Monday, March 27, 2023

Musings on the Trinity




I will begin with a confession:  I have some hangups concerning the doctrine of the Trinity.

When I was a little child, I learned that Jesus is God.  I accepted this, and when I was a child, it was not any problem or leap of logic for me.

When I got a bit older, I encountered the idea of the Trinity: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  My understanding was that God is the Father, Jesus is the Son, and (forgive me) The Holy Spirit doesn't matter very much because we don't believe in speaking in tongues.

Five to seven years ago, the Lord reached out to me (I have no better way to describe it) and invited me to search in the Bible for whatever I could learn about the Holy Spirit.  It began when I was going through an extended crisis, rife with devastation and panic.  I often found myself on the floor of my closet, in tears, praying.  Often I prayed Romans 15:13 (which I had stumbled across on my own, although recently I seem to hear it quoted often).  I noticed that when I prayed Romans 15:13, a blanket of peace would descend on me and cover me, calming and comforting me.  As I experienced this peace, I thought about the words of scripture I was praying, how they ended with, "...through the power of the Holy Spirit."   Through the power of the Holy Spirit.  This palpable blanket of peace was coming from the Holy Spirit.  Mystified, I prayed, "Who are you?  I know God.  I know Jesus.  But who are you?"  

I began to seek answers.  First I searched on my own, using commentaries to dig through the Bible from beginning to end, drinking up every mention of the Holy Spirit.  Eventually the Lord, in His unfathomable mercy, gave me the opportunity to teach a Bible study about the Holy Spirit.  I always learn best when I need to prepare to explain something to somebody else, and when I can talk things through with other people.  God allowed me to learn about His Holy Spirit in that context, and I am so very thankful.

This is not the appropriate place to try to record everything God showed me.  I will suffice to say that my conclusion has been that the Holy Spirit is God as He interacts with us in our present age, our Immanuel, to draw from Matthew 1:22-23.  The Holy Spirit is the Spirit of Jesus (Romans 8:9, Galatians 4:6), who abides with us always.  This is not an exhaustive explanation, but it is the most applicable part of what I am able to understand.  I have come to treasure Luke 11:13, where the Lord Jesus himself promises that God the Father will give the Holy Spirit generously to those who ask Him.

In pondering the Holy Spirit, I began to recoil from theology that seems to separate the parts of the triune  Godhead into three distinct personalities.  Now, many professing Christians believe that God the Father is the Old Testament God, and He is mean-spirited, vengeful, bent on harsh judgment.  They believe that Jesus the Son is the New Testament's enlightened next-generation deity, kind, gentle and full of grace, turning His Father's unquenchable wrath away from us, rescinding the Old Testament and consigning righteousness to irrelevance in the age of grace.  I was aware of this, and convinced by what I read in scripture that it is grossly inaccurate.  Jesus said that He did not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it, and that the law will not disappear until heaven and earth do (Matthew 5:18).  Jesus told us our righteousness will need to surpass the righteousness of the scribes and the Pharisees if we hope to enter the kingdom of heaven.  I believed this, but did not quite understand it until I began to learn about the Holy Spirit and how He lives in us and purifies us, changing us, transforming us into the very image of Christ, through a gradual but certain process.  We can become righteous because the Spirit of Christ abides in us, and we in Him, and this union produces authentic righteousness, unattainable by any other means.

The Holy Spirit transforms us into the image of Christ because He is Christ, living in us (Colossians 1:27).  Pondering this led me to think about how the Holy Spirit is the Lord Jesus Christ, in Spirit.  And the Lord Jesus is God (John 10:30, John 14:9-11).  I understand the Trinity as God the Father, first, and then God the Son, who came among us, and finally God the Spirit, who actually enters into us.  Of course, this triune God has existed in entirety throughout eternity past and will continue to exist into future eternity. The fluctuating part of the equation is us, as we experience Him.  When we finally get to heaven and receive our full glorification, we will experience the Lord in all His fullness, in His kingdom.

Again, I do not claim to have perfect or complete understanding.  Yet, what I do understand makes me shudder when I hear the members of the Trinity discussed as if they are three separate people with distinct personalities.  I believe that the unity of the Trinity is much more significant than the distinctions therein.  The Trinity is not a term found in the Bible.  It is a compiled teaching from classic historical church doctrine.  Wise, learned and God-fearing men wrestled with scripture and labored together intensely to assemble an interpretation and explanation of how we might comprehend the various references to Father, Son and Holy Spirit found throughout the Bible.

My initial foray into these matters sprang from an experience I had with the Holy Spirit, who called my attention to His existence.  In retrospect, I think it may have been related to a prayer I prayed when I was in deep distress, begging for comfort, expressing that I wished Jesus were tangibly with me, in a way I could process with my senses, my flesh-and-bone God.  Jesus demonstrated that He is with me, truly with me, not figuratively or metaphorically, but really (in the literal sense of the word really--for real).  Jesus demonstrated that His Spirit, the Spirit of Christ in me and with me eternally--my foretaste and guarantee of an eternal future in the unveiled fullness of God--is, just as He promised, better than having a flesh-and-bone person ready to hop over from the next room to help me (John 16:7).  But just as I began to grasp some understanding about who the Holy Spirit is, and how He completes God's promises in me, I began to wonder about Jesus.

Jesus Christ, the Son of God.  As I child, I knew Him as the baby in the manger, the kind Healer, the crucified Savior, the risen Lord.  My Sunday school teachers told me, "Jesus is God," and I never doubted them.  When I grew to be an adult, I noticed that the Bible mentions Jesus having been around a long time before He was born in Bethlehem.  The Spirit of Christ was in the Old Testament prophets who foretold Him (1 Peter 1:11--I had never been exactly sure what this meant).  Through Jesus, all things were created (Colossians 1:16); this was an amazing realization for me.  Jesus had been designated to be our Savior even before creation (1 Peter 1:20).  These ideas surprised me when I first discovered them, but they made sense; they fit into my framework of understanding.  Jesus is God.  God is eternal.  Therefore Jesus is eternal.

But then came the problem of Jesus' body.  This is a problem because Jesus is God, and God is immutable, which means that God does not change.  Consequently, Jesus does not change.  Indeed, Hebrews 13:8 tells us that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever.  Yet, Jesus did not have a body in eternity past, but then He entered our time-continuum and took on a body.  For a number of years, I simply assumed that Jesus Christ's physical body was an aberration, something that happened for a short period of time before Jesus reverted to His unembodied form in heaven with the Father.  But Jesus rose in His body; in other words, His body was resurrected.  He ascended to heaven in His body, and He will return for us in this same body (Acts 1:11).  His body, with the marks of His crucifixion, sits on the throne of heaven with the Father (Revelation 5:6).  His body has been raised as we also will be raised, to eternal glory.  He is the firstborn among many brothers (Romans 8:29).  When we see Him, we will be like Him (1 John 3:2).

How does this work?  How can it be that Jesus Christ--who is the same yesterday, today and forever--could exist in oneness with God the Father and the Spirit throughout eternity past, but then could take on a body that He will carry into eternity future?  How can this be?  Isn't changing from spirit to flesh the very definition of mutability?

For a long time I mostly dealt with this by not thinking about it.  Then we ran splat into it while studying the Westminster Catechism in Sunday school yesterday, and all my questions and uncertainties came bubbling back up.  Some kind people took my perplexity seriously and pondered with me.  I asked, "Does it just mean that the essence of God is immutable? And that Jesus could change, as long as in essence He did not change?"  I did not like the feel of that explanation.

In the process of deliberation, we considered a question raised by someone wiser than I: "Who and what is Jesus Christ the Son of God, fundamentally?" This question unlocked something in my mind, and it dawned on me that Jesus was the Promised One, all the way since Genesis 3:15, and even before.  Jesus was the Promise, since eternity past, since before the foundations of the world.  In ages past, He was the Promise to come.  Then He came, and He fulfilled the Promise.  2 Corinthians 1:20 tells us that no matter how many promises God has made, they are all yes in Christ Jesus: the Promise given, the Promise fulfilled, the Word of God kept.  Jesus did not change. He is as immutable as every other aspect of God. He is the physical representation of the faithfulness of God's promises.  What God says never changes.  The Word of God never changes. Jesus never changes.


The grass withers, the the flowers fall, but the word of our God will stand forever.

Isaiah 40:8 ESV


And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, 

and we have seen His glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, 

full of grace and truth.

John 1:14 ESV


I love it when I gain some understanding that really gets into me, leading me to reprocess all kinds of things in a deeper and more meaningful way.  Thank you, Jesus.








Saturday, January 28, 2023

2023 Word of the Year


photo credit: pexels.com-kaboompix


It is January, nearly the end of January, and I have struggled to settle on my word of the year.

This past year, my word was CONFIDENCE.  I haven't gotten any farther with that than I did the two years my word was HUMILITY, or the year my word was LISTEN.  (If you are interested in a review of my words of the year, you can read this.)

I'm still working on all the words I've ever chosen.  Honestly, it's reasonable and healthy to accept the idea that perfecting any of these qualities in one's life is utterly beyond the scope of a pre-glorified mortal being.  Yet, even though I will never attain perfection in any area (this side of eternity), I can grow, and by God's grace, I do grow.  Some day, the growth might even be visible.  When I leave my garden for a week in the early summer, upon returning I often marvel to see the growth that happened during my absence, growth I would not have perceived had I been there all along.

God has graciously helped me grow in one concretely measurable way-- scripture memorization.  Each year when I find a word that challenges me and captures my contemplation, I look for scripture to underscore it. These Bible verses, connected to or actually containing my words-of-the-year, resonate with my heart in a special way, making them easier to memorize.

Recently, a passage has been on my heart:

Isaiah 44:2-5

Thus says the Lord who made you,

who formed you from the womb and will help you:

Fear not, O Jacob my servant,

Jeshurun whom I have chosen.

For I will pour water on the thirsty land,

and streams on the dry ground;

I will pour my Spirit on your offspring,

and my blessing on your descendants.

They shall spring up among the grass

like willows by flowing streams.

This one will say, 'I am the Lord's,'

Another will call on the name of Jacob,

and another will write on his hand, 'The Lord's,'

and name himself by the name of Israel.


I can't get over the beauty of the section that says, "They shall spring up among the grass like willows by flowing streams."

My word for the year this year will be TREE... like the willow tree in Isaiah 44, but also the cypress and acacia, fig trees and olive trees, oaks of righteousness and the cedars that undergirded the Temple of God.  Most importantly, I will meditate on the cross, the tree that was both a blessing and a curse, the most terrible and most wonderful tree in all history.  And I will not forget the Tree of Life that springs from the river of the water of life in heaven, yielding twelve kinds of fruit, year round, producing leaves to heal the nations.


I think I'll have quite a few new verses to learn.

Saturday, December 31, 2022

A good Christmas

When we bought this North Carolina house, we loved the woods around it.  We did not, however, examine these woods very closely.

While we were moving into this house, we went out on the screen porch to sit and rest a bit.  I noticed that the woods were closer than I had realized.  One tree in particular was incredibly tall, and close.  Sitting on the screen porch, I had the feeling I could reach out and touch that giant tree.  Of course I couldn't, but it gave that feeling, a very, very close feeling.  It shot up like a telephone pole, only farther.  It had no branches until it ascended above the canopy of the other trees, and then it extended a small bush of greenery like a plume above a hat.

I noticed, on that move-in day, that the giant tree swayed forebodingly when the wind blew.

I loved that tree, but I was also afraid of it.  I thought we should take it out, but I couldn't bear the thought.  On stormy nights, it always haunted me.  I often prayed that it would not fall on our house.  I once read an Anne Tyler book about a man who lost his wife when a tree fell on their house.  That book came back to me many times, as I lived under the shadow of our tallest tree.

On December 23, we had strong winds.  I told Shawn that I would really like a generator for Christmas, and asked if he would find me one, "today." 

I ought to have prefaced this by saying that we did not do much about presents this year.  I am completely over the whole Christmas present tradition.  We are so rich, as a culture; we have everything we want or need.  Whenever we want or need something, we immediately get it for ourselves, usually from Amazon.  There is no delayed gratification, no waiting until Christmas like there used to be in the old days.  We have so much stuff, we actually have a much greater need of getting rid of things than of procuring them.  Our houses are stuffed to the gills and need to be cleared.  There are entire books, blogs and "courses" devoted to teaching people how to purge useless material items from their lives.  This year I decided to get my kids something very small but hopefully fun or useful, so they would have a package to open, and then accompany this with a monetary gift in (I hope) a significant amount.  So anyway, Shawn and I had agreed to not buy anything for each other.  But on December 23, I felt a deep desire in my soul for a generator, and I asked him to get us one. "It can be our gift to each other," I said.

Shawn headed out to Harbor Freight. Shannon had graced us with her delightful presence, flying in from Boston, so she and I headed to the gym. Shannon and I arrived home before Shawn. I was in my bedroom, cleaning up post-workout, when I looked out the window and saw Shawn in the backyard.  It surprised me to see someone back there, but my startled nerves calmed when I saw that it was my own husband.

He came in after a bit and asked, "Have you looked in the backyard?" I replied, "I saw you in the the backyard." Well, turns out he was in the backyard because, upon driving up to the house, he noticed immediately that our tall tree had fallen.  I ran to the window, and joy flooded my being: The tree fell, and it fell away from the house.  Shawn is sad because he loved that magnificent tree. But I am tremendously relieved that it is down.  Also, now we will be able to measure how tall it was; I've always wondered.

Also we were the proud owners of a new generator.  And the next morning, Christmas Eve, we woke up to a power outage and had to use our generator right away.  We made coffee, connected the internet, plugged in the refrigerator, and even started up a little space heater.

What a great Christmas! And due to the downsizing of gifts, there was never any big mess to clean up, either.

I have struggled to wrap my heart and mind around the true meaning of the birth of Christ this year... not that I don't believe it.  I absolutely do believe!  It's just that my affections were not engaged the way I would have hoped.  I will write about this more, in 2023.




Saturday, November 19, 2022

Thankful for a November Miracle


God works things out in the most interesting ways.

For instance, He saw to it that Christmas would be correlated with the winter solstice, the day when light first, almost imperceptibly, begins to increase against the darkness.  I mention this often, because it continually amazes me.

God likewise connected the spring equinox with Easter, that glorious celebration of Jesus' victory over darkness.  Not only is light increasing, but the spring equinox marks the day when there is more light than darkness in each day.

We can also ponder how Thanksgiving, and other harvest celebrations, happen when light is decreasing the most, when there are more hours of dark in a day than hours of light, and the darkness expands until the winter solstice--the birth of the Messiah--signals the awaited change in light.  But in the weeks before the winter solstice, when lack of sunshine symbolically represents our earthly brokenness most clearly, we find ourselves exhorted to give thanks and look forward to when the tide of darkness will begin to turn back.

Of course, these things only apply in the northern hemisphere. Yet, approximately 87% of the world's population lives in the northern hemisphere.  Nearly 90%.  This is surely worth pondering.

Speaking of the days leading up to the winter solstice, my mother was born at the beginning of November. She turned ninety this year.  Ninety years ago, a tiny baby girl was born at the end of a harsh Minnesota autumn, into a world of bare-branched black trees and bitter blowing winds.  She was the final hurrah, the ninth of nine in a large, depression-era family, a fragile speck of almost invisible beauty and hope in need of all the warm, worn blankets they could scrounge up for her.

Now she is ninety and can't remember very many things when she tries to recall them, although she remembers quite a lot when she is able to relax and allow the memories to drift into her mind.  She is fragile and tiny once again, but very industrious, even though it hurts her back when she gets down on her hands and knees to wipe the floors.

I was there for her birthday, back in the home where I grew up, the one place that has remained the same all these years while I have moved from state to state, selling, donating and discarding so many of the random artifacts that signified my life.  When we left New York, I worked as hard as I could to winnow properly, but ran out of time, the net result being that the stuff from the main floor and upstairs were mostly adequately curated, but the boxes from the back of the basement were loaded up and moved as they were, so we ended up with an odd assortment of the things I wanted and valued most, strange objects from a past I could hardly remember, and some legitimate rubbish.  When we left Illinois, we had to pay for the move ourselves, so I parted with breathtaking portions of our belongings, including many things I sorely miss when I see them in photos.  I can easily slip into grief if I think about it, although of course we have more than enough to meet all our needs, and a number of new things besides.  


All this to say that there is a sort of comfort in going back to my parents' home and living amongst the familiar: children's books that Dad read to me when I was a little child, and the Oneida Twin Star silverware, the same pattern that First Baptist kept in their church kitchen.  Gold plastic cups my brother brought home from a plastic factory where he worked during college, a painting of penguins I made in 5th grade that has hung ever since on the laundry room wall.  The closet in the bedroom where I slept as a teenager contains a row of dresses my mom sewed for me.  We used to go to Minnesota Fabrics to pick out a pattern and fabric together, and she made the dresses I wore to church.  There they still are, cotton print memories with full skirts.  The green shag carpet my parents installed in my early childhood bedroom is still on the floor, more than 50 years later, and it has been vacuumed more than 5,148 times (I used a formula to arrive at that number).  I still remember the joyful disbelief I felt when they were willing to install green shag carpet for me, because I had always dreamed of having a floor that looked like grass.


I was nervous about flying to Minnesota by myself, although I wanted to go, and I thought the Lord also wanted me to go.  I had a 6 a.m. flight, so we got up in the middle of the night and left our house at 4:00, planning to arrive at the airport by around 4:30 because Shawn always says you don't need to be at the airport two full hours early, regardless of official advice.  Usually when we fly, Shawn handles both of our tickets on his phone.  When I have flown alone, Shawn has always printed out my boarding pass so I can hold a paper copy.  For some reason, this time I told him not to bother printing me a boarding pass, so on the way to the airport, I practiced navigating to my boarding pass on my phone until I felt confident.


We arrived at the airport after having to take a detour to a different exit off I-40, and we navigated through a maze of construction cones in front of the terminal.  Shawn heaved my 45 pound suitcase out of the trunk; I gathered myself and my wits together.  We said our good-byes, Shawn driving away into the dark pre-morning, and I heading inside to check my bag.  I approached the kiosk to print out my luggage tag and, needing my ticket, reached into the pocket on the side of my purse where I keep my phone.  It was empty.  "What?" I whispered, "Please, God."  The pocket was definitely empty.  I unzipped my purse to check inside, rummaging through a number of times, soon realizing that no, I did not have my phone.  My first instinct was to call Shawn and tell him, but of course I could not do that.  


I quickly scanned my surroundings and saw a very normal and kind looking man in line a few feet away from me. "Pardon me, I'm sorry to bother you, but I seem to have left my phone in my husband's car, and he is driving away right now.  Do you think I could borrow your phone?" I desperately blurted out.


"Oh, no problem," he said, handing me his phone.  I fumbled around and dialed Shawn as quickly as I could.  There was no answer.  I left a message, telling him, "I don't know when you will get this, but you have my phone." Then I helplessly told the man, "He didn't pick up," irrationally fearing that he would be cross and not allow me to try a second call to my phone.


"Call your phone?" he suggested.


"Yes," I said, "Yes, thank you.  I'm sure he'll see it.  It will light up."  I called my phone, but the call went directly to voicemail.  I was stunned.


"It will be okay," the man said, "You can go get in line, and they will print you a paper ticket.  And you can have your husband overnight your phone to you with FedEx.  You'll get it by tomorrow.  It will be okay.  Don't worry.  We used to fly without our phones all the time, and we were fine."


I thanked him and moved to get into the line.  He asked if I was traveling internationally, and I told him no.  He pointed at the sign above us and said, "This is the international line." Then he pointed across the way, "You need to go over there."  My heart sank as I saw how much longer the domestic flight line was, but I went over and stood in it.  The man called after me, "I hope it works out for you!"


Signs all around me repeated the phrase: "Pre-tagged bag drop."  All the other people in the line had tags on their bags.  The last time I flew with a checked bag, I had approached the counter without a tag on my bag, and the man behind the counter had yelled at me to go back and tag my bag.  I stood in line and thought, "Am I going to get yelled at again?" and, "How will I coordinate with my brother-in-law to pick me up at the airport, without my phone?" and, "I wonder when Shawn will realize that he has my phone?"  I observed the three different people servicing the counter, noticing that the one on the far right seemed significantly more sympathetic than the other two.  I prayed, "God, please let me get the nice one."  I felt completely powerless and dependent.  I prayed, "Thank you God that I am right here close to home, and if I can't reach Shawn, I can borrow another phone to call and ask David or Ashton to come and get me.  I am not stranded in a strange place.  Thank you.  I thought you wanted me to go to Minnesota for my mom's birthday, but if you don't, that's okay.  I won't panic.  It will be okay.  I do not know what is going to happen, or if I am going to see my parents, but you do, Lord.  All I can do is wait and see how you will work this out.  I will wait and see what you do."


Then I was at the head of the line, and it was the nice lady on the far right, motioning me to come over.  And just then I looked over to the far left, and right outside the queue stood Shawn in his blue-green Under Armour shirt, so tall, with his right hand high in the air waving my phone at me.  "I got your message," he called.


I ran over and retrieved my phone from Shawn, and then the nice lady at the counter--she was so kind--helped me tag my bag and get it all squared away.


So it was a miracle, but you have to hear the other side to realize how exquisite a miracle it was.


Shawn, as I said, had driven away into the pre-morning dark.  He was uncharacteristically edgy because of the construction and the detour, and he was trying to concentrate on how best to get back on I-40 west.  He knew he would need to take a right exit, but there was another car on his right, blocking him from getting into the right lane.  He tried to speed up and get ahead of the car, but it matched his speed and sped up, too.  So he tried to slow down and pull in behind the car, but when he slowed down, it also slowed down.  No matter what he did, it matched his speed and blocked him. He was feeling a building sense of annoyance at this "jerk," when he saw my phone lying on the passenger seat.  He thought, "She needs that."  And he realized that he must formulate a plan.  As he was trying to decide what to do, the car on his right swerved left, and he had to swerve left to avoid it, and this maneuver catapulted him onto the left exit that goes straight into the airport parking garage.  So, he continued on into the garage, found a convenient spot to park, and sprinted to the terminal with my phone, hoping he would find me.  Which he did.


After I dropped off my bag, Shawn walked with me to the security line.  We squeezed hands, talked about how thankful we were (although we didn't have a chance to exchange the details of our stories until later), and exchanged hugs (perhaps also a kiss).


The reason Shawn did not hear either of our phones ring is because we always set our phones to "do not disturb" overnight, and it was 4:40 a.m.


But it was okay.  Fear was gone.  God had reaffirmed the trip, His presence, His power, and His compassionate mercy.  In fact, when Shawn left the parking garage, he'd been there for such a short time, he didn't even have to pay anything!


God is always good, but I am especially grateful when He is good in tender and attentive ways that are easy for me to recognize and appreciate.  Miracles make my heart sing.






Wednesday, October 26, 2022

You are worth more

 



It took me awhile to decide to write about this, but I need to remember.


On the last day of August, I was recovering from a very long road trip.  My gardens regretted the absence of my vigilant care over the course of two extremely hot weeks.

After a day or two of avoiding the garden issue, tending instead to unpacking, laundry, and shopping for groceries, I finally plucked up courage to venture out and have a look at the damage.

Immediately outside the garage, a white chiffon rose-of-Sharon (hibiscus syriacus) stood, prolifically blooming, and also prolifically dropping spent blooms onto the mulch below, in an ever-widening circle.  Duffy loves to eat these dropped blooms; indeed, he is tremendously greedy.  Unfortunately, when he gorges himself on hibiscus flowers, he gets sick, and he never learns. So, with some urgency, I prepared a large cardboard box for gathering plant trimmings and detritus. I knelt at the base of the rose-of-Sharon and began scooping up withered white blossoms.  As I worked, the breeze meandered around me and the sun shifted bright dapples through swaying leaves.  Some sunlight caught a brilliant glimmer of green and blue down in the mulch.  I glanced quickly towards it, expecting to see a dragonfly launch itself and fly away, but except for the light, there was no movement.  What? I whispered, and reached out wonderingly, pulling away the faded white flowers surrounding the radiance.

It was a hummingbird, a tiny, lustrous, fallen hummingbird, lying stone-still on the ground, reflecting green-blue beauty in the midst of a sea of browning white hibiscus petals.  Sadness gutted my heart.  I felt guilty, as though I caused the death, and I felt ashamed for seeing such a tragedy.  Who finds a lifeless hummingbird at the bottom of her shrub?  Isn't this a rhythm of nature that should be private and hidden?  "No, God," I said, "Please, no. Why?"

Still feeling guilty and ashamed, I used a layer of flowers to pick up the almost weightless body without touching it directly.  The tiny head drooped under the weight of the long, elegantly curved beak.  I will never forget the slender black beak, so long in proportion to the body, jutting out from smooth, shining plumage.  I wanted to save this morsel of creation, but how?  I placed it in the cardboard box, on top of a layer of blossoms, and continued gathering, scooping blossoms, filling the box, covering the hummingbird many times over.  In the end, I walked back and forth a number of times before tossing the obscenely full box into our garbage can.  A dull ache in my stomach, a shuddering in my chest, I left off gardening for the day.

The next day I received information that something was going wrong for some people I love dearly.  There was a need for a doctor visit.  I thought of the hummingbird and I prayed, "Please God, no."

Please God, no. Please God, don't let it be.

But it was.

Why? I asked. We all asked.  Why do we have to lose such preciousness?  Why do beautiful, tiny things have to leave us?  Why does life have to be so sad?

Why did the Lord prepare me with the hummingbird?  

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.  But even the hairs of your head are all numbered.  Fear not, therefore; you are worth more than many sparrows.  ~Matthew 10:29-31

A sparrow is a common bird, but a hummingbird is a treasure and a delight.  If God sees little gray sparrows fall, of course He sees a tiny, exquisite hummingbird.  And other things even more exquisite.

Why?

"In this world, you will have trouble," Jesus told us.  "But take heart.  I have overcome the world."  ~John 16:33

He has overcome.  He laid down His life to make a bridge for us to reach paradise.

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.  And He who was seated on the throne said, "Behold, I am making all things new."  Also He said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true."  ~Revelation 21:4-5

Yet, during this time after Jesus won the victory, but while the New Kingdom gestates slowly within believing hearts, before our future glory appears, Jesus hurts for our brokenness.  The already and the not yet swirl around us in a tension of loss, hope, devastation and beauty. Tension brings strain, and stress, and confusion. He knows. He has compassion for us. He has empathy.

Jesus wept.  ~John 11:35

Jesus weeps for us, His beloved creation, caught in a continuum of sin-stained time that hurts us deeply despite the precious surety of His great promises.  Jesus knows our pain, for He entered time Himself and lived with us.  He has experienced all the pain of life, all the pain of death, and all the pain which is the consequence of all the sins that have ever and will ever be committed.  He knows how painful earth has been for Him, Jesus, God, the perfect, powerful one.  He knows how weak we are in comparison, and how impossible it is for us to bear up under the burden.


Thus, our Lord invites us to trust Him.  He encourages us to come to Him.  He promises to give us rest by coming under the yoke alongside us, bearing the weight of it for us, with His strength.  He loves us.  He longs to gather us into His arms and comfort us.  He promises that He is our strength, our joy, our sufficiency.  He promises that all the pain will be made up for, a billion times over, redeemed perfectly and completely, beyond our wildest imaginations.

We only need to trust and wait.  And the waiting is for a good purpose.  Everything the Lord does is for a good purpose, centered in His desire and plan to save many, many people.  He is waiting for His children to come to Him.  He knows who they are.  And He will not shut the door to eternity until He has gathered all His own into His Kingdom, into His arms.



Friday, September 23, 2022

our defense




 

Indeed, when the Gentiles, who do not have the law, do by nature the things required by the law, they are a law for themselves, even though they do not have the law, since they show that the requirements of the law are written on their hearts, their consciences also bearing witness, and their thoughts now accusing, now even defending them.  ~Romans 2:14, NIV84 [emphasis mine]


Perhaps when God judges us, 

He will hold us accountable for how we handled whatever knowledge we had of Him.

Perhaps it is actually not so much about what we know

as about how we respond to what we know

or maybe even how

--or if--

we search when we do not know.

Suppose it is a more delicate thing when God judges, than simply, "Did you declare Jesus to be your Lord and Savior?"  Just suppose.  God is not constrained to something that neatly fits within our ability to imagine.  God is far more complex than we can imagine.  Also, he clearly tells us that he looks at the heart, the inner person, not the outer persona.  Confessing Jesus as Lord and Savior is very important, but the Bible also tells us in both Isaiah 45 and Philippians 2 that one day every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.   The question is not whether you verbally acknowledge his Lordship.  The question is: What was going on in your heart?  Only God himself can answer that question.     

A person in search of God, righteousness, truth and justice will find what he is looking for.  God is not far from any of us, and if we reach out for him, we will find him.  He himself will be the master of our journeys.  Some people find him quickly, while others travel many long, steep and twisted roads on a difficult journey to discover truth.  But those who seek him will find him, even (and this flies in the face of much that has been taught throughout Christendom) if they search until they die and meet him on the threshold of the next life.  Only those who stubbornly refuse to seek, who consistently refuse to see or hear, who perpetually insist on following their own way, will be condemned. 

Understanding this requires some finesse.  We are easily deceived concerning our own actions and motivations.  We often embark upon testing a hypothesis after we have already made up our minds what the result should be.  As this "discovery process" unfolds, we skew our interpretation of the facts we uncover, twisting them to match our preconceived belief about what the result should be.  Those who are inclined to believe that there is a God will, admittedly, be biased towards seeing God's presence in their lives.  Many secularly minded souls are quick to point this out and belittle people of faith.  But the opposite is also true: those who are inclined to scoff at the idea that there is a God will be biased towards explaining him away, despite any evidence they encounter.   Very intelligent people go to extreme lengths to construct labyrinthian philosophies of life that allow for the existence of a Universe that originated from no source, no creator, no god.

Thus, I fear there will always be people who claim to have sought for God, but in the deep recesses of their hearts did not want to find him.  They may not even know that they did not want to find him; they might claim that they absolutely wanted to find him.  The problem, it seems, is in our difficulty letting go of what we want God to be, when we go searching for him.  We want to be able to craft him in our imaginations, to make him a god who loves us in a tolerant and indulgent way, who agrees with our assessment of what is good or bad, who allows us to live in any way we wish, who would never ask us to do anything hard, or to give anything up.   You will not find him if that is what you are searching for, because that is not what he is like.  He has better things for us than the earthy pleasures we crave.  If we demand that he be a vehicle to provide us with ease in the material world, rather than an unimaginable grace who lifts us above this world altogether, we will not find him.

And yet, for those who long to know God, who know that there is a justice and a righteousness that exists outside of themselves and far exceeds any justice or righteousness they could ever attain in their own strength, who weep over the wrongs of this poor, broken world and find themselves hoping--despite the apparent futility of hope--that all will someday be made right . . .

for those who recognizing that a significant part of what needs righting 

is our own defective hearts . . . 

to these, God will reveal himself with infinite grace.

God will reveal himself to those who seek him, if we seek him in truth and humility, willing to surrender in worship to the only one who is all wise, all powerful and all good.  



                                            

Tuesday, September 6, 2022

How I prepare baby back ribs

This is a description of how I prepare baby back ribs.

Incidentally, you can get practically all of the ingredients for this recipe at Aldi, except perhaps cayenne pepper and smoked paprika.  I have no affiliation with Aldi, but in this economic climate, I figure we can all use hints for how to eat affordably.  Also, Aldi's baby back ribs are the best.  Honestly.  They are so good, and I get nothing for saying that.

I had no experience with ribs, but one day I was shopping at Aldi and I saw some baby back ribs that looked delicious.  I bought them, took them home, and began googling how to prepare them.  This is what I came up with:



(1) Purchase a rack of baby back ribs.  I think they are usually around 2 lbs?  I look for meaty ribs without too much fat.

(2) Assemble your seasonings on your work surface, and remove lids.  Put the brown sugar into a small bowl.

    a.  Fundamental seasonings that I figure I have to have: 

                salt or seasoned salt (sprinkle generously)

                cayenne pepper (sprinkle lightly)

                smoked paprika (sprinkle generously)

                garlic powder or granulated garlic (sprinkle generously)

                onion powder (sprinkle generously)

                brown sugar (sprinkle generously; I use 3-4 Tbsp. in total)

    b.  Optional seasonings depending on my mood:

                dry mustard (or spicy brown or dijon prepared mustard) **This almost qualifies as fundamental

                cumin

                celery seed

                oregano

    c.  Notes: Many recipes call for chili powder, but I don't care for it on ribs.  Also, many recipes call for fresh garlic and onion, which is fine if you want to use them, but I like the better control I get with powdered, and I do not notice any compromise in flavor.

(5)  Tear off a sheet of heavy-duty aluminum foil that measures 2.5 x the length of your rack of ribs.  Lay it out on your work surface with the shiny side up.

(4)  Unwrap the ribs in your sink and remove the membrane on the back by working a finger underneath it at the center, and then gently but firmly pulling up to peel it away in both directions.  Rinse the ribs and pat dry with a paper towel.  Lay upside down in the center of the foil and season the back/bottom with spices listed above, according to your taste.  Gently rub into the meat with your fingers, and flip the ribs right side up.

(5) Wash your hands and repeat the process of seasoning.  At the end of this, I usually put some spicy brown mustard in dollops over the top, but I do not put prepared mustard on the bottom (too messy), although if I am using dry mustard, I apply it both top and bottom.

(6) Bring the ends of the foil together, and seal loosely by rolling them together until the top is flat.  (Basically, you just want to get the ribs loosely sealed in a nice foil packet, but I'll try to digram the easiest way I've found to do this):


    The above diagram is looking at it from the side, and shows what it looks like if you actually get too much foil.  You won't have that loose a triangle, or that big a rolled seal, if you use 2.5 times the length of your rib rack.


    The above diagram is looking down on what you did previously, from the top.  And, I didn't illustrate the last step (see handwritten directions on diagram about rolling up the open sides), but hopefully you can figure out what I mean.  Or you can do it your own way.  I don't want to make a simple thing into a big deal.  You just want to seal up the meat enough to keep it tender, but not so tightly that it steams.  You will be pouring off the liquid that collects in the packet later, and my method is a relatively easy way to set you up to be able to open the sides of the packet and do that at the opportune time.

(7)  I am feeling very bad about my communication skills here.  But the main things: Lay ribs (membrane removed) on foil.  Season with mostly dry seasonings (maybe a bit of prepared mustard), and seal up in a foil packet.

(8) Place the foil wrapped, seasoned ribs on a large cookie sheet with edges (in case your packet leaks).  Place in oven and set to 275.  No need to preheat.  Bake for 3 hours.

(9) After the ribs have baked about 2 hours, prepare the BBQ sauce.  The amounts listed are guesses.  I never measure any of this, which should make you confident that there is a wide range of acceptability:

  • 1/3 cup apricot preserves
  • 1/3 cup steak sauce (Like A1, but I use the Aldi stuff; it's good.)
  • 2/3 cup BBQ sauce (I like to look for a hickory smoke flavored one.  I usually use what is available at Aldi.)
  • 3 Tbsp spicy brown or Dijon mustard
  • 3 drops of liquid smoke.  Do not use too much of this.  But a little bit is delicious.
    Melt the apricot preserves over low heat in a heavy saucepan.  Add the rest of the ingredients and bring to a boil.  Reduce to very low heat and let simmer until you are ready to use it.

(10) When the ribs have baked 3 hours, remove them from the oven and carefully open the sides of the packet, one at a time, and drain excess juice from each side.  Don't drain them bone dry; just get most of the liquid, so they are not swimming in broth.

(11) Unroll the center seal of the foil to expose the ribs.  Press/crumple the foil up around the ends and sides of the ribs to create a snug vessel.  Pour the BBQ sauce over the ribs.  You want the snug vessel of foil to hold the sauce close to the ribs and prevent it from just running underneath them and leaking away.

(12) Return to oven and bake awhile longer.  Depending on your needs, you can bake them for 45 minutes at 275.  Or you can bake them for 25 minutes at 350.  Or you can even bake them for 10 minutes at 350, followed by a brief broil to caramelize some blisters on top.  If you do a slow, low bake and they don't look as crusty as you'd like, you can do a quick broil at the end of that, too.  This step depends on what you like, and your oven, and so many things.  Just be careful not to dry them out or burn them.  Check often during this step.  They don't need any more cooking at this point, but it is nice to give the BBQ sauce a chance to bake in and thicken.

That's it.  It's far easier than it seems when I write it all out.  This is a real man-pleaser, but I like them too.