re:think: resurrection

After talking to my best friend about what I experienced yesterday, I'm remembering that although I was struck by the darkness that I felt and saw yesterday, there were glimmers of light.

Like the woman with the side ponytail, carrying flowers, who waited until I noticed that she was looking at me. When our eyes met, she winked and flashed a big, toothless smile. Whether it was a private game she played with people, or if it was just for me, her smile was very contagious, and it was effective enough to spread a smile on what had been a somber face.

Or the older gentleman with stringy grey hair, carrying 2 cartons of eggs in one hand, and waving at me with the other. He seemed lonely, in need of some acknowledgment, but doubtful that he would get a response to his gesture. I think that the returned wave meant more to him than it did for me. We truly are relational creatures.

Even the lady wearing a bandana and oversized basketball clothes. She was trying to sell me her rollerblades, and asking where she might find a charger for the phone in her possession. At least, the phone that she thought she had. We had a laugh as she searched through dozens of pockets until, finally, she found it.

I need these moments so that I can see the humanity that is just below the surface of the dark and lonely people all around me. I need a glimmer of hope to remind me that there is a son underneath the pig slop, a daughter behind the demonic voice.

Every now and then, hope surfaces from the wreckage. The appearance of new life in the midst of death, wherever it may occur, is a sign that God's Spirit is still at work, transforming the groaning creation and moving it toward the completion of God's purpose in Christ.*

The prophet's job is to perceive those signs; to say, 'Look!' and to continue to encourage others to lift their eyes to the horizon, to keep their lamps lit during the long wait for the Bridegroom.

The Christian life is a restless life. We are restless for the new work of creation and redemption to be done. The restless hope is an exercise of our human freedom, vision, and creativity. We have to see the new world, hoping and doing our best to realize it in the shell of the old one.

This is a life that does not simply empathize with suffering. Our tears lead to action. We have to persevere, dig in, and do the hard work of loving service.

But we aren't utopian; we can't bring the new world out of mere effort. We live and act in a way that demonstrates our hope that the tomb is empty, that the Kingdom of God is at hand.

While it's never arrogant, our hope as Christians is confident in the coming victory of God, that Christ is the Lord of the past, present, and future. We discern the signs around us; watching for the brief smile in the window, for the flower to break through the concrete, for the morning star to rise in the sky, and in our hearts.

I think I need a tattoo so that I don't forget.

But first, I'm going to watch 'Batman Begins.'

*Faith Seeking Understanding, pg. 135

re:think: east hastings

Today was a first for me.

I had never seen someone shoot up before. It's one of those things that I've always been protected and insulated from.

I went to go visit my friend Brittany at the coffee shop where she works. It's right in the middle of the East Hastings district, which is the crime-ridden part of downtown Vancouver.

It wasn't exactly the safest walk from the bus stop to the coffee shop. And then, upon arrival at the coffee shop, my brilliant plan was to complete some of my Theology class reading on 'The Person and Work of Jesus Christ,' as well as 'Providence.'

It was a little difficult to keep my eyes on the book, when just out the window, junkies and homeless people are stumbling across the streets. Fighting, scratching, limping, wandering. In art, they say that the 'area of greatest complication' is what will draw your eye. So naturally, in the war for my attention, the window was beating the book without a contest.

I had brought my lunch with me. I was glad that I had already finished my PB&J on the bus, because I wasn't really hungry at the moment. I don't know if it was because I didn't feel safe, or because the poverty around me was giving me a knot in my stomach. Probably a little bit of both, and then some.

I still managed to eat a little bit; but mostly out of nervousness. I kid you not, as I'm eating my tortilla chips and some grapes, a voice in my head keeps on repeating, 'This is my body, broken for you. This is my blood, shed for you.'

I managed to finish the chapter at a snail's pace, and then it was time for Brittany to close up shop. I waited for her outside the side street exit, and decided to sit on the steps and smoke my pipe. It had been awhile since I had smoked it, and I guess it's supposed to relax you or something - I just do it cause it makes me feel like Sherlock Holmes.

I passed a teenage girl in the exit and sat down a few feet from where she was standing. At first, I thought she was trying to get in where I had just come out. But, in fact, she was looking at herself in the reflection. Well, looking at her neck more precisely. She was trying to find a target for the drug needle she had in her hand. She eventually found her mark; all the while, I'm trying not to stare too obviously.

If she wasn't so intent on what she was doing, she probably would have noticed that I couldn't light my pipe because I was striking match after match, but failing to light my pipe because I couldn't stop looking at her.

My hands were shaking at this point. I hate needles, and whatever red liquid was being injected into her veins looked evil and menacing.

After her neck, I thought she was done, but she had four more needles to inject into her arm. She bled occasionally on her fur boots, and the fresh wounds on her arm started to swell like large mosquito bites. I finally got my pipe to light and puffed it furiously.

I guess I felt like a good Christian evangelist would say something at this point. But I had nothing. Plus, I wondered if I would be sending a mixed message with the pipe in my mouth.

After a lady wearing oversized basketball clothes and a bandana tried to sell me her rollerblades, I started to walk toward the bus. My books in my bag had become quite burdensome. All of my theological training felt useless.

I don't have much more to say about all of this, I only have questions:

Where are her parents? Does she hate herself? Where will she sleep tonight? Am I any different, even if my sins are more secret? In the face of this kind of darkness and evil, is there anything to do or say? Do I have hope to give, hope that others would want? What is my role in all of this? What is the kingdom to come, and what is the kingdom now?

Only a few of the things on my mind for the bus ride home.

re:think: mystery

Dolphins are scary.

I didn't always think so, but that was before I saw them in the wild.

It was years ago now, but my family and I accidently discovered a pod of dolphins in Hawaii.

The giveaway was the tour boat and the sign onshore that said, 'Do not harass the marine mammals.'

'Marine mammals?!' we said, 'there's dolphins out there!'

We swam out as quickly as we could, and after about 100 yards, we were surrounded by them.

Some would slowly breach the surface, others were several feet below us. You could hear them calling out to each other underwater. Through my snorkel mask, it all seemed quite amazing. Until I looked deeper.

Only a few feet past the dolphins, the clear blue Hawaii water had turned to deepest black. I tucked my feet in, but it was too late. I now realized that, in our excitement, we had brought nothing to float with. If something happened to me, and I began to sink, no one would ever find me. The ocean had turned very cold for me.

I was no longer glad to be next to the dolphins. In fact, they began to take on a very eerie quality. Their cheerful song now became quite haunting. As they breached the surface, I kept checking underwater to confirm that they were not, in fact, sharks.

My family continued to tread water around me. 'Isn't this great?' I said. They all confirmed their excitement. But I was secretly terrified, and I wanted to go back to the shore.

The same thing happened for Peter at the Mount of Transfiguration. Without warning, his rabbi had turned lightning-white. The great Jewish heroes of old, Moses and Elijah, appeared and began to talk to Jesus.

'Isn't this great?' Peter said.

(Actually, he said it a little differently, but if you read the story, it's pretty much the same thing.)

'Isn't this great?' Peter said, 'We should put up three tents for you guys. You guys like camping?'

The Scriptures tell us, parenthetically, that Peter had no idea what he was talking about because he was freaked out of his mind.

Then a dark cloud surrounded everyone and there came a voice that said, 'Jesus is my son. Listen up!'

The cloud lifted.

Moses and Elijah were gone.

Only Jesus and Peter's goosebumps remained.

God confirmed to my own heart that these next two weeks of studying theology would be a time for me to step into the deep water and the dark cloud. I don't like the dark; when I don't know what's near me, I don't know how to control the situation.

I really like to be in control.

I think Peter did too. His first reaction was to put up a tent and shield himself from the glory that surrounded him. God had broken out of the God-box in Peter's mind, and Peter felt that all was not as it should be.

There's a kind of Biblical study called 'negative theology.' It's something more familiar in the East then in the West. But basically, it follows the logic that God is too grand to be known to our tiny minds. We cannot know what he is; the only thing that can be known is what he is not.

I'm getting more comfortable with approaching God in this way.

I wouldn't swim back out into the dark water if I had not been summoned. I would not step into the dark cloud if I had not been called. But God has confirmed to my heart that I must now find him in places where I have not looked for him before. There are boxes in my mind that he must break.

I'm also getting more comfortable with the thought that I will never have a full grasp on God.

That's the thing about dark clouds, really. There's nothing to grab, and there's nothing to see. All that you know is that you are surrounded by mystery. This is the wonder that should lead us to worship.

Though I'll never know everything, I can know enough. The God who dwells in darkness has revealed himself through his Son, Jesus Christ. He is illuminated and approachable. I can know God when I know Jesus Christ. And even when all around me is scary and confusing, he remains there with me - on the mountaintop, and in the valley below.

re:think: blogging

hey all,

for the next few months, my blogging energies will be focused on the new series of teachings at the church I attend, Cornerstone Fellowship.

you can read the blog entries here.

[ peace ]

andy

re:think: bored

Sometimes, I get a little worried if the Bible starts to bore me. Especially, if something else starts to take its place.

Like the DVD of MuteMath's live performance, or 'The Two Towers - the Lord of the Rings.' How is it that a song or story can hold me captive?

Something that is inexplicably powerful happens when you combine words and music, story and film.

That one riff and chorus, that certain exchange between the two characters speaks to a deep place inside of me, and strangely, it's all I need to remember that there is a God.

Music and film are completely arbitrary, why would evolution bring about beauty? I don't need art in order to survive, or do I? Humans have been putting an image to the invisible since the very beginning. We're driven mad by the invisible qualities of the Everlasting God, and we have to tell a story that pays homage to The Story — His Story.

And so I read in The Story, 'since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might destroy him who holds the power of death — that is, the devil — and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death.' (Hebrews 2:14-15)

This is the Beautiful News that speaks to our hearts. Whether we know it or not, we are drawn to the stories that tell a part of The Story. We understand their heroes and villains, and their struggle is our own, because we are also struggling in the visible and invisible world around us. And we'll tell these tales to the end of time because we long to see the Son of Man, in whom all our stories hold together.

re:think: gratitude

El Camino de Santiago de Compostela, or the Way of St. James, is an ancient pilgrimage route that I've just added to my to-do list, which continues to grow.

I love getting things stamped. It signifies some accomplished feat, and the Way of St. James has a special Pilgrim's passport, called a credencial, that gets stamped to mark your progress along the way. At your final destination, the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, your journey is read aloud to the congregation at the noon mass after you have received your compostela, which is a certificate of accomplishment given to pilgrims for completing the way.

But not all parishioners have to come to Compostela via the pilgrim's way. There are plenty of plush hotels and restaurants along the way for those who want to make the journey in a sampler platter fashion. If you have the means and the desire, you can make the journey with the greatest of ease.

It is because of this that the pilgrims have a saying, 'Tourists demand, Pilgrims give thanks.'

This makes me think about the last time I flew somewhere. At the end of my journey, the entire flight crew waited at the doorway and thanked me for the flight.

Thanked me. Because I did so much to get us to Seattle. After all, someone has to read this magazine and eat this meal. Who else will you serve if I'm not here? You need me. I pay your salary.

The airlines are a service business, and so they have the very best customer service in mind. The customers come from a culture of entitlement, which says, 'If I have it, I obviously deserve it because of my hard work, good looks, education, etc.' If they want to stay in business, the airlines has to cater to this sense of entitlement.

But who really should be doing the thanking? While the ground crew was handling my luggage, the pilot and navigator were flying the plane, the tower was guiding the plane, the crew was hard at work serving everyone aboard, I was sitting on my butt.

'No, no, no. Thank you. Because you see, I did nothing but receive.'

On this Christian journey that we are on, are we tourists, or pilgrims? Do we demand, or do we give thanks?

When the LORD your God brings you into the land he swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, to give you—a land with large, flourishing cities you did not build, houses filled with all kinds of good things you did not provide, wells you did not dig, and vineyards and olive groves you did not plant—then when you eat and are satisfied, be careful that you do not forget the LORD, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery.
_Deuteronomy 6:10-12 (The Holy Bible)

Are we bothered by these words? Do we make exceptions - 'Well, that may be the case for those people, but I started this ______ from the ground up. My own blood, sweat and tears are what's keeping this ______ together. Of course I deserve ______, I've worked hard!'

Have we forgotten so quickly that everything we have is a gift? That no matter where we are now, our starting point was Egypt, as a slave?

Maybe God feels distant because there are degrees of separation between us and his Grace. Maybe we aren't satisfied because we haven't been specific with our thanks.

Instead of, 'God, thank you for all that you have given us,' what if we tried, 'God, thank you that I ate today. I ate a lot. And it was really delicious... and thanks for this iPod. There's no way I need it, but it sure is fun to have... oh, and I don't deserve to have _____ in my life, but you knew that they would make my life richer, they would challenge me, they would fill my life with love. Thank you Father, you are the best provider.'

If the Lord is my Shepherd, what else do I need?

A little bit of thankfulness would fly completely in the face of all this entitlement. We desperately need a counter-culture of gratitude. Else, we might entitle ourselves to death.

re:think: bloodsuckers

My window is open at night because it's hot. Mosquitos fly in because I don't have a screen. I decided to write a poem about it.

MOSQUITO HAIKU
mosquitos suck blood.
something about that is wrong.
die mosquito die!
this itchy bump is your fault.
i will hunt you and kill you.

....................................
August 5, 2007
I know it was bothering you, but I finally realized why there is something wrong about mosquitos sucking my blood. Because they give nothing back. They never give life, they only take it. That's wrong.

re:think: acts of God

So I thought I'd take a break from my oh-so-serious blogs and just write a silly one, cuz something awesome happened today when I went for a run.

I was getting ready to hide my keys by the steps when I saw a spider and her web. (Why is the spider a she? Cuz spiders are awesome, that's why.)

And she looked rather hungry, just sitting there all by her lonesome. So I started looking for insects. (Why is it that insects are never around when you need them for spider-food?) But I found a rather large ant crawling on the fence. With a quick snatch-and-flick, (an art I mastered from my early nose-picking days in grade school), the ant flew into the spider's web and like lightning, the spider overpowered the struggling ant and began wrapping it up in the web material that was suspended around it.

It was so cool.

I watched the spider drink the ant's fluids before I went for my run. Further down the street, rocking out to Daft Punk, I realized that I was just like God. (Yeah, that's right. I said 'God.') In the book of Job, he lets us know that he hunts the prey for the lioness. Being that I was in Canada, there aren't any lions nearby to feed, (there are wolverines - but there's no way I'm going near one of those), so I fed the next best thing: a spider.

When I came back from my run, I saw an ant carrying a dead ant. (Score!) I snatch-and-flicked the two of them, but I missed, and the little guy scampered off into the foliage. He'll live another day, but I'll be on the lookout for him; I have a pet spider that needs my loving care.