A Question at the Core

Behold, the confidence and surety with which a child lifts his eyes and proclaims the answer to some mystery that befits the human mind at such a tender age. Where do frogs come from? Why does the truck make such a loud noise? Why do bees sting?

What right does the child have to think he holds the answers to such things? In this post-modern world where "reason" dominates, shouldn't some adult guide chastise him for imagining that he holds the answers to such things that are so far beyond him? Shouldn't someone sweep in with the "Origin of Species", charts of the modern diesel engine, or a naturalist guide to the defense mechanisms of plants and animals. 

Further, how dare he believe that there is enough coherence in the natural world to imagine that there would be a logical reason for anything?

How dare he grow to graduate through the stages of life, glory in the beauty and grace of his wife, and search through the night sky to find an answer to a question that is too deep to ask, sensing that there must be an answer. 

Why does the natural man have to be taught, using such ordered and well labeled arguments, that there are no coherent answers? Why must hope be expertly pulled from his grasping hands?

Without God, there is no coherence, no argument, no invention, no answers, no hope. There is no peg board with which to hang speech, thought or even the passage of time. 

Those that argue for the randomness of existence use borrowed language, borrowed reason and borrowed time.

We love that child for his searching heart, because it speaks of that unfathomable, greater mystery which beckons all of our searching hearts, and cannot honestly be denied. 

Ask yourself this:

Why is there a question at our core?

And if a question defines the human condition, might there be an answer? Could it be that we were designed to ask it?

A Coupla Bums

I have a friend... It's true! 

Actually I have several, maybe not as many as you do, but they seem to be okay with me, even as quirky as I am, so I am not going to argue. Each one of my friends has been a particular blessing to me and has filled a very distinct place in my life. 

The friend I am talking about today is a very different kind of a friend. He appeared out of nowhere, I see him very infrequently, he is cantankerous and grumpy, he seems to have difficulty playing nice with others, he has incredible health issues that further keep him from being more of a regular friend, he has been hurt terribly and isn't so sure he really has the desire to be in community again. 

All of that said, when I have needed a lifeline, God has faithfully sent him to me on several occasions. I can’t even describe the kind of love that he has shown to me just by the careful way he has sifted through all of my rantings and found some kind of insight or encouragement for me. He has been voted "Most Likely to Understand Me", in all of the complexity of a life being lived, hopefully respectfully, in a sometimes sterilized and polished looking community of faith (at least on the surface) while absolute mayhem has broken loose in my life.

 

As I have gotten real and vulnerable, pouring out the bad, the worse and the ugly, he has been an amazing friend like one of the characters from one of my favorite books called, “The Cure” that says, “Yeah? Is that all you got?”

 

I don’t need or want him to be perfect or posture himself in a certain way, I just need to know that he is never going to tell me in word or in action (as is quite common to hear when the storms don't blow over as quickly as expected), “Brian, this is just too messy for me. You need to put a nicer face on this stuff. Aren’t you supposed to be better by now?”

 

My friend and I have traveled some similar roads and though we are very different personalities and he has a few years on me, there is a commonality in the way we wrestle, grapple and process the challenges we face. We have both tried to ascend to a place of religious knowledge and practice and been slammed back to earth. We are both, very admittedly and unapologetically, broken beyond all repair. Our best human hopes for our lives, seemingly shipwrecked.

 

If either of us idiots are ever going to be of any effect in this world it isn't going to come through what my friend calls “Victorious Christian Living” (with tongue firmly planted in cheek), it will be through the experience of great pain and the humble compassion we learn when we see what we are really made of (trust me, it ain't great). I am so glad that God has given me such friends!

 

As I lie next to my fellow bums, amidst the dented garbage cans and filth, I am awakened by a beautiful light, and the sweetest song I have ever heard. It moves my heart with a sense of the surest hope, security and comfort. I look up to the sky to catch a glimpse and it fills me with wonder and amazement. Tears stream down my face. I don’t want to appear crazy, because I almost can’t believe how wonderful it is, but I venture to ask if anyone else sees and hears it too.

 

One guy says, “Of course I do! That beer sign has been there for years!” 

Another says, “Charley has been singing the blues around the corner all night! He won’t shut UP!”

 

“No!” I say, “I don’t mean that! The other light! The other song! Don't you hear it?”, but they just figure I am having a crazy spell and roll back over.

 

I begin to doubt my own eyes, the light begins to fade, the song gets drowned out by Charley's lonesome musings. I try to calm myself and lie back down. 

Just then something catches my eye. Through the pale glow, another bum has his eyes wide open to the sky and I can see the tears glistening on his cheeks, just like mine. 

He looks over at me, and I give a knowing smile. He smiles right back and wipes the tears. 

I notice a handkerchief sling on his arm. "I am sorry 'bout the arm, man! You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, it hurts real bad. Not sure if it got set right.  But I got this feeling that no matter what happens here, we are gonna be alright!"

As we talk, we both notice that the light and the song comes flooding back, even stronger than before. With our face to the sky we feel a shared hope and a bond that will not easily be broken.

 

I guess it all just seems like some crazy dream unless us bums can stick together and share our experience of this amazing grace, with our hearts open, in the midst of the messed up brokenness of this alley.

A Seed With A Choice

I know this is probably painfully obvious, it is to me too, but somehow I have a new sense of immediacy as to why our flesh needs to die out:

 

1.       Whatever fleshly part of us continues to live, tries to justify its own existence and grasps onto this temporal life (ie. reputation, sexuality, children, finances, career, you name it).

 

2.       Whatever grasps onto this life, and works to prove it’s worth  (justification), keeps us from entering into God's rest.

 

As I am being installed into my place as a slave to Christ, my flesh has thrashed about like a wild animal who doesn’t fully realize he has been overwhelmingly captured. I have desperately tried to figure out what I might cling to from my old life…My God will have NONE of it.

 

I imagine a terrified street urchin being caged and carted to a palatial new home by a kind and caring benefactor who has adopted him. He is caged for his own protection because he has not fully accepted that this gift is for real. Even after having been given proof of his good fortune he still clings to his last moldy crust of bread. As compelling as the evidence to the contrary may be, something deep inside of him still believes it to be his only hope of survival.

 

Sometimes I feel as though I have been shaken like a rag doll and much of what I was holding onto has been mercifully released from my grasp (I think I have described it before as being “Slapped out of my hands”). I had to be compelled to let go of that old life and even grieved the loss (there is a deep grief even if it is only a partially eaten crust of bread, it represents survival) even as I am being released into a gloriously beautiful freedom. I know there is much more that I could let go of, but God is being very patient with me.

 

I think I understand today more than ever what Jesus means when he tells us:

 

“Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. If anyone serves me, he must follow me; and where I am, there will my servant be also. If anyone serves me, the Father will honor him.” (John 12:24-26 esv)

 

I believe there is much evidence to suggest that the greatest world changers in Christian history (I mean the good ones) have wrestled with their faith, had their legs broken by Jesus’ in their own personal, terrifying, Sermon on the Mount, and rode atop Christ’s shoulders into those foggy, darkened margins just outside of what might be considered plausible, tidy, genteel, or reasonable. If we will go with Him where He leads, I am guessing His fiery sword (His Word) will provide just enough light for us to witness his majestic love at work, but not enough to allow us to get real comfortable. We get really stupid when we think we know the lay of the land, or when we start to feel our own strength again. 

I pray we will cling to Jesus ever... only.

Vanity!

In the very industry of conceiving, planning, choosing, creating, perfecting, and finally setting in place the idols that we so effortlessly turn our hearts toward, we distract ourselves from the deep sense of loneliness we all feel. When at last we are left in our quiet, candled cloister to enjoy what we have made, we discover that the pleasures of working, creating and loving, are only meaningless signposts written in gibberish if indeed there is no living, purposeful Divinity at the heart of our highest pursuits.

Grace In The Alley

Mr. Grace lifted his great tattooed arm, grabbed me by my extra starched, already blood-stained, three-hundred dollar shirt collar, and threw me against the alley wall, shouting, "You knew the rules and you broke them! You looked directly into my face and broke them!” I hit that wall, lined with putrid smelling garbage cans and the subsequent stone pavement with a crash and a thud.

“You are no longer welcome in this establishment! We invite a higher class of clientele to walk through those front doors. That is NOT you, and it will NEVER be you! Get out and STAY OUT!"

I couldn't argue! I certainly wanted to, but he spoke the truth. I am, and have always been a con and a traitor. A lascivious, lecherous, liar. Like a preacher with a greasy handshake and a shiny white smile! I had a taste for a scheme. I cheated! I stole! I would have taken much more if I had gotten the chance. I already spent my ill-gotten gain on certain items that make a man feel as though he isn't quite the lowlife he suspects he really is: new fancy clothes, a girl to walk around town with, a temporary residence in a swanky hotel. There was no chance of paying it back! I was a man, completely out of options. I had no job, no prospects, and I had already drained all of the suckers I knew of every last penny. I was down to my last dime.

Purposeless...worthless...hopeless.

I lay there, motionless.

I felt the sting of the hard pavement against my battered face, as I took a physical and emotional inventory. I hurt all over. I should have never tried to play my kind of game here! Not in this sort of place. The jig was up, and the cops would be here soon. I heard the alley door slam shut as Grace stormed back inside.

"I could NEVER make it in there! I just don't have what it takes!" I shouted with slurred speech at the empty bread sack lying by my head, "Those people can see right through my act!"

The siren's wail was now audible and getting louder, and I tried to get up to run away, but my legs wouldn't move. I wasn't even able to struggle to my feet.

In an instant, tires squealed around the corner as pristine and detailed cop cars filled the alley. All of the intensity of their brand of cold, swift justice was trained on this rumpled, bloodied drunkard in the alley ...all eyes were focused on me. Out of the front vehicle stepped a large uniformed figure who carried the serene aura of someone who was graciously permitting other citizens to occupy these streets - but only just.

“My name is Officer Law, Jackie! Looks like you’ll be taking a ride with us to the station!”

Had the prospect of being treated to a stay with some of the most notoriously brutal cops in a city known for its brutal treatment of scum like me not scared me so badly, I would have taken humorous note of the fate that brought together a man, his career, and his last name. Instead, I just groaned my compliance. He gestured with his hand for his men to remove me from my position of restful repose.

The alley door flew open with a hard CRACK, scattering a flurry of chipped red paint from the back of its ancient, wooden surface. Mr. Grace stormed out into the alley and boldly approached the officers. "How dare you come barreling into this alley, like you own the place!” He pointed a thick powerful finger into Officer Law’s proud chest. “I am running a legitimate business! What are you trying to do to me?!?”

There was some discussion, there was pointing, and there was recognition. My goose was cooked!

"...But, sir, someone called in a tip... a Mr. Kategoros. He said he was some sort of lawyer, saying something about a con man named, Jackie Royale, whose detailed description bears quite a resemblance to the upstanding citizen displayed before us. I figured the caller was your mouthpiece!”

I buried my head in my arms. I knew what was coming. I had always known what was coming. It was only a matter of time until I made a wrong step and was exposed for the pick-pocketing peddler that I was. I waited...and then I heard the sound...

...of laughter?

Not just laughter. This was snorting, unhinged, deafening, red-faced, side-splitting laughter. Something struck Mr. Grace funny and he could not contain himself!

Even the officers began to smile through their irritation, but held it close to the vest, their nervous eyes darting toward each other to gauge what their reaction should be, believing that possibly the joke was on them.

Finally after wiping the tears from his now bloodshot eyes, Mr. Grace said with a remaining chuckle, "My mouthpiece?? Mr K.?? MY mouthpiece??? I haven't had anything to do with that snake since I kicked him out of here ages ago!

“Well, the story is that this gentleman here stole 70K of house money! Is this bum the guy who ripped you off?" The officer pointed and squinted at me.

Grace stepped in front of the officer and met his accusing gaze with an other-worldly intensity of his own. Boldly, he rested his hand over the pointing finger and pressed the man's arm down to his side and there was a kind of strained silence that seemed to last for minutes as the officer lost his will to let things escalate into a brawl, or worse.

“I will tell you this, fellas.” He continued semi-seriously “This shadowy character, 'Jackie' you are talking about has been caught hanging around here before. I threw him out myself, and I can assure you that he bears no resemblance at all to the man you see here! This man's name is John! John Basileia!”

I had gone by Jackie for as long as anyone around here had known me! Even I had forgotten that I had been using a pseudonym! How would HE know?

Mr. Grace continued, “Let me explain something to you! While I have extended John a lot of credit in the past, as of today, that debt has been completely paid in full. In fact, he works for me now.” He motioned to the officer to come in close, cupped his hand by his mouth and in a mock whisper said “Truth be known, He's actually one of my best employees!"

Officer Harvey looked down at my broken body, as I lie in the undefinable sludge of spilled beer and chew spit. "H-he’s one of your b-best employees? Are you sure?"

"Am I sure? Are you kidding me? Of COURSE I am sure!" he stated authoritatively. "Why don't you go arrest someone who has actually done something wrong?!?"

Officer Law tucked his tail between his legs, begged pardon, and reluctantly, after one final dismissive signal to his seriously confused men, left the two of us alone in the alley as abruptly as they'd arrived.

I waited to find out my fate as the sound of their purring engines sped off into the bustling city. I lie there searching for words, I couldn't come up with a thing!

Breaking through the glazed crust that had formed over the moment of my exposed shame, and subsequent unexplained rescue, Grace spoke the first word.

"Well?" a heavy, almost comical sigh escaped through his knowing smile, "Let's move you inside so I can get you cleaned up!”

Through my swollen lips and labored breathing I said, "I thought you said I could never come back!"

"Not as one of those stuffed shirted patrons you couldn't...HA! You wouldn't last a DAY with that crowd, Trust me. I saved you some serious heartache! I will hand it to you though! You were determined to make it work! And you’d have died trying! But…I think you've had enough."

He came close to me, and knelt down to carefully prop my head up against his bent knee. He took a clean white handkerchief out of his pocket, and pressed it into wounded side of my sagging, disfigured face. My neck turned slightly to lock onto the eyes of this wounding and saving force of nature, and as I did, I saw that he was already looking deeply into my soul.

"John, you will never come through those front doors again! No, you'll be coming in through the old red door in the alley from now on.”

His resonant voice now reverberated warmly through my chest as his eyes welled up.

“John, you need to know… only my very own children are ever welcomed through that door."