Monday, March 17, 2008

Cling to the Rock

I once heard it said the Christian life is more like a rock climb than a walk down a path. Following in the footsteps of Christ is not so easy as walking down a path, however narrow it may be. Believers must cling to Truth, the Living Word of God, as they would the face of a mountain. Failure to do so results in falling away.

The Bible is replete in conveying our need for its pervasion of our lives. Moses declared to the Israelites:

Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one. You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.

Deuteronomy 6:4-9

Like any good simile of the Christian subculture, the rock climb connection convicted and inspired me. At the time, I didn’t realize how poignant it would become. I didn’t know I would be forced to move beyond conviction and inspiration, where the rubber meets the road in action.

We woman are emotional creatures. Wired that way, I’m told. Most of my life, I’ve been (I hate to jump into the mosh pit of post-modernist jargon, but…) relatively unemotional. Maybe it’s a product of growing up with only brothers; but times have changed, I guess. A few weeks ago, I found myself in an emotional blizzard. At least that’s what it felt like for a girl who normally cried once every few months to have uncontrollable crying episodes multiple times a day. Scary. Week-and-a-half scary.

The transition of moving, losing close-knit community, and changing plans isn’t easy, but it’s not that bad. My circumstances were only moderately more difficult. So the blizzard really made no sense. But it felt very real to me. Overwhelmingly real. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I prayed, read my Bible, called family and friends to pray, confessed sin, asked God to reveal hidden sin, sought community –all the things I knew to do weren’t changing the lack of comfort I felt. After all, didn’t God promise “I am He who comforts you” (Isaiah 51:12)? Why wasn’t I feeling comforted?

The rock-climbing analogy kept coming back to me. I didn’t understand the emotional craziness, but I kept hearing the lifeline cling to the Rock, cling to the Rock. When the blizzards would hit, I eventually came to the point where the only way I made it through without becoming completely hysterical was making myself recite a verse –any verse. It wasn’t like flipping a switch or performing a magic trick. I didn’t automatically feel better as soon as I thought of a verse. But it did keep me from falling. I realized I was on the mountain face. The grade was slightly steeper, but the real problem was the blizzards that would blindside me from nowhere. Now, clinging to the Rock didn’t make the blizzard go away, but it was the only way to survive. I had no other refuge. And, really, if I were in a blizzard, I would much rather be holding onto a mountain than wandering aimlessly.

I hope you’ve noticed the dangerous f-words which have infused my writing thus far. Feel. Felt. Feeling. Emotion is tantamount to intense feeling. We women are feelers. [Side note: If one more man tells me feelings are a good thing, it’s likely I’ll punch him in the mouth. I know it’s true; and I’ll even admit that it’s right for him to remind me of that truth. But he should beware the potential physical manifestations of my feelings at the intense point in which they are felt.] God created feelings. They must be good. But they can easily become the faulty foundation by which we live the day-to-day. This is fine, when feelings are supported by the truths of the Word of God. A Puritan articulated this in the beautiful prayer “The Divine Will” from The Valley of Vision: “Help me to honour thee by believing before I feel, for great is the sin if I make feeling a cause of faith.” Feelings, while good, must be constantly compared to Scripture. The Word of God is immutable, feelings are not. This is certainly a mental discipline. It’s much easier to roll with a feeling than consider its biblical validity and stop the thought at its onset. Rolling eventually turns to a spiral of despair. You will not find comfort apart from the Word, Immanuel. I realized, with the help of my brother, my definition of comfort was all about good feelings. The Always-Good-Feelings clause is not part of Christ's Covenant. In fact, He promises we will suffer persecution in following Him. (2 Timothy 3:12) But we can look to that with joy! For the Rock, the beautiful, majestic, steadfast Rock, is our Comfort! The promise of the Living Word, the hope of glory is our Comfort. And that's not a feeling -it's a fact.

So cling to the Living Word, brothers and sisters. Don't give your fellow believers the false hope of good feelings. This life is a difficult, uphill climb. The Rock is your only hope. The only Hope.

Sunday, March 9, 2008

The Unbelieving Poet Catches a Glimpse of Truth

A Taste and See Article by John Piper
March 5, 2008

Since all humans are created in the image of God (Genesis 1:27), and the work of God’s law is written on every heart (Romans 2:15), and the heavens are telling the glory of God to everyone who can see (Psalm 19:1), and God has put eternity in man’s heart (Ecclesiastes 3:11), and by God’s providence every person is set to grope for God (Acts 17:27), and in God we all live and move and have our being (Acts 17:28), it is not surprising that even people without eyes to see the glory of Christ nevertheless have glimpses into the way the world really is, and then don’t know what to do with them.

Stephen Dunn is a Pulitzer Prize winning poet and not a Christian. “I think of God as a metaphor. God is a metaphor for the origins and mysteries of the world. . . . I think of beliefs as provisional. They’re not things that constitute anything fixed.” In an interview recently for Books and Culture (March/April, 2008, pp. 26-27), Aaron Rench asked him about his book The Insistence of Beauty.

In regards to your book The Insistence of Beauty, what is this notion that beauty has a demanding, compelling quality to it? Why is beauty that way?

Dunn answers:

I just think beauty is irresistible. It disarms us. Takes away our arguments. And then if you expand the notion of beauty—that there is beauty in the tawdry, beauty in ugliness—things get complicated. But I think that beauty, which is more related in my mind to the sublime, is what we cannot resist.

Yes, and this is how we all were converted to Christ. The eyes of our hearts were enlightened to see the beauty of Christ, and in that moment he became irresistible. This is the way divine, spiritual beauty works. It authenticates itself. It "takes away our arguments.” Or better: It replaces all our false arguments with one grand, true argument that cannot be resisted.

This is the point of 2 Corinthians 4:4-6.

The god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God.

The “glory of Christ” is the beauty of Christ. It is the radiance of the fullness of his person—the impact of all his perfections. The reason people do not believe on Christ is that they do not see what is really there. That is what it means to be “blind.” Beauty is really there to be seen, but we are blind to it.

If we see it, we believe. “Beauty is irresistible.” If you resist, you have not seen Christ as beautiful as he is (1 John 3:6b). So the way we are converted to Christ is by having this blindness taken away. Verse 6 says, “God has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” God replaces blindness with light. The light is specifically “the glory of God in the face of Christ.”

That is all it takes. There is no coercion after that revelation. The light compels. We don’t behold it and then ponder whether to believe. If we are still pondering, we have not yet seen.

Poet Stephen Dunn, groping toward God, says that beauty “is related to the sublime.” It is “what we cannot resist.” Yes, the sublime is summed up in Jesus Christ. And it is his glory that is supremely irresistible.

Let this be your life: Ponder him; be pervaded with him; point to him. The more you know of him, and the more you admire the fullness of his beauty, the more you will reflect him. O that there would be thousands of irresistible reflections of the beauty of Jesus. May it be said of such reflections, “It disarms us. It takes away our arguments.”

Pastor John