Husband, Father, loving life.
(“Christ is Risen, Risen today! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” Chant for liturgical dance)
Jesus hasn’t eliminated time, but it sure ain’t what it used to be. Today is the day of salvation. Christ is risen Today! Now is the hour of our deliverance. Ever since eternity was birthed into this Wednesday-aftenoon-five-in-the-morning world we’ve been haunted by the real possibility of freedom from the restrictions of the past and the obscurity of the future. Because the creator is now making all things new! Because we get sparks from the great conflagration of the end blowing back into our present day. In eternity, there is only one time – now.
So I’ve been re-reading Matthew’s gospel recently, and was blown away by what I noticed this last time.
You know the story Jesus told about the sower of the seed – how some fell on the path and was chomped by the birds, and some fell on the rocky soil and sprouted quick but then died just as quick when it got too hot, and some fell amongst the thorns and was throttled before it could bear fruit. And some fell on good soil and produced a harvest; 30, 60, 100-fold.
In that story the soil is our hearts, and the seed is the Word of God. Pretty straight-forward.
After explaining the story, though, he goes on to tell another – and this one is about how a farmer sows wheat and his enemy sows weeds amongst the wheat. The farm workers offer to pull out the weeds, and the farmer says, “No, if you do you’ll damage the wheat. Wait till the harvest, and then we’ll burn the weeds and harvest the grain at the same time.” Which is a good word to those of us who want to do God’s work of judgement right now – we usually do more harm than good when we try to separate wheat from weeds.
But what really struck me about this is that in this second story Jesus says that the seed he sows is “the children of the Kingdom.” That’s you and me, sisters and brothers. Jesus sows us into the world to grow and bear fruit.
I’m used to thinking of the seed that is sown as being the Word of God. That picture of Jesus casting grain all over and letting it fall where it will, knowing that though some won’t grow, some will fall on good soil and bear fruit. As a teacher of the word of God, that was an image that resonated well with me. I like to think I’m following in my master’s footsteps and scattering seeds of the kingdom that may or may not grow and bear fruit.
But the image of seed in the second story is so different. In the second story I’m not just scattering words around me carelessly, I am the word that is sown. It’s my job to grow in whatever soil I’m planted and to bear fruit – despite the weeds that might be growing alongside. And that gives me pause for thought. If I’m the word of God to the world, what does that look like? In the first picture, the word is something different to me – it’s something I spread or deliver. It’s the difference between the message and the messenger, the postie and the letter. I don’t usually judge my mail by what my local mail carrier looks like, and yet that’s the situation we have here. The one who carries the message is the message. In some ways I don’t like this. I like to be a bit detached. I like to think I can say one thing and do another. But it looks like God isn’t keen on that. He might even call it something like hypocrisy.
The apostle Paul was onto it; he wrote to the church of Corinth “…you are a letter from Christ…” (2 Cor. 3:3). It’s not just what we say or the message we deliver that matters; it’s us. How we live. How we let the gospel shape our lives into paths of compassion, healing, mercy, and righteousness. How we let the Spirit mold us to be like Jesus. In all our relationships, that should be the most obvious thing about us; that we are being remade in His image. Is that true for me?
It was true for Jesus. While he talked about sowing ‘the word of the Kingdom’ in that first story of the wheat-seed, his dear friend John later wrote, “The Word became flesh, and dwelt among us.”
That’s the path we are on. We aren’t allowed to just say words and let them fall where they will. We are to be that Word in the flesh. To fall into soil of all sorts, and to bear whatever fruit we can where we are planted. Not just saying the word but being the Word of God for those who would otherwise know only the rocks and the weeds.
I’ve started writing again. Not just here (after a four-year hiatus!) but also I’ve picked up a little fantasy story I wrote some years ago, reread it, and loved it so much I decided to expand it. I want to know more about these people. More about how their relationships developed and the world in which they live. I want to know what happens next!
This has been a great start to 2019. Last year wasn’t actually that great. It certainly had some highlights (mostly family events) but it also had some of the severest challenges I’ve ever faced. But today… well, my kids noticed the difference. Their grumpy and mostly morose dad was outgoing again. I enjoyed myself at a party with friends. When it was time to sit down and write again, I actually had to stand up first and jump up and down with excitement. Literally. Jump. Up. And. Down. Repeatedly.
I’m teasing myself right now, by writing this before I return to my unfolding cast of characters. Oh, the anticipation! Not only do I get to find out more about them, not only do I get to see them responding to new challenges and situations, not only do I see them grow and change and develop in all sorts of ways, but I get to make it all happen!!!!
Besides being an occasional writer, I’m a bit of a computer game player. I like games with a ‘world creation’ aspect to them, or a strong element of story-telling. I can spend hours playing in Minecraft, or journeying in Skyrim. But you know what? I get all those thrills and more when I tell the story myself. When I build the story out of my very own words.
JRR Tolkien has always fascinated me, because of his talent for world creation, but it wasn’t until a little over a decade ago, when I wrote my masters thesis on his theological thought, that I was able to listen to what he had to say about the business of fantasy writing. He believed firmly that the writing of fantasy stories was a deeply Godly endeavor and that it provided for the human soul in several different ways; read his essay “On Fairy Stories” for all the detail. But one point I want to make here; he believed that we are creators of alternate worlds because we are made in the image of the maker. We can’t help but want to create worlds since the world-creator made us to be like Himself – and in fact calls us to join with him in the business of creating, sustaining, and redeeming the world in every possible way.
And you know what? Picking up a pen (or opening a word-processor document) might just be one way of doing that.
Good news for the creative soul!
Posted in Uncategorized on October 16, 2014
I was watching the moon being hidden from sight last night during the eclipse – when it was suddenly hidden from sight! By clouds. I had been expecting a smooth transition that I could photograph bit by bit and then a gradual re-emergence (you can see the little I did get here) but instead, I only saw half the show, and then it was curtains. No more eclipse for the rest of the night, no photos of a ‘blood moon’ and nothing to do about it but go to bed.
It was a great reminder that we don’t actually have a remote control for life. I may be able to browse dozens of TV channels, hundreds of DVDs, and millions of web pages, but I only have one life. And it isn’t entirely in my control. Events that I think are going to go one way may well go differently! I may think that I can see everything in order, only to discover that the curtains are pulled on life half-way through. I’m glad I got the photos I did. But real life is about so much more than a photographic record.
When we have taken teams to India, I’ve insisted (especially on our second trip) that most people keep their cameras away most of the time; we had one photographer (Lynette) and her photos would be our official record and everyone could have them – and great photos they are, too. The reason for this insistence is that it is too easy to put a screen between ourselves and life – check out this commentary: – if you’ll excuse the irony that, once again, it’s on a screen. We have become so tied into our media that we frequently cease to be present in the real world around us. We are… remote, and that helps us to feel that we are in control. But we are meant to be present. And when we are, we discover that we are not in control; we are dependent. Dependent upon the weather, upon the world around us, upon our upbringing and inheritance, upon the treasures that have been stored in our hearts, and upon the generosity of others. Most especially, dependent upon God. As the song says, “Be still and Know that I am God…”
Many commentators have said that the prime sin – the one from which all others spring – is our refusal to let God be God, and the way in which we wilfully put ourselves, other people, and myriads of ‘things’ into that gap. In a word, Idolatry. In the modern world, we have an idolatry of self. We expect to be God in our own lives. To have complete control, and to be able to do it …remotely. But in Jesus Christ, God confounds our mistaken view of Godliness. Jesus is not distant and controlling; he relinquished control, became subject to all that troubles humanity – even death – so that he could be present to us. That’s Godliness. Present. NOT in control. But trusting. Even unto death.
Dare we put aside our remote controls, be they cameras or cars, cash, or cocaine, careers or caring for others, and be truly present to one another so that we can also be present to God? And perhaps we will find (again, as the old song says) that if we ‘draw near to him, he’ll draw near to us…’ and we will see by his light exactly how silly our little idolatries really are – and
how awesome and extravagant is his Grace.
how awesome and extravagant is his Grace.
Posted in Uncategorized on July 22, 2014
So I do digital photography. And when I started it was with a ‘point-and-click’ fujifilm. Which was cool, and it had a lot of scene-settings (snow, beach, landscape, portrait, etc) that I used, and I loved it. I learned to compose my subject in the frame, and how to use the light in the scene. Then I got my first DSLR (actually my only DSLR, but I’m scheming an upgrade) and once again, it had all the same settings – and then some. I learned about shutter priority mode, and aperture priority mode (which meant learning what apertures and shutters do) and programmed modes aaaand …manual.
That was a big, scary step. Going from pre-set modes to manual, and having to take responsibility for exposure, and depth of field, and focus. But it also (after some photographic fumbles) marked the transition to much better and more interesting images. The old automatic presets worked in some situations – but not in many others. But by first noticing that my camera had more settings on it than I was using, and by reading the manual, and by asking experienced photographers who were further along the track than me, and by joining a community of photographers who could encourage me and give me feedback, and by getting out there and doing it I have got so much more out of my camera!
It’s like that with God, too. When I was first introduced to the possibility of knowing God, it was through religion. Religion provided me with the automatic settings I needed to be able to focus on the point of it all – God! Through religion I learned the basic disciplines of focusing and framing my life in the light of Jesus Christ.
But religion is limited. It’s a series of presets. It’s all automatic, and it doesn’t actually work in every situation. God calls us to more. The apostle Paul said that the Jewish Law was like the servant whose job it was to take the child to lessons and bring him (it was only boys who had lessons back then) safely back home again. The job of the old religion is to get us to where we can learn what we need to know, so we can grow up into our responsibilities and privileges as citizens of God’s kingdom – and as children of God (Galatians 3:23-26).
Jesus coming changed everything. He said very clearly that nothing of the old law would pass away as long as earth endured. But he was also very clear that the role of the law had changed. The servant who used to take the child to lessons still has a role to play in the family even after the child has grown. When the child has grown, the servant is subject to the child, not vice versa. And it’s the same with the Law. Jesus said, “The sabbath was made for people, people weren’t made for the sabbath.” Sabbath-keeping, circumcision and a kosher diet were the essential markers of law-abiding religious people in Jesus’ day. All these were explicitly set aside by Jesus himself and his apostles after him. Not because they were wrong or bad, but because God’s children were learning to live in a new way; not according to the automatic presets of the old religion, but according to the more nuanced, person-focused way of Jesus; the way of Love.
As followers of Jesus we must move beyond religion and into relationships. It’s not enough to stick with the presets. There is more. It’s not about making great photographic images; it’s about being conformed to His image – the person of God’s own son, Jesus Christ. This isn’t something that is achieved through the cookie-cutter processes of religion, but by the manual settings – the ‘made-by-hand’ individualised attention of someone who loves us and calls us to live within and live out of that love.
It’s harder work, taking photographs in manual. I need more people in my life to help me do it well, and I have to work much more carefully with the people around me to get the images I want. I have to give each situation more thought, and it takes a lot more practice than the old preset automatic mode. But it’s infinitely more satisfying. Come and try it.
Posted in Uncategorized on July 14, 2014
Something gentle and true…
But when I became that man the hope said Don’t be afraid. So I unprayed the sinner’s prayer, trusting the truest salvation lies in losing oneself to this world that is too much,
filled with the laughter of summer children backlit by our gorgeous dying sun.