That Magnificent Emptiness

                                                  That Magnificent Emptiness


Ninety percent of the folks gathered didn't want to be there. No, it wasn't a church meeting. The twenty or so, the number kept changing, had gathered to see their doctors, a group of neurosurgeons. It was the Thursday before Thanksgiving but on this day it was a day of misgivings and questions of  'what ifs' and 'what will be'.

 People were there because of accidents, genetic weaknesses, poor decisions, unknown factors, and the wear and tear of living life. They were trussed up, braced up, taped up. They limped, waddled, shuffled on feet, canes, and walkers. A few claimed a wheelchair as their steed.   Most were slow but a few strode confidently,quickly and seemed happy. Their treatment or surgery had worked. You could read the relief on some people's faces when they came out from their appointment compared to the concern in their eyes before they went in.

Back, brain, limb and neck troubles didn't seem to be very discriminating. There were black folk, white folk, Asian, Latino and middle eastern folk there. People's age didn't seem to matter a lot either. A few were young, a few old, mostly they were in the middle somewhere. Some were obviously poor, others middle class and a few, at least looked wealthy. Just about as many men were present as ladies.

Despite their differences they all had at least a few things in common. They were in the same waiting room. They were seeing the same doctors. They all had a story to tell and about a third were busy telling them to another third. The remaining third were silent, except for the eyes. The biggest common denominator was pain. They had all been broken, and they needed help. They were all there with some degree of fear. And they were there, every one, waiting in hope.

As a group they were pathetic and at the same time magnificently noble. Mixed with the pain, fear, silence, grief, resignation were strength, joy, resolve, and faith. The scene was familiar, but not just from the thousands of waiting rooms in which I have sat. Where else had I seen this scene, these faces, this pain, this nobility, this strength mixed with fear and carried by hope? Then it hit me--this is our world, our hearts.

This is where and why Jesus came.

And He is why Thanksgiving is possible at all. It is not just because someone else may have it worse, but even in the worst, He brings hope, He brings Himself. It is not that healing will come to every brain, back, or bone in time but that ultimately every heart and life can be whole when time is no more. Some people in waiting rooms will get good news that the back is healed, the bone is mended, the legs can walk, the cancer is gone. For that they can be thankful. But Thanksgiving moves to another plane when it is realized that one day even death will die.

And it is here, into this magnificent mess that Jesus came and why He came. One day, He will empty every waiting room and every grave. And the grace that empties the graves is as indiscriminate as the pain--it is for all who believe.

For that magnificent emptiness we give thanks.

Cos

Confession:Chuckles Has Died

                                         Confession: Chuckles Has Died


I have a confession. With the confession comes an apology. Some days when the world is falling apart or being blown apart or or seems to be missing some parts my sin is more acute, at least on those days I am more aware of it than on light, sunny days. With the increase of technology that allows me to hear about and in most cases view the multiplied tragedies around the world there seem to be fewer of those light and sunny days when grandkids laugh at being tickled, kitchens fill with heavenly aromas, when hugs are long and kisses are deep.  I can hide my sin most days but many times I feel like the Mary Tyler Moore character who attended the funeral of 'Chuckles' the clown. (yes, the two young people who read this blog and the six very old people have no idea what I'm talking about---so take a look: go to youtube and search for Mary Tyler Moore show Chuckles the clown funeral---you will see what I mean....) Okay, so here's the confession:
I am a happy Christian.

There, I said it. It's out now. I feel better. I know I am suppose to be burdened, incensed, appalled, and rage with righteous indignation as I launch into action. I see people every day who are hurting, grieving, struggling, stumbling, and grasping at life in the throes of death. And some days those people are me. I literally weep in prayer times or driving alone or lying in bed. And then something hits me and I laugh. I am so sorry for being happy in a sick, fallen, and dying world. I just can't help myself. It's not that I don't get sad or burdened or mad or sick with the pain of this world. It just doesn't overcome me more than a few hours or days. And with further confession, most days they are interspersed, mixed, rotating, and roller-coastering along. Chuckles has died, and I giggle.

'Why is this so?' I ask myself. I look for answers. I try to keep my reactions context appropriate.  I defend myself: "God made me that way." But did He?  "I choose to be that way." Why then is the happiness so spontaneous and ever-present? I get theological. Maybe I get the "joke" that Jesus pulled on the devil--Incarnation, who could see that coming? The God\Man Jesus dying on the cross for the sin of the world? Come on, how could you not laugh at what that did to Satan's plans? The Resurrection? Are you kidding me? Free grace; forgiveness; cleansing; power over death and sin; purpose for living even in pain; HEAVEN! The poet-song writer summed it up by saying "How can I keep from singing?" and I say how can I keep from laughing? Those last facts have brought me in contact with grace-filled moments, love filled people, joy filled hearts, hope that just doesn't quit, even when I have. Chuckles has died and I giggle.

Thankfully, I don't bear this burden alone. There are others in the underworld of grace. Let me share with you a few lines from Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts, (buy it!) a wonderful little book on counting your blessings in a truly meaningful way from a very gifted writer: "I know there is poor and hideous suffering, and I've seen the hungry and the guns that go to war. I have lived pain, and my life can tell: I only deepen the wound of the world when I neglect to give thanks for the early light dappled through leaves and the heavy perfume of wild roses and the song of crickets on humid nights and the rivers that run and the stars that rise and the rain that falls and the good things that a good God gives. Why would the world need more anger, more outrage? How does it save the world to reject unabashed joy when it is Joy that saves us? Rejecting joy to stand in solidarity with the suffering doesn't rescue the suffering. The converse is true. The brave who focus on all things good and all things beautiful and all things true, even in the small, who give thanks for it and discover joy even in the here and now, they are the change agents that bring the fullest Light to all the world."

Well said, Ann V. You express thanksgiving and joy.  I don't have your beauty of language to express the depths of what I think and feel, but I can confess to being happy. And please try to be forgiving of me when I remember that Chuckles has died and I giggle.

Cos
Phil. 4:8

ordinary god

                                                 ordinary god


ordinary  god     At first glance you don't like those words. When first written I didn't either. Questions arise, defenses kick in, assessments are offered. "Why didn't he capitalize 'god'?" " There is nothing ordinary about God!" "Cos must be a liberal!"

We jump too quickly, we decide without knowing. We see a blank canvas, we see a completed theology, and a full statement of life.  ordinary god   is none of those things but it could be all of them. We don't know for one simple reason.  ordinary  god   is not punctuated. There are no capitalizations, there are no commas, pre-fixes or suffixes.  There are two words thrown on a page. The words have great potential for meaning but there must be punctuation and rules of grammar applied before we know----anything.

Let's play god with  ordinary  god. Let's capitalize the g.  ordinary God. That's a start but now we have a bigger problem. The capitalization now means the God, the big, real, true God who, out of respect, people of faith capitalize his name. Now we have an adjective 'ordinary' describing 'God.' Looks problematic.  Let's add a suffix---'ly.'  ordinari-ly God. That's better. Maybe we are saying how we understand God to normally act. 'ordinarily God does this or that. Or maybe we are saying some things about ourselves and our actions with 'God."  Let's add a comma, too.  It could be like this: ordinarily, God, I go to church on Sundays, but today I'm going fishing.'  We are not sure if that is the best way to punctuate  ordinary  god   but it is at least honest.

Let's try a prefix. Let's add 'extra' to ordinary. "Extraordinary God."  We like that. We have capitalized 'god' and made him 'extra-ordinary' with a prefix. Now God is extraordinary. That looks right. We feel better. But how do you know how to punctuate 'ordinary' and 'god'?  We chose punctuation that reflects our understanding, our theology. There are dozens of other ways to punctuate  ordinary  god.  We may only know a few.

Consider two points: all our points and grammar do not actually punctuate God. He has declared, "I AM WHO I AM!"  Try as we might we will never in completeness punctuate God.  He is already whole, complete and perfectly declared. Our punctuation can only show our ignorance or, best, some growth in understanding.  Secondly, it is we who are punctuated by the hand of God.  ordinary  man.... ordinary   woman....   ordinary   human.  He punctuates our lives with a comma slowing us down long enough to see Him work. He punctuates our lives with a period or exclamation point.  Where he puts a period we do well not try to add a question mark or move beyond where He says 'stop.'  He capitalizes words, time, people in our lives adding emphasis and respect. He adds the prefixes of life to add definition and meaning. He adds the suffixes of life to add the hows and whys as He knows we need them. At times the points are light (.....) and times they seem heavy (!!).  He will dress our   ordinary   man   as He deems right, as we submit our will, our very lives to His pen strokes.

How has He punctuated your life? Consider what superlatives He has added with just His presence- mystery, wonder, glorious, majestic, eternal- added to our lives they take on new meaning. He adds the suffix 'ful' to almost everything He punctuates in our lives--joy-ful, prayer-ful, hope-ful, peace-ful, thank-ful.   Review the run-on sentences , those partially done ideas and commitments, He has corrected, overcome or let stand for us to learn from their failings.  Notice the mistakes He has erased, if, in His grace you ever knew them.  Remember that in all the punctuation added or subtracted, His pen is filled with the ink of grace and each stroke is made with love.
And each mark is made

In His Blood,
Cos

Rain

                                                                      Rain


I have always been partial to rain. I have been nuisanced by it, but rarely. Attribute it to a rural rearing where crops and cow pastures were dependent on it or the fifteen years we spend in west Texas that averaged less than 15 inches a year, I like rain. I probably picked up early a subdued communication from my parents and other farmer-families around us how important it was for our livelihood. By the prayers at church, the great attention given to meteorologists Dale Milford and Harold Taft morning, noon, and night, longing looks to the sky, the furtive hopes on mumbling lips, rain signaled its importance. So early on I learned to tolerate its cold, its muddy remnants, its washing out fences and its occasional poor timing with hay bales on the ground or crops ready to be harvested. Rain was a blessing.

There were times it seemed to be a greater blessing than others--nearly anytime in July, after a long, hot summer, a few days after planting, and after the harvested crops had been plowed- it was as if the farmers who held their breath, breathed again. So did their wives. I think even the land exhaled and breathed deeply its own aroma. Rain was a blessing.

Rains seems to have their own personalities at times. There are violent rains with angry winds. There are incessant rains bent on washing and filling everything, everywhere. There are rains that fall hard and fast with hateful drops you swear are hail and there are sneaky rains that in their unrelenting-ness wear you and your defences down 'til you find you are in trouble. They can be drippy, drizzly. They can be steady, controlled. They can be schizophrenic having several personalities in one storm. Some rains are good for napping, sleeping. They signal a time to rest, to receive a blessing. Some rains pound you like an Old Testament prophet bent on scrubbing you until you repent, and you do. Some rains show the fallenness of the world, some show grace and refreshment.

The Bible uses its word for "rain" and its relatives about a hundred times. In looking forward to Jesus the Psalmist says "He will be like rain falling on a mown field, like showers watering the earth." (72:6) A king's favor is described "like a rain cloud in spring."( Prov. 16:15) The bible speaks of its destructive force (Is 28:2; Matt.7:25), its blessing (Is. 30:23; 44:14), it likens God's word and teaching to "showers on new grass, like abundant rain on tender plants (Deut. 32:2).  The lack of rain corresponds to a parched soul neither knowing nor obeying God (Ezekiel 22:24; Jude 1:12). The lack of rain can even speak to judgement showing men what their lives are like without God (Ezek 11:11-13; Jeremiah 14:4).

Our area was blessed with a good, soaking, gentle rain over the past few days. The air is scrubbed. The ground is full. The plants soak in its luxuriance. It was a blessing. I slept well. There remains a rain that has fallen but not noted very well. It is a horror to miss a good, rain, a needed rain. It happens daily and not just in our lands but in our souls. Hear how Isaiah tells of this life giving rain: "You heavens above, rain down righteousness; let the clouds shower it down. Let the earth open wide, let salvation spring up, let righteousness grow with it; I, the Lord , have created it. (45:8) Weather patterns and fickle winds cause us to miss earthly rains. There is no reason to miss this rain of righteousness. All you have to do is ask the Son and let Him reign in your life.

That reign is a blessing.
Cos

BTW: If someone were to describe you as a rain storm, how would your presence in their life be described?

God's Office

I got to thinking about the offices I've had in my ministry. I've had some nice offices. The first church I had out of seminary had a nice office. It was a big, albeit plain office in a very small church. It was at the end of a long hall and had another door that led straight out to the worship center. On Sundays, all the deacons would gather in my office and we would pray and then I would led them in procession out to worship. I'm not sure if a procession of 4 was very impressive but we did it. Most days it was three because the little church only had three deacons and one missed a lot. Good office though...

The next church had no office for the pastor in the church buildings. The pastor's office was in the parsonage. It was small but nice. I had little kids. Off icing in a parsonage with little kids didn't work well. So they built me an office in an old Sunday school room. It was big, paneled, new bookshelves, blue carpet and my own private entrance. The only problem was the new private entrance to my office was the old public entrance with a covered back door. Little old ladies would come into church through my office on bad weather days. I had to keep an open door policy on rainy, windy, snowy, and freezing days. A little awkward, but we made  it work.

The next churches were mission start-ups and we didn't really have buildings at first so I had to use the garage for the books and the kitchen table for a desk. I learned a lot, mainly how spoiled I was. The church mission in Weatherford built a nice first building and I had a nice office but it was small, so I wrote with small letters and used an 8 font. It worked out okay. Then came the big move to the big county seat First church. Big, corner office with rich paneling, four windows (and two of them worked!), private entrance, private escape hatch and lots and lots of bookshelves. I wrote bigger and used a 14 font. Then after ten years of big sermons, big paneled articles from a big mahogany desk I went to a new church. The office had three shelves that were three feet long each. I went from 180 running feet of shelves to 9. What was this church trying to say? What was  I thinking?

My current office is nice, too. Corner with three nice windows, a couch and chair,( it use to have two chairs but the associate pastor felt called of God to take mine and give me just one) nice shelves, pretty art works, big desk for big piles, and lots of pictures of grand kids. That alone makes this my favorite office. It is situated to see people who come in to the church in the morning so I can visit if we want or need to. It is quiet in the afternoon for the most part so I can sleep  study, pray, and think of why I am sitting the office when I should be playing golf. Great and deep thoughts are thought here. They sometimes lose something in the translation to paper and word apparently. But I do get to use a 12 font.

Here's what I've learned in all these offices: I've learned a lot in all of them. I should have learned more. Most of the important stuff doesn't happen in my office. It happens over lunches, in living rooms, on Bible study tables,  in golf carts, and driving down the road. Now what happens in those places with real people is impacted by what happens in the office, but without the living rooms, lunch tables, cart questions and car confessions, what happens in the office is only academic, theory, one-dimensional.

The apostle Paul had a traveling office. It was in a borrowed room, a rocking ship, a prison cell, a house where he was imprisoned. He wrote "so that the body of Christ may be built up until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ." (Eph. 4:12-13) Wherever he was, he went to work on leading the lost to faith in Christ and leading Christians to a deeper walk in Christ. The world was his office.

Do you ever wonder if God has an office? I mean, where does He go to work? I suppose anywhere He wants to but I can't help but wonder if there is room in my heart for Him to work. How big a font can He use there?

Cos

Driving for Distance

A co-conspirator in enjoying life and laughing as often as possible send me an interesting email. Rob T sent a story about a man who owned the same car for 82 years. He received a graduation present from his dad in 1928 in the form of a Rolls Royce. He drove it until he died in 2010 and it had over a million miles on it. The article said it still ran great.

At this time my mother-in-law is getting ready to sell her last car, a 1995 Accord with about 38,000 miles on it. It still runs well...the car I mean. Well, the 92 year old mom-in-law runs well too but she knows her driving days are over. I applaud the fact that she sees this and has made this decision on her own without showdowns with family or insurance or police. It can't be easy, but she's doing it. Kudos to Nettie.

When my time comes to quit driving I will probably whine, gripe, and be a nuisance to the kids and police officers who followed me home after having hit three cars in the Wal Mart parking lot where I'll be working at age 88. In other words, I'll just be myself as they pry the keys out of my hand. Wait, by then it will be a computer chip in my arm used to start the car... I guess they will deactivate the chip. Oh well... But rather than think about that "end play" I choose to look back a moment to the beginning of my driving--auto driving anyway. I learned to drive a tractor before the pick-up or car, not much before thanks to Pop. My grandfather started letting me drive his Chevy pickup around the pasture and fields at about 11 or 12 years. He even let me drive on the gravel road from one farm back to the house way before I was "legal" to drive.  His Chevy pickup and the red, 1963 Ford Dad had was a three speed on the column. Pop's old pickup even had the starter on the floor as did my other granddad's pickup. Starting, clutching, shifting without grinding and downshifting to slow or enter a field or driveway taught coordination to the kid and patience to the elder. Let's don't even mention the choke knob. You had to be fully engaged to operate the machine. It's no wonder the cell phone wasn't invented until much later, no one had an extra hand to operate anything but the vehicle in the 50's and 60's. I still remember the fear, the thrill, the excitement, the wonder when Pop got in the passenger door of the pickup when we were out in his pasture and said "you drive a while."

I didn't know it then, I couldn't then,  but I crossed a line. A rite of passage was taking place on a cow-rut road in a remote pasture. A part of being a little kid was being left behind and I was moving on. Responsibility, work, dates, fun, expense, repair, travel, adventure and a dozen other things moved onto the near horizon of my life that day. I'd take a '68 Mercury Montclair to college and on my honeymoon. It was the size of small aircraft carrier. I'd buy a new '76 Volvo with college money not spent because of athletic scholarships (and a little help from Dad) and carry my children home from the hospital and take my family to far flung places like Big Spring and Bronte in that puke green machine.

One day soon we won't be driving our cars, they will drive us. And one day soon after that, to the degree that control over your vehicle is still in a human's hand, an official will deactivate my computer chip and I won't be allowed behind the wheel anymore. That is sad. But I take solace and am even thrilled a bit to know that my Heavenly Father owns the cattle on a thousand hills. And in His Kingdom there will always be new cow-rut roads awaiting one of His children coming of age, ready to take on an new adventure. I will fear, thrill, and enjoy the excitement and wonder as time and again in His eternity He speaks to me and says: "you drive a while." And it will be considerably longer than 82 years.

Still chugging,
Cos

When All is Sad and Done

                                            When All is Sad and Done


Some days carry more weight than others. Some days carry more guilt. Some days the weight is the guilt. I have carried some guilt as of late. For a freed Christian and pastoral leader I am suppose to be over all the guilt trips. Much progress has been made on that front but it's not complete yet. I feel guilty about that.

I feel sad on some days as of late. I am sad I can't fix my wife's chronic back problems. I feel guilty that I can't, adding to the sadness. I feel sad that the Middle East is on the brink again, but I am having trouble remembering when they weren't. I feel guilty at times for living in such a nice place with nice people and wonder if it wouldn't be "more Christian" to live in a poor place with meaner, tougher people. Maybe I could have a bigger impact for the Kingdom. See, guilt can lead to fantasy before you know it. And to be honest, except for wanting my wife to feel whole again, the other "guilts" are short, fleeting, wispy moments.

But one has lingered longer lately. It has backtracked into my conscience several times over the past few weeks. It usually comes after the guilt of no peace in the Middle East, the showdown with Syria, the serial rapist news in Dallas, the floods of Colorado, the drought, remembrance of 9-11's horrors, the economy, the marriages and families struggling, and the continuing moral and spiritual decay in the hearts of Americans. These are all bad news items any one of which could spark a round of depression followed by a round of Jack Daniels.  Yes, they cause a pause, a pain, a sorrow, and even a little guilt because I can't fix them but the real guilt shows up shortly after thoughts and prayers about these and other signs of brokenness in life show up.

It is, for lack of a better term, the guilt of joy.

Yes, joy. A settled disposition of the heart that senses, knows, believes that the best is yet to come and is in fact guaranteed by Jesus but is yet to come in completion. Joy takes on a real but temporal expression because of its future fulfillment. You see, that joy thing is the reason that ten minutes, half an hour, half a day after the meanness of this world has shaken out my heart again like a dirty rug,  I smile, I laugh, I find sheer joy in a person, a quirk, a miss-step, a misquote, a juxtaposition or an outrageous spotting of grace and life and love.  The smile of two year old grand-daughter sends waves of rapture through the heart. It is fleeting but real. The tales the grandson tells at five make me so alive I can't wait to see what he says at six. The exquisite delight of people laughing, telling a joke, enjoying a meal, sharing an embrace or a cup of coffee is more alive to me than the pain and the horrors abounding. Am I deluding myself? Maybe. I am ignoring the facts? Possibly. Am I whistling past the graveyard? Why not? What do you do as you walk past the graveyard? Or maybe the fact that in the eternal, spiritual terms of the kingdom of God I know I am going PAST the graveyard helps me whistle. There is something beyond the graveyard, beyond the wars, past the pains of life that both breaks in on us as more real than these and at the same time pulls us on to its ultimate reality. I believe that is JOY. The joy of the presence of Christ in the heart, in the church, and in the world.

To C S Lewis, joy was the stab of longing that unexpectedly wells up in us during unguarded moments of contemplation.  It was a desire, never a possession, a longing, often unexpected, and a reminding of what was yet to be. In the Weight of Glory C S Lewis wrote that the yearning he experienced during those moments, convinced him there was another existence beyond this world. "For they are not the thing itself, they are only the scent of a love we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never visited."

Yes, but that perfumed lover, that artistic musician, that herald of good news has visited us from that other country. And the lover's song and His good news announces Joy. It is the flag of the King flying over the castle that signifies even in bad weather, bad economies, and war that the King is on His throne.  So when all is sad and done, then what remains is joy. It makes me feel guilty some days. It's a guilt I can live with.

Cos