Sanctification via Noisy Neighbor

We have a noisy new neighbor.  No, it’s not the guys who joined our Wii party (see my post on the topic).  I’ve never met my neighbor, but in my mind, he stands about 1 foot tall and has a beak shaped like a megaphone.  I’m uncertain about what specific breed of bird it is, but it’s whatever type that likes to aggravate writers.  Maybe it’s a raven (nevermore!).

Ever since our neighbor moved in, Dan and I have been discussing ways to get rid of the noise pollution in our formerly quiet apartment complex.  Dan wants to invest in a BB gun.  I’ve been fantasizing about different recipes for cooking a tropical bird. 

There’s nothing like sitting down to write and hearing a cacophony of high pitched squawks, aimed directly at one’s ear drums.  I fume for awhile, imagine the bird’s untimely demise, and get back to what I have been writing, only to get interrupted a few minutes later by more “fowl” noise (sorry, I couldn’t resist). 

Have you ever had someone squawking at you, someone whose beak you’d like to tape closed for awhile?  As with the bird, my typical reaction to these kind of people is to get quickly frustrated and fume and vent about the how inconsiderate they are.  I never stop to consider ways that I might be the solution to the problem.  Instead, like to focus on how to fix the other person (or in this case, animal). 

I talked to my apartment complex managers a couple times to complain about the bird noise.  That didn’t get me very far.   They failed to understand how it’s an evil, rabid bird with malevolent inclinations, bent on my destruction. 

I decided that I needed backup, to get some other neighbors on my side.  I called Valerie, my Jesus loving neighbor who was sure to help me out.  She’d heard the bird, and it hadn’t bothered her as much.  In her sweet, grandmotherly way, Valerie told me how she handles annoying noises.  She prays that God will help her tolerate them, so she won’t notice them anymore or let them interfere with her life. 

Valerie caught me off guard.  I was hoping she’d run to my aid to launch a full frontal assault on the bird.  Instead, she directed me to work on my own heart.

I didn’t exactly like that response.  The bird was the one making the noise.  The bird should suffer.  I shouldn’t have to submit. I’m bigger.  I went to school longer.  I have opposable thumbs. 

But Valerie was right.  God used Valerie to show me how he is sanctifying me through this beaked nuisance. 

Sanctification.  It’s what comes after salvation and just before glorification. God sanctifies us during our stretch of time on this earth.  While we’re waiting to see Jesus again, he’s making us more like himself. In the process of sanctification, the Holy Spirit works in us towards holiness and Christlikeness.  For me, I needed to recognize that God sent this annoying little bird to help me learn a little about patience and priorities.

You see, I think I focused on the wrong neighbor.  Along with the evil little bird, a whole family moved in.  I was so busy bemoaning my discomfort that I didn’t take the time to welcome them and get to know some new people in my neighborhood.  That’s the real tragedy in the whole affair.

These days, I’m noticing the bird less and less.  Maybe it’s because I’ve finally figured out how to focus on the right things, or God could have answered my prayers by silencing the winged menace for good.  Either way, I’m not complaining. 

Sanctification isn’t always fun.  But its reward, a closer walk with my Savior, is worth a little bird noise now and again.  As Paul says, “May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Thessalonians 5:23).

Off My Pedestal and onto God’s Workbench

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about discipline. No, I’m not talking about spanking or time outs.  Don’t expect a post about the joys of corporal punishment.  I mean discipline in the spiritual sense, the type that makes you Jesus’ “disciple” and brings you closer to God.

Last Friday and Saturday, Jews everywhere observed Yom Kippur, their highest holy day.  Normally, the day goes pretty much as usual for me.  I might offer some extra prayers for the Jewish people I know, or I might plead for peace in Israel that day (historically, it’s been a big day for attacks).  But aside from that, it’s life as usual. 

That morning, God surprised me with a gentle nudging.  He wanted me to fast alongside the Jews on this special day.

I have a history with fasting, and it’s not a pretty one.  In college, I tried a couple of times to go 24 hours without food, usually because I was praying about something important.  I’d get really cranky and wouldn’t leave my bunk bed very often. Everyone around me couldn’t stand my attitude.  I never made it the whole 24 hours.  So much for a spiritual exercise that was supposed to make me closer to God. 

I’ve made small improvements in fasting since then, especially since I’ve learned to Lent. During this 40 day period before Easter, believers often engage in a form of fasting that doesn’t necessarily include abstinence from food.  Through Lent, I’ve discovered more about the purpose of fasting, how it’s not so much about following the letter of the law as it is about willful sacrifice, submission, and whipping your will into shape for God.

So, when God asked me to do the Yom Kippur fast, I made certain I heard him correctly.  “God, do you remember what happened last time I did that?  I didn’t leave the couch all day and just about bit Dan’s head off.”  God’s got a decent memory.  I’m sure he remembered.  He still wanted me to do it.

In his highly acclaimed book The Celebration of Discipline, Richard Foster explains how spiritual disciplines, like fasting, help us grow closer to God:  “The Disciplines allow us to place ourselves before God so that He can transform us” (6).  I like to visualize the disciplines as a means of getting myself off a pedestal and onto God’s workbench.  When I practice the disciplines, I am saying to God, “Here I am, change me, make me yours.”

From sundown on Friday until Sundown on Saturday, I didn’t eat anything.  As expected, I wasn’t exactly perky.  I spent a lot of time on the couch, and took a couple naps.  I tried to understand why God chose this day, of all days, for a fast.  I studied and meditated on the biblical passages about Yom Kippur (Leviticus 16 & 23:26-32).  I even listed to a radio station broadcasting a cantor singing the Yom Kippur prayers, which were dirge-like and mournful. 

On this day, Jews are repenting of their sins before God.  It’s their last chance for the year, before the scroll of life gets sealed, for them to plead with God for a good year.  On this day, according to Jewish tradition, God determines who will live, who will die, who will have a good year, and who will have a bad one. 

They fast, they pray, they repent individually and corporately of every sin known and unknown.  Before the temple was destroyed in AD 70, the High Priest used to enter the Holy of Holies and offer a sacrifice over the Ark of the Covenant for the people.  He’d also release a symbolic goat, what we know as the “scapegoat,” to represent the sins and guilt that had been removed. 

As Christians, we know that Jesus came as our High Priest to intercede for us before God.  He is the ultimate sacrifice, one for all time.  He is both the sacrifice within the Holy of Holies and the scapegoat who removes our guilt.  We don’t need to offer a sacrifice each year because Jesus did it once and for all, and by believing in him, our name is written in an eternal book of life.

As I observed the Day of Atonement, I joined millions in reflecting on my own sins.  Even though our sins have been wiped away by Jesus’ sacrifice, I think Christians could benefit from their own day of corporate repentance.  We are sinful creatures who continue to do sinful things.  I take for granted the fact that I’m forgiven, and I forget to seek forgiveness daily. 

Having one day to somberly reflect on the ways that I fall short, and the God who is so great to forgive me, I recognized the power of deep, unrestricted repentance. I was humbled, and God was glorified.  I got off my pedestal, and hopped onto his workbench, ready for change.

P-R-A-Y

I’ve found a new cure for insomnia.  Sometimes, I’ll try reading Leviticus, but after awhile, on my 30^th trip through the book, I’m desperate for something else. 

My new method:  prayer. 

This isn’t anything new. Lots of people pray before bed.  But do many people pray to try to fall asleep?  I’m not talking about endless requests: “God, please help me fall asleep.  God, please, please help me fall asleep.”  I’m talking about some heart to heart with The Eternal One. 

I figure, as long as he keeps you awake, he must have reason to keep you praying.

Last night, bleary eyed from staying up late reading, I attempted falling asleep, but found myself thinking about all the things that I had to do the next day. 

I decided to lay my requests before God, to get the next day off my mind.  Shortly thereafter, I realized that I sounded like a spoiled little brat who calls up her parents from college and immediately launches into all the things she needs them to send in the next package.  So, I aimlessly wandered through a couple “obligatory” thanksgivings and praises, but soon, I was back to fretting about my next day.

I needed some way to focus on praying, without cracking open the Book of Common Prayer.  I can see how that would only keep me up later, since in no time, I’d be scribbling in the margins and thinking of new blog entries.

Then, I remembered an old acrostic, a mnemonic device to teach children how to pray, based on the letters in the word “pray.” 

P=Praise:  First, we offer praises to God, tell him how we’re thankful for all he’s done.

R=Repent:  Next, we confess our sins to him.

A= Ask:  This is the part I excel at.  This is where you get to ask him for things, to make requests.

Y= Yield:  Here, you yield to his will, listen to his voice, seek his direction. 

In my semi-sleepy state, I figured that a 4-point chart could rein me in, so I tried it.  I spent a long time telling God how thankful I was for all that he’s done in my life.  I can’t remember the last time I got so detailed, maybe it was last Thanksgiving, but it was probably even longer.  It felt good to dig deep and let him know how grateful I am for all the blessings in my life.

I never got to “R.”  I fell asleep before I made it there.  That’s okay, though.  Next time I can’t sleep, I’ll start all over at “P,” and I won’t mind if I don’t make it to “A.”

 ”A” isn’t most important, after all.

The Trinity in Challah

Yesterday, I read Revelation 1:4-5, in my daily devotions:  “Grace and peace to you from him who is, and who was, and who is to come, and from the seven spirits before his throne, and from Jesus Christ, who is the faithful witness, the firstborn from the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth.”

I’d stubbed my toe against the trinity.

I just started reading Revelation, and it’s obvious that a I hadn’t gotten very far before the imagery got the better of me.  I had to go scurrying to my bible reference tools to figure out what in the world John was talking about.  It turns out, he’s talking about God here, in three persons, what we like to call the trinity. 

“Him who is, and who was, and who is to come”

Well, according to my reference source, that’s God the Father.  If you ask me, you could also use these criteria to apply to Jesus.  We know he was around before time began, since John, the guy who also wrote Revelation, told us this at the beginning of his gospel (”In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God,” etc.). 

“The seven spirits before his throne”

This is where I got really confused. Who in the world are these spirits.  Angels?  Only seven of the apostles, with five of them off playing the harp somewhere?  It turns out to be a symbolic thing, since seven is the number of perfection.  It’s the Holy Spirit, another member of the trinity. 

“Jesus Christ, who is the faithful witness, the firstborn from the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth”

Now we have the final member of the trinity listed.  John has been officially greeted by God in his fullness, in the three ways that he demonstrates himself to us.

I’d planned on reading further in Revelation yesterday, but after those verses, I had to put the book aside for awhile (At this rate, I can tell that Revelation is going to take a very long time.).  I spent awhile praying about this age old issue, this God who manifests himself in three ways but remains one God.  I asked God to help me understand the trinity, to know him better because of it.

I’m not the first to get mind boggled by the nature of the trinity, and I don’t think I’ll be the last.  I’ve listened to all the Sunday school analogies that attempt to explain the trinity, but somehow, they just fall short for me.  For example, the egg analogy.  If God is like an egg, it’s way too easy to separate the yolk, and the whites.  I do that all the time in the kitchen.  God the Father and Jesus are like “this” *holding my hand up with my fingers crossed*.  You can’t just split them up.  In all honesty, I don’t expect to truly understand it until I stand before God in heaven and have him explain it to me.  As a matter of fact, I’m making that my first question.

In my prayers, God didn’t reveal to me the mysteries of the trinity.  Unlike a medieval mystic, I didn’t enter a trancelike state and emerge knowing how all this works.  I just prayed that he would help me understand, and I left it at that.

Later that day, I was baking bread for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, when God answered my prayer.  Daniel is a Messianic Jew, a Jewish believer in Jesus, so we celebrate many of the Jewish holidays with a Christian spin on them.  We bake a special form of challah bread for this holiday, one that’s extra sweet, with raisins.  Traditionally, a challah is a braided egg bread that Jews eat on the Sabbath, Friday at sundown.  On Rosh Hashanah, we look forward to a sweet New Year, and we celebrate by eating the fruits of the New Year, the freshest harvest of grapes and apples, since that’s what’s in season.   That’s why we put raisins (dried grapes) in the challah bread, and we also put extra honey in it to make it sweeter.

To make challah, you knead the dough and let it rise for an hour.  After an hour, you divide the large ball into three parts and roll each part into long strips.  As I pinched the three strips together at the top and began braiding it, I realized that before me, a symbol of the trinity was taking shape. 

When I pinched the dough together to hold the three strands in place, I realized that I could no longer separate them, even if I wanted to.  They became one ball of dough, once more. Their ends remained free, and as I twisted them together, I could distinguish where one rope started and another ended.  At the end of the braiding, once again, I pinched the ends together to keep the loaf from unraveling.  Just as before, the end of the loaf became a solid mass, where three ends had once existed.  Although I could see the shape of three separate ropes, there was no way to pull them apart.  They were one, as God is one.

I know this isn’t a perfect analogy for the trinity.  Nothing on this earth can compare with the complexity and the beauty that is our God.  However, I felt that yesterday, God blessed me with one more way of understanding him, whom I will only fully understand in heaven.

Baby Seal Brings Press to Mars Hill Baptism

When things seem to go down hill, it’s often good to ask, why in the world would God let this happen?  We’ve got a creative God who thinks outside the box.  All we have to do is take the time to ask Him what he’s up to. 

Last night, my church baptized somewhere between 150-200 new believers in a massive baptism at a local beach.  The event almost didn’t take place, though, because environmentalists were up in arms about an abandoned baby seal that was stranded on the beach. 

Apparently, if a mama seal leaves her baby, nobody can touch it.  Otherwise, the mom will never reclaim it.  Also, there are strict rules and regulations about how close you can get to a stranded baby seal.  In this case, the seal was on the spot where our church had a permit to set up a huge sound stage and take up a lot of waterfront to baptize the new converts. No one could get within 100 yards of the baby seal.  That’s an entire football field!  To do so would earn a several thousand dollar fine. 

The church prayed that the baby seal would move, but it didn’t.  So, they re-applied for a new permit to move further down the beach.  They picked up all their gear and relocated.  By then, the news media had gotten wind of the whole escapade and had crews there getting the story.  Eventually, the seal did return to its mommy, and the baptisms took place, albeit 100 yards away.  So, all was well in the end.

I’ve never seen a Mars Hill event get this much news coverage.  At the time, it must have been a massive annoyance to those at the church who have worked so hard to plan and setup this massive event.  In the end, I think that the seal brought the media to cover the baptism. 

You see, Seattle isn’t what I’d call very Christian friendly.  Our pastor likes giving stats about there being more dogs than Christians in Seattle, etc.  In newsworthiness, baptisms rank up there with bake sales.  But I think God knew how to attract our city’s attention.  How else do you get a liberal city, passionate about environmental issues, to pay attention to a church baptism?

Here’s liks to local news sources that mention the event, with lots of video feeds too.

http://www.komotv.com/news/9794442.html

http://www.king5.com/video/index.html?nvid=175262&shu=1

http://www.nwcn.com/statenews/washington/stories/NW_091407WAB_seal_baptism_KS.d371eef3.html

Seattle Blackout Baby Boom

I seem to know a lot of pregnant women right now, more than usual.  Maybe it’s because I attended a church with lots of hip, young urbanites who love babies.  But I’ve been there for awhile now, and there are more baby bumps than before. 

My live-in doctor tells me that the labor and delivery floor at his hospital is hopping right now.  That’s another tell-tale sign.

It must be 9 months after the Seattle power outage, which began December 14, 2006. 

I remember it well.  When you’re an online college instructor, a power outage is a serious setback, especially when you’re trying to grade finals.  Our part of the city was out of power for 5 days.  Some had it worse.  Further out in the suburbs, people didn’t have power for a week or more. 

I learned that presto logs don’t throw very much heat, but a down blanket, wrapped like a toga, can keep one warm when an apartment is in the 40 degree range.  It does limit mobility a bit.  Reading by candlelight also stinks.  I could never get enough candles around me to make it work.  They flickered too much and danced around the page.  I wondered how Milton used to write at 4:00 a.m., when he’d get up in the morning to do his work.  Then again, he did go blind. 

Another issue, hot water heaters don’t work, if they’re electric.  That was a major revelation.  Dan took his showers at the hospital, since they had generators for patients (and doctor’s showers, apparently).  I tried the European thing for a few days.  It wasn’t pleasant.  For once, Dan and I both agreed that I smelled worse than him.  A milestone in our relationship.  Actually, I wonder how all those people could stand to procreate, since they probably smelled so bad.

There’s historical precedent for this post-blackout baby surge.  The Northeast Blackout Baby Boom of 1965 is a prime example of what happens when the lights go out on a large scale.  Most of New York and New England was pitch black, starting around 5:00 p.m., one cold November evening.  The power stayed off for about 12 hours, long enough for people to find creative ways to keep warm.  Record numbers of babies were born just about 9 months after that night.  Coincidence?  I think not.

I was at the community pool the other day, and my neighbor showed up, with a significant belly bulge of her own.  I asked her when she was due, and it was sometime around today.  She told me, “Blackout baby.”  I smiled, not knowing how to respond.  “Nothing better to do,” she said. “Guess not,” I said.  Poor kid, I thought.  It’s going to grow up knowing exactly how it was conceived.  There are some things children just don’t need to know.  That’s probably one of them. 

Priceless Blackberries

“Ouch! Dang blackberries!” I say, sucking my poor, pricked finger. “Ouch! Dang blackberries!” I say, when I re-injure myself a few seconds later.

Picking blackberries is a bittersweet end of summer activity.  The thorns tear at my clothing and hands, and I constantly have to swat away bees and avoid fat spiders.  But each time I soothe my bleeding fingers in my mouth, a sweet mixture of blackberry juice, dirt, and blood reminds me that some pain is worth its rewards.  The big bowl of plump, delicious blackberries helps, too.

In the Northwest, blackberries grow wild.  You’ll find them along country roads, beside creek beds and rivers, encroaching upon gardens, and bordering properties.  The thick, untamable brambles are an eyesore for many locals, who dig them up one year, only to find them returning then next. 

I like blackberry bushes.  The sweet black fruit grows by the wayside, available free for any passerby.  Even where I live, in Seattle, there are several good blackberry bushes to harvest.  Most people walk by them, not even acknowledging nature’s bounty, spread out before them.  I want to stop them and tug at their shirtsleeves, “Excuse me, sir, you need to stop a moment and feast on this incredible fruit, a free gift for you.”

I think part of the reason people devalue the blackberry around here is precisely because it’s free.  People like to assign worth to things based on their cost.  My dad once advised me that it’s easier to get rid of something if you assign a price to it.  I wanted to put something by the side of the road, marked “free.”  And he told me that if I really wanted someone to take it, I should mark it $20.  It would be gone the next day.  He was right.

In a study at the University of Bordeaux, a student tested this theory on wine.  He served participants a mid-range Bordeaux wine and put it in a cheap wine’s bottle, one for vin de table, their equivalent of 2 Buck Chuck.  The tasters said the wine was “simple,” “unbalanced,” and “weak.”  A week later, the student used the exact same wine and put it in an expensive wine’s bottle.  This time, the reviewers found the wine “complex,” “balanced,” and “full” (Keefe 83).  The perceived value of the bottle magically transformed the value of its contents.

Sometimes I wonder if Christianity loses some appeal because it’s free.  Christ invites the rich and poor.  Everyone is welcome, regardless of financial status.  Attending Sunday services won’t cost you a penny.  On the other hand, there’s plenty of other religions out there that demand money for participation.  Rumor has it that to get to the higher levels of Scientology, you have to pony up a lot of cash.  Maybe that’s why the stars like it so much.  It’s an exclusive club for those who have, and it keeps out those who have not.

What many don’t realize is that Christianity comes at a higher cost than money.  Christ asks that we give him our lives, our hearts, our all-in-all.  To be his disciple, we pay with our very selves: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brother and sisters-yes, even his own life-he cannot be my disciple.  And anyone who does not carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26-27).

Blackberries taste sweeter to me because they are abundant and free, and they require a sometimes painful labor of love to acquire them.  Christ’s gift is all the sweeter because it costs us so much, but in the end, it’s free for everyone. 

—-

Keefe, Patrick.  “The Jefferson Bottles.” The New Yorker.  3 Sept. 2007:  106-117.

Authentic Hypocrites

“All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.”
(Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII, lines 139-143)

I apologize for my absence over the past week or so.  I’ve been on vacation with my husband, and our destination was the Shakespeare festival in Ashland, Oregon.  There, we saw 4 plays, three by the Bard himself, one of which was As You Like It. 

Melancholy Jacques utters this famous line, arguably the most famous in Shakespeare’s entire repertoire.  One of my professors once argued that most of Shakespeare’s plays came down to this one main point, that we are all acting in this great play called life.

“All the world is a stage.”

Until I wandered the streets of Ashland, I never truly understood the quote.  All summer long, Ashland hosts a handful of Shakespeare plays, as well as plays from other famous playwrights, on three main stages.  On any given day, except Monday (the actor’s sabbath), you can catch at least two different plays, a matinee and evening show.  Everywhere you go, there’s another play to watch, another show to see.  One show has just ended, and another one is soon to begin.

“And all the men and women merely players”

Ashland’s festival is known for bringing in highly accomplished actors of the stage and screen, and I recognized several familiar faces staring back at me across the stage.  Dan and I had a fun time playing “spot the actor” in public.  It wasn’t very hard.  They were everywhere.  Because the actors play roles in several shows during the full summer, they live in the area and consequently, they dine and shop in area stores.  We sat at a brewery next to a table of actors, ones I recognized from a show that we’d seen earlier that afternoon.  Players are everywhere. You never know who is an actor, and who is not.

“And one man in his time plays many parts”

As we watched several shows over the course of our stay, we began to recognize actors that had roles in multiple plays.  “Wasn’t he Baptista in The Taming of the Shrew?” we’d ask, when we saw the same actor play a shepherd in As you Like it.  The same man played wildly different roles, but he was believable and likable in both.  After As you Like it, Dan was kind enough to accompany me to an actor’s discussion, where an actor was going to answer questions about the play.  We were pleased when Baptista/the Shepherd showed up.  We had one more dimension to add to him, his “real” persona.  But, even as he answered our questions about the life of an actor and what sort of roles he liked, I wondered if this was just another part he was playing.

All of us are actors.  We all play parts for different audiences, whether we realize it or not.  It was true 400 years ago, in Shakespeare’s time, it’s true today, and it was true 2,000 years ago in Israel. 

One group in particular, the Pharisees, were master actors.  They acted for their own gain, to make themselves look holier than they were, to earn brownie points with God.  In ancient Greek, the word that means “actor” is “hupokrites,” or as we say it “hypocrite.”  When Jesus was ranting against the Pharisees in Matthew 23, calling them “hypocrites,” he was calling them out on their acting (no “Jesus, meek and mild” here, folks).  Shakespeare’s insight into man was nothing new.  Jesus recognized it long before.

Unbelievers love pointing out the times when Christians act as hypocrites, when we act one way, pretending to be holy, even when we’re not.  Maybe it’s the part we play on Sundays when we go to church, or the mask we wear when we are out in public.  I must point out that there’s a big difference between playing a role and simply failing to live up to an ideal because sin gets in the way.  Nobody is perfect.  That’s why we need Jesus.  We’re hypocrites when we, like the Pharisees, wear a mask of perfection, but our hearts have no desire to be like Jesus. 

By God’s grace, we don’t need to play the hypocrite.  We can play the role he designed for us to play: the authentic, humble, and contrite person who needs a savior.