creator.  Why would we assume that the process of faith would be any less fascinating?  Or, Why would we ever accept the notion that the process of faith was less fascinating?

This is not simply for new believers, for if we are to become as children (in that childlike way, not a childish one), then the newness of his mercies every morning will always be present for us to experience.  Most of the reason why we are unwilling to entertain our spiritual Why Stages is that the church has too often become afraid of asking questions, exploring and pushing the boundaries of the faith.  Ask people who have raised concerns, who have had doubt, who have pushed against the accepted doctrines of the church.  (And I'm not just talking about Galileo or Open Theists or Theistic Evolutionists - this happens everyday, all around the church.)

Yet, the Why Stage is vital for growing and maturing in the Spirit, wisdom and stature.  What is more, I believe that part of Jesus' words were to get us to understand how the divine spark of the Creator is what makes us explore the world, search for truth, and yearn for freedom.

too safe

Freedom entails risk. This is the starting point of a good amount of theology, for it sets the context of the divine-human relationship. The human heart yearns to be free, and will embrace any risk to attain it.

Interestingly, I recently read an article about a scientific study regarding playgrounds. The research presented seems to indicate a rather fascinating phenomenon: playgrounds that are too safe may stunt emotional development in the individual. "Children need to encounter risks and overcome fears on the playground," according to Norwegian psychologist Ellen Sandseter. The article goes on to cite six categories of risky play: "exploring heights, experiencing high speed, handling dangerous tools, being near dangerous elements (like water or fire), rough-and-tumble play (like wrestling), and wandering alone away from adult supervision."

Children learn to navigate risks at a progressive rate - climbing higher and higher over time - as proper development of life. And the more we learn about life, the more we learn about life. Examining creation reveals the Creator. Here we learn that the proper development of a free creature means encountering (and overcoming) risk. So why is one of our most sought-after desires in life to be safe?

Remember what Mr. Beaver taught us about Aslan: "Safe? . . . don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you."

Here's what psychologists are saying about the undeveloped experiences with risk in children: "Paradoxically, we posit that our fear of children being harmed by mostly harmless injuries may result in more fearful children and increased levels of psychopathology." In a very real sense, our fear of short-term physical cuts and bruises damages much more than that by making long-term damage of psychological, emotional and spiritual selfs. The context in which the human was placed - to serve, to learn, to grow, to govern - is a world of risk and danger. Some of this is too much - physical and otherwise - and so we must be safeguarded from certain hazards. But the rest is known as life, and we continually search to be free and to discover that life more abundant that we have tasted and follow as a promise.

Thus we are filled with a sense wonder for what is out there. We want to explore, to discover purpose, to fulfill destiny. This is not because we have been conditioned by any particular configuration of playgrounds, but more so that we have been created with that drive in our core. This desire will ultimately play out differently for each of us, but stems from the same spark of creativity which the Giver has placed within the human heart. And it explains why mom used to say, "You'll never know unless you try."

belonging to such as these

At our church we are in the middle of our VBS week, a time full of activity and fun and (eventually) exhaustion.

Teaching children is interesting. It takes more animation and a different way of explaining, but in the end the truths of the Word are still the same. Also, it is a great experience to see a number of church folks come together on a common project.

While in the middle of teaching some of the younger children about The Unforgiving Servant, making my best attempt at explaining what forgiveness is, I noticed the look in their eyes. It was as though they were encountering gospel and God's love for the first time. Perhaps they were. They were engaged and interested and intrigued.

I think that you can tell who the children are even when their physical ages do not correspond. The children of the kingdom are those who are not concerned with the ordinary minutia of a singular conception of church, but are captivated by the weird and radical excitement of following Jesus. It is hard to envision returning to the meetings, mediations and mess of 'big church' when our week-long emphasis on children's ministry has come to a close.

Jesus said that the kingdom would belong those who were like children, those who are totally engaged and excited by this gospel. Is it any wonder? When the singular focus of the church is on Jesus and his kingdom - what today is being termed missional - the junk of our own lives no longer has room within the community. But when we lose the childlike wonder of our faith we slip into a life devoted to seeking out our own wants and desires.

No, it will never be 'perfect' as we go along. But it will be markedly distinct from the rest of the world, unlike much of what we spend 'full-time ministry' trying to do.

at a loss for words

. . . and yet I still have so much that I think I need to say. That seems to be the nature of emptiness, we need to fill the space with words. The words don't always need to make sense, because it is noise that we think we need. How appropriate that this should come during a season of Lent, that I must be forced to choose between the hideous notion of trite and random thoughts and the meditative quiet of passing time, where I might just be able to snag one brief listen of the still small voice.

Words reinforce, reproach, remove. Thoughts, however, have the ability to redirect and renew. Perhaps it is because we are people who are more than the sum of our body parts, we are minds that think and we are spirits which connect. Time given to reflection during life's poignant moments is a fast in itself, and the deflection of clamoring can stop the recess of a person into the fallen and give opportunity for the Spirit to raise up.

This, of course, is why the world is so loud. The primary function of those things which are non-kingdom is to keep us from being about our king's business. And if the noise drags us downward, and we are caught up in the noise then we are not being part of this kingdom. So, we are called to be empty of ourselves and of our world; completely emptied and without any words at our disposal, a loss of great magnitude. More than that, it is a loss of eternal significance. Being emptied of the world and not even being able to find our words - for, so great is our depravity - is the only way to hear the deafening silence of his intensely pure presence.

Such is the only path to becoming filled. But not filled with more words or noise or stuff of the earth. It is instead the filling of his life and his love, his breath and his bread, his wisdom and his word. There is hurt in noise, for so often we allow the most untamed part of us to reek havoc on persons, relationships, families and churches. There is healing - most importantly, there is peace - in the still small voice. So, let us always remember the words of Qohelet.

. . . a time to be silent and a time to speak . . .

the whisper of a prayer

One of the joys that I have found with raising a two-year-old is that she is learning how to pray - to become more consciously aware of God and interact with him. About a year ago we started teaching her to say the Jesus Creed, and it was both adorable and profound at the same time. Now I am finding that with our bedtime prayers, they are sometimes funny, sometimes off-target, sometimes a bit of stalling, but always an open and frank discussion between a child and her heavenly Father.

It has emerged over the course of the past year or so, when it became increasingly difficult for my wife to be able to lay my daughter down without it ending in a long-and-drawn-out battle. So it became largely my responsibility to 'close the deal' and get our daughter to lay down for the night (after a good share of nightly routine with both Mommy and Daddy). And at one point I remember telling her that we were going to 'talk to God' before we go to sleep, and then I would pray over her. And then sometime later on she looked at me and said: 'I want to pray!' So, now we both have our time of talking to God before she drifts to sleep.

These prayers started off as a simple, "God you are good. Amen.'

They stayed that way for quite some time, but lately have been expanding to more conversational prayers. Only once have I been concerned that she was getting away from point, but her prayers can now include a recap of her day, a back-and-forth conversation (Thank you, Jesus . . . You're welcome, Jesus . . .), to a very quick mumble of something before Amen. What is totally consistent is the honesty of a child, who is happy to be in her Father's arms.

And again I am profoundly reminded why we might have been summoned to a childlike faith. Not that we need to be less mature, but that we need to grow young in our faith - undoing the callousness of our hearts and stripping away the layers of cynicism from our spirits. Perhaps our most profound spirituality will come in that single moment when we can talk to God as openly and honestly as this little girl. It isn't about the poetry of our prayers, the crafting of our doctrines, or the systemization of our theology - those things are for Pharisees. It is about saying what is on our hearts and allowing our spirits to connect with his.

Rich Mullins penned: there is this silence in the badlands, and over Kansas the whole universe was stilled . . . by the whisper of prayer

divine discontentment

A few weeks ago our house was blessed with the birth of our second daughter. She is beautiful and everything appears to be fine, except for a few bumps in the road regarding a weak stomach (common in many infants). We are told that she will get through this, have been given some medicine to help her along the way, and that in the meantime we will have to do our best when she is dealing with some discomfort.

For the most part, she does really well and is good-natured. Content. However, yesterday was a bit difficult around here as she spent all day struggling to be comfortable and find rest. Discontent. This is the inevitable place where parents of infants find themselves. How often is unique to each family. Despite our attempts to comfort our daughter it was clear that something was not right, and she was willing to be the only one to recognize it if necessary. Ignoring our repeated whispers, "Everything's o.k." and patting and rocking and walking, walking, walking, this little girl refused to be comforted. Until morning. When everything came back to normal and she was released from the pain.

And so I am again reminded that you never have to look very far to find glimpses of the divine. Here is a little girl who is refusing to be comforted because she is the only one who truly realizes the situation at hand. She is an apt metaphor for those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, and who refuse to be comforted by anything but their realization. Until then the pain and discomfort of this world cannot be covered up by whispers of good cheer. In her tiny plight I hear the echoes of an ancient faith:

"A voice is heard in Ramah,

mourning and great weeping,

Rachel weeping for her children

and refusing to be comforted,

because they are no more."

Jeremiah 31:15

Rachel refused to be comforted because she knew that there was something wrong with the world. Her pain was deep and her discomfort ripped her apart from within. These words envisage the many who came to wish her well and to let her know that everything would be alright. But she would not accept it, because her heart and soul and mind were wise beyond the conventional words of the world. Rachel wept for the children of Israel who were killed in the face of the covenant promise of God that this people would be his vehicle for bringing salvation to the world.

It is no wonder that we have been summoned to a childlike faith in the midst of a grown-up world. Because these are the ones who understand the world most, and who are willing to voice their wisdom in the face of those who say otherwise. It is all too sad that the church has more often listened to the voices which say little of the mourning which has burdened God's heart over the state of his creation to embrace a message of escapism and happiness. Forgetting that we have grown old we must embrace the faith which refuses to find contentment in this world.

St Augustine: "Our hearts are restless, until they rest in thee."