December 29, 2009

Suddenly the sound of a crash careened through the room.  On the ground was a small china plate, cleanly broken in two.  And a lesson was about to be learned.

There are two stories I wish to write about today.  But before we delve into the story of a broken plate, let’s turn to the story of some very confused men.  Allow me to point you to Matthew 18: 1-5.  I’ll post it here in Today’s New International Version.

1 At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?”

2 He called a little child, whom he placed among them. 3 And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. 4 Therefore, whoever takes a humble place—becoming like this child—is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. 5 And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.

Confusing?  Isn’t it?  What does it mean to become like a child?  And why should we be humble?  In today’s America, humble is something that is likened to a false sincerity.  You don’t acknowledge out loud how spectacular you are, but everyone knows you know it, so that you act like you are less is just that.  An act.

But children don’t act.  They are the most honest humans of all in their actions.

Let’s return to the initial story I began telling.  It is a story of me.  And my daughter.  She is, at the time, a beautiful and incredible three year old girl, who finds absolutely everything marvelous.
On this day she is enjoying a very special gift given to her by my mother.  It is a real china tea set.  Not just a plastic children’s set.  I had thought it too much for her, but wasn’t going to deny such a gift after my little one saw it and fell in love.

As young girls her age are apt to do, she immediately wanted to get it out and have a tea party with dad.  A request I just was not able to deny.  She poured the tea for me, set out the plates with the bread.  And we sat down for a little pretend lunch.  And something happened.  It might have been a phone ringing, or a knock at the door.  But I stood up for just one moment, looked away for the briefest second, and that’s when I heard it.

Crash.  Shatter.  The plate fell to the ground, broken into two perfect halves. And then I heard something that nearly broke my heart.

My daughter began to cry.  This is a father’s true weakness.  No man can stand firm in the face of this sound.

But then my daughter did two things that surprised me.

First she exclaimed through her tears, “I am so sorry, please don’t punish me.”

I was shocked.  My daughter is well behaved, and I can only think of one time when I had ever had to even spank her.  I could not and still can not think of any reason why she’d believe I’d punish her for what was an accident.  Little children will drop plates.  How wonderful and strange is a child though. She didn’t try to hide it, or lie.  She took full responsibility, almost too much responsibility.  How unlike an adult.

And then she gave me my second surprise.  After so quickly apologizing and seeking escape from a dreamed punishment, she lifted up her arms.  Seeking to be held, comforted, seeking the one person present who could make everything better.

How often does a human seek comfort from the very person who they believe might punish them?  How often is the man holding the whip also the man who holds safety?

But it was the act of a child, a lesson that I believe illustrates Jesus’ words so perfectly.

Humans, whether you believe they are born with sin or without, do sin.  We’ve all done it.  We’ve all done –something-.  Whether it was by accident, or on purpose.  The sooner we acknowledge what we’ve done wrong, the better.  Then we can ask for forgiveness. And then we can seek comfort.

Because God is a parent.  THE Parent.  He is like a Father.  And a Mother.  And His love is more complete, more full, than anything any human could manage.
Do you know what I did when my daughter reached up her arms and silently asked for me to pick her up?  To hold her?  To make it all better?  I didn’t punish her.  The thought never crossed my mind.  I didn’t scold her.  I didn’t have a single negative word to say.

I immediately picked up my daughter and held her close.  Dried her tears. And I did everything I could to make it ok.  I glued the plate.  I assured her over and over that it was ok. That I wasn’t mad.  That I loved her.

How could I do anything else?

And THAT my dear reader is the nature of God too.  He created us.  He loves us.  And whether your plate is literal or figurative, whether it’s your heart, your life, your sins, or anything else.  I promise you.  I guarantee you.  If you say today “I am sorry.  Please forgive me.” And reach out your arms to be taken in by Him.  He won’t hesitate.

A Father never could.

December 23, 2009

There is a worship song simply titled Breathe.  The lyrics, like many worships songs, are simple.  Easy.  Repetitive.  Perfect for learning quickly and following along.

This is the air I breathe.

This is the air I breathe.

Your holy presence, living in me.

This is my daily bread.

This is my daily bread.

Your very word, spoken to me.

And I am desperate for you.

And I am lost without you.

That is essentially the entire song.  So simple, elegant… and so far from the truth.

I have never known desperation.  I live in a great land.  The United States.  And though we are going through arguably a depression, I have never known desperation.

I have been jobless.  I have been poor.  But there has always been a meal.  There has always been a roof over my head.  There has always been a safety net, the promise of a blanket.

I have never wondered if I would wake up tomorrow.

I have witnessed desperation.  I’m reminded of a video showing a woman and her child.  The child was in a stroller.  She took her hand off of it for one moment and in that one moment the stroller went right at a set of subway tracks.  And a train was coming.
This woman dove for the stroller.  Not in time, but it didn’t matter.  She actually started to put her hand in front of the train to try and stop the stroller when it was all too late.  Her health didn’t matter; she was desperate to save her child.  Thankfully by a miracle the child actually made it through the ordeal without a scratch.

For that single moment only one thing mattered.  Her child.  An act of desperation that fueled her very actions.  She risked and probably would have suffered harm for the sake of someone she loved so much.

Am I that desperate for God?  I wish I could say yes.  But I don’t think I can.

Is God that desperate for me?  For you?

The answer is a resounding yes.

One of the great quotes of Jesus essentially goes like this: “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.”  (John 13:15)

There is no greater act of love than someone who would give everything for you.  Who would live for you.  Who would die for you.

But Jesus was just not a man of words.  He was a man who meant his words, who lived his words.  After uttering those words he would go on to do exactly that.  To prove exactly that.  He would lay down his life for all mankind.

So we could live.  Truly live.

How desperate is God for us?  So desperate He would go to unimaginable lengths to be with us.  Jesus was born so he could die, among other things, for us.  What a choice that must have been.  Imagine the conversation when that plan was formed.

“Son, I need you to do something important.  Give up all your power, all your knowledge, everything you are.  To be made a human.  Raised a man.  And killed for man.  By man.  The catch is, the whole point of it will only matter for each man if he chooses to let it.  And it’s quite possible many won’t.”

Would you say yes to that?  I don’t think I can.  But God is desperate for you.  God is not a God of second chances.  He’s a God of second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and more chances.  God is a God who would abandon the ninety-nine sheep to come find the one and bring her home.

A parent would do anything for their child.  And God is a parent.  He is the Father.  Loves like a mother.  To Him the great price of sacrifice is worth it.  Is small.
I sometimes wonder if He’s actually taken a look at me.  Surely if He saw me clearly He’d think that all the pain was not worth it.  That all the sweat, tears, and blood was shed for someone who didn’t deserve it.

But the truth is… He knows I don’t deserve it.  And He just doesn’t care.  He wants me anyways.  He wants me, He’s desperate for me.  And the same is true for you too.

I have never felt desperation, and if I may never truly feel it.  But thankfully God has.

December 21, 2009

Sometimes I get asked how I can believe when there is no evidence for a god.  I get told that the meaning of faith is belief without proof.

The first question relies on a faulty assumption (in my opinion).  The second is a misconception.

This is a loaded topic to be honest.  One that can’t be covered by a single page, or even a single book.  But I’ve come to a few conclusions.

1) Sometimes people of science and people of faith get stuck on ‘my evidence vs. your evidence’.  And the truth is there is no my evidence, your evidence, his evidence or her evidence.

We all have the same exact set of evidence.  And what it means ultimately comes down to a matter of opinion.  Because in the end, that is how science works.

A good scientist works by forming a hypothesis, examining the available data, and then realizing that: it reaffirms the hypothesis, requires the hypothesis to be modified to more correctly fit the available data, or completely disproves the hypothesis, thus requiring a new one.  Most things about science are not facts written in stone never to be changed.

Some observations we can make about this universe are obvious and easy for everyone to accept.  Water is buoyant, gravity holds us to the ground, and the sun is rather bright. (At least in comparison to say a tree)  Other things are harder.  They’re much more open to interpretation, to opinion.

Scientists disagree on a lot of things.  That’s what makes science work actually.   The very emotion of it all.  Some people picture scientists as Vulcan’s in lab coats serenely toiling away at discovering the secrets of the universe, always agreeing, always taking the most logical path, never once bickering on an outcome, a path, or a possibility.  And the truth couldn’t be any farther away from this.

What does that have to do with this topic?  Believe it or not, there are scientists who see evidence in creation.  In a higher power.  Maybe not a Christian god, but perhaps a god.  And so do I.  I don’t consider myself a trained scientist.  I don’t have a degree.  I don’t have college schooling in the field.  But I have always had a keen interest in science, for as long as I have been alive.  And everything I have discovered, everything science has taught me, has only reaffirmed my belief in the fact that there is a God.

What is faith?  Is it truly something you have in the absence of proof, of logic?  Let’s see what the bible says.

Hebrews 11:1 in the KJV says:

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

In NASB:

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

What does that mean exactly?  Again a loaded question.

Faith is a conclusion we reach through observation.  In nonspirtual matters we have faith in many things.

We have faith the roof above our heads will stay where it is, because we’ve observed it did so the day before and the day before.

We can’t prove that, and the roof could fall.  But that doesn’t make it an incorrect belief or observation.

We have faith that the sun will rise in the morning, as it has done every morning of our lives.  We have observed that this always happens and few would doubt it will happen again.  But theoretically it might not.

Even in science, many things are based on faith.  We have faith that experiments can be verified through repetition.  Because no matter where in the universe you go, matter acts exactly the same.  Can we prove that?  No.  It would be impossible to travel the entire universe and test all matter to be certain it acts the same as everywhere else.  It’s even unlikely to do that across the earth.  But we have observed enough to rightfully come to this conclusion.

Few things are facts in the form of ‘absolutely impossible to be wrong and 100% proven true’ so much as ‘true to the best of our ability to test and observe.’

That is faith in the nonspiritual, and the spiritual.

Faith is the substance.  The evidence.  The assurance.  The conviction.  I have faith that God is real, because I have felt Him move in my life.  Watched as He has moved in others’ lives.  Did I literally see His hand?  No.  But when the wind blows open our door we know the cause from the effects.

Hebrews takes it a step further.  Faith IS evidence.  And that might seem contradictory, or even circular.  To a small extent, that’s fair.  But some circular reasoning is still correct.  Our life, our world, often lives in the truth that the majority rules and is correct BECAUSE it is the majority.  Nothing could be more circular.

How far have we come in science?  Yet faith still persists.  How much has man grown?  Yet God has not left our lives.  The Bible is still the #1 selling book in the world.  Each day it is translated into new languages.  And even in the most technologically advanced societies of today, religion has not died.

I have faith because I have all the evidence I need.  I have seen the complexity of the universe, and can not come to the conclusion that it is an accident or chance.

Faith isn’t a conclusion to reach when no evidence presents itself.  Faith is a belief culled by the observation of both things visible and not.  It is not a tool for ‘filling gaps’ but rather a final conclusion reached by a mind who stares at the whole of the universe and can only realize that there must be more.

The only things more miraculous than a man having faith in God, is the very fact that God too has faith in man.

Canterrain