Creating a New Environment

I have always been comforted by the law of conservation of masses, that matter or energy can neither be created or destroyed.  It has been the supporting theory behind my idea that saying or doing something, no-matter how big or small, always has influence.
I was reading the conversation thread on a friend's blog a couple of weeks ago and the discussion ended up down the trail of some heavy and somewhat discouraging  stuff.  A comment was made that though rivers, creeks and streams rush toward the ocean full of fresh oxygen and life, that freshness at some point hits a huge body of salt water and is overcome...lost, if you will, in a swirling depth of darkness.  Though this metaphor of converging water types was being used for a couple of different concepts, I was reading the post as if fresh water was to portray the sacrificial love of a healthy Christian culture and salt water to represent the rest of the world living in greed and spiritual poverty.  (Spiritual poverty is a topic I will touch on in the near future.)  When my mind's eye took on the image of a river of fresh water encountering a giant sea of crashing waves I got discouraged as well.  At first I thought, "really God, that's it?", and then almost immediately a new picture came in. 
Imagine that you are looking at a picture of a river meeting an ocean.  The bay is wide but hardly protective of the breakers that crash insistently on the nearby shore.  The weather is ominous but there is a break in the clouds.  You notice light pushing its way through and shining down on a small piece of the colliding water. It makes the surface sparkle.  The brightness radiates and shines a path of illumination down through the water so that suddenly you notice something; there is something down there.  You creep closer in to this little section of water and squint to see down into the little pool to see a crab, anemones, and starfish- color and vibrancy and life!  But how could this be?  Here in this atmosphere where two powerful forces are colliding into each other, it seems that one is lost, but really something new has been formed.  In the meeting of fresh water and salt water you find an estuary.
Estuaries are one of the most biologically diverse and productive ecosystems on earth.  They produce more plant life than any other habitat.  In an atmosphere where it seems that something fresh and new pure is being lost in the grandiosity of something else, we find that a whole new garden of life has been cultivated.  Pieces of the small and the pure meet with pieces of the vast and the grand, and together they create a climate that is all its own and incredibly productive.
Let's take our fresh water to the sea and create estuaries.

 

What's in a name?

As you might have noticed, I just changed the name of my blog.  Move, tell, serve, and love are the four key principles that guide my Christian walk, but they also tell the story of a spiritual relationship with God that looked and felt different a year ago when I started blogging.  Whenever I think of God's Spirit, the future of the Church, and the future of God's people I am reminded of John 3:8. "The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit."

I was reading a friend's blog recently and got to really thinking about metaphor.  Metaphor can be visually important, substantively useful, and theoretically viable.  Metaphor can also be dangerous.  Last night I was talking with a friend from my church family and we got to talking about an open mind as a "blank slate".  On the topic of "noise" (we had just watched a video by Rob Bell) we were talking about having a meditative or contemplative spirit when preparing to hear the voice of God.  Unfortunately, confusing metaphor got us hung up on what it means to be a blank slate and so instead of having productive conversation we ended up having a brief argument (lovingly) over a point we actually both agreed on but were framing differently because of the way we interpreted the metaphor.  This is somewhat troubling to me.

At the same time, I think metaphor can speak into our lives in a beautiful and transforming way.  This is why I decided on the name change.  I think the wind carrying the essence of the Spirit is something we can all agree on and understand.  The Wind is always moving, always refreshing.  It changes the tides and dictates the weather.  Sometimes it toys with us delicately, like the collar of a shirt playing at the back of our neck.  Other times it tears the roof from a house and displaces the furniture.  I've experienced both and all of these things in relation to God- I think we all have.

So happy Spring everyone, and make sure to enjoy the wind. :)

Idle Hands

I'm looking at my hands right now; they convey a lot about me. They have paint on them from a recent project, my nails are pretty much bitten all the way down, and they are typing. From these signs you can likely conclude that I am creative, I can't sit still, and I love to communicate. I wonder at what we can learn from studying people's hands.

Do a quick search of Mother Teresa and look at her hands. They are tired, worn, weathered. They are hands that have given and loved. Mother Teresa's hands mean sacrifice.

The cellist, Yo Yo Ma has hands that are strong and elegant from years of careful practice and dedication. His hands convey beauty and passion.

The movement of our hands convey messages that are just as strong. In looking at pictures of Martin Luther King Jr. his hands are always speaking for him. They are open and lifted, emphatically gesturing in ways that convey the passion of his message. Martin Luther King's hands show us hope.

We posture our hands in certain ways when we worship. Some raise their hands when singing God's praise. When we pray, we often fold our hands and bring them close to our bodies. What are we saying? What are our hands telling God? Most importantly, what do I want my hands to be saying about me?

In the book of Matthew it says that Jesus was leaving Jericho and came across two blind men. Matthew 20:32-34 says that "Jesus stood still and called them, saying, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ They said to him, ‘Lord, let our eyes be opened.’ Moved with compassion, Jesus touched their eyes. Immediately they regained their sight and followed him." I don't necessarily need to have hands that heal; God may never give me that gift. What I want though is a heart that is willing to use my hands for His purpose. Open hands, willing hands. May they be paint-stained with short nails, that doesn't matter much. As long as at the end of my life they have been used then I will be proud to call them mine, for they will truly have been my Father's.

For the Birds

I love word play, and my reflections on prayer recently led me to find an earthy metaphor for prayer. God gave me a vision of a bird, and then that vision turned into many different visions of birds. And this is what God showed me.

I sometimes wonder if I have lost a piece of my faith. I have seen enough pain and suffering to know that God's will does not always happen on earth- if it were God's will be would not be in a fallen world but all Christians would be taking part in its redemption. In my anger and weariness I often wonder what is the use in praying for certain things, and then he reminds me that I am an instrument of his peace. I am called, like every Christian, to work alongside of the Lord to usher in the Kingdom. I wait with God as I watch for this to happen, and sometimes I see glimmers of justice and righteousness falling on the earth just like that first red-breasted robin that comes into my yard to start picking at the worms when spring hasn't yet arrived. "It's just around the corner" God says. "Watch with me; work with me". And so my prayers arrive answered like that first bird of spring.

Some of my prayers- the prayers that resonate with the poor and the marginalized and the suffering- sit like birds in a tree. I can see them fluttering over my head in this grand old tree somewhere between me and God. I am watching them, and I know God is watching them too, but they're not ready to fly yet. Tears still fall; hearts still break. But the reminder is there so that I continue to pray and continue to show mercy and compassion. The prayers that seem to linger above my head are the ones that God holds there so that that I don't forget my call. And then I look up and I see that my prayers are the birds, singing in the tree and enjoying each other- they are working together. They are not alone.

My prayers are also small, but so is the sparrow. If the sparrow lives within the care and the will of the Father, then I too shall live.

Matthew 10:29-31