Labyrinth

I've walked the labyrinth three times now. Last week, as a part of our closing Etrek session, we walked a labyrinth at a local church. It was outside, and the weather was freezing. It didn't help that I've been having difficulty with silence for a while now. Silence has always been a refuge to me, a place where I meet God - I gravitate towards the contemplative disciplines, and silence and solitude usually wrap around me like a blanket, offering comfort and safety. Not so in recent months, however. My recent experiences have left some scars, one of which seems to be a question of trust. How far can I trust this God that I serve?

For anyone who's never had to walk a path where your trust is put on the line, the typical academic responses do not work here. It's one thing to recite scripture and possess the cerebral knowledge that "all things work together" and whatnot. It's quite another to hold the broken pieces of dreams in your hands, knowing they can never be fixed, also knowing that, on some level, the God that you serve led you down the very path that ended in the mess in which you find yourself. After all, He's not a tame lion.

So it was that with these thoughts, consciously and unconsciously, floating through my brain that I began the labyrinth. Now, what you must know about this particular labyrinth in order to understand what I am about to share is that it is incomplete. By incomplete, I mean that the years have not been kind to parts of the outline, and there are places in the walk where the path disappears completely. Sort of odd for a labyrinth, I know, but on this occasion the metaphor was rather powerful. I found myself walking through extended sections of the path where I had no sense of direction, no way of knowing if my feet were being placed correctly, at several places confident that I had missed an important turn. All the while, I meditated on my journey in a larger sense and found some irony in the fact that even on the labyrinth I couldn't find my way. But as I reached the center, God began to speak.

What took place I will, for the most part, leave between myself and Him. It felt like when you meet an old friend with whom you've had a disagreement. Initially it's awkward, then perhaps you yell a bit, and then you realize that you've really wanted to patch things up but haven't quite been sure of how to go about it. At any rate, the one thing that I will share is that I had a rather certain sense that I was being told that just because I can't see the path, I shouldn't assume that there is no path. I had a very strong sense that I was in this place by design, that I must continue to walk and that eventually the destination will make itself clear.

Eventually I began the journey back out of the labyrinth, following as is customary the same path in reverse. However, something had changed. The path that was previously invisible had become visible. I could see every line clearly and stepped surely and confidently where not twenty minutes before the path was simply not visible. No doubt the setting sun illuminated the outline differently and the changing light revealed what had simply been obscured before. But I know that there was more to it than that for me, that a very vivid picture had been painted for me by One who never misses a brush stroke.

School

I'll be back later this week - I have one more day to finish a massive amount of work for my most recent class. One of the assignments was a chapter-level response to a prophetic book or group of books - I chose Jeremiah and Lamentations. If you're interested, my nearly-finished submission is here. It's not cleaned up and navigable yet, but that's not part of the assignment...

At any rate, one more day and I'll be done with the semester. I'll take any prayers you feel inclined to offer on my behalf!

Geminids

I don't often have a chance to catch celestial events (not in the In Excelsis Deo sense, but in the astronomical sense) due to a combination of bad geography and bad luck. Living in the western suburbs of Philadelphia, light pollution makes stargazing almost impossible without a good 45 minute drive west. On top of that, it seems that the weather is invariably uncooperative - nearly every major astronomical phenomena for the past few years has, for me, taken place on a night when clouds have hindered viewing. Tonight was no exception - well, almost. The Geminids peaked tonight. If you've never witnessed a meteor shower at peak, you're missing something amazing. It's as though God runs his fingers through the atmosphere, fire trailing in their wake. On a clear night away from lights, you can see hundreds. It's no surprise that older civilizations would watch in wonder and awe, asking what amazing, terrible, or joyful event the omen foretold. Now, the signs are obscured by streetlights, and Conan O'Brien is on - why bother looking up?

As I was saying, the Geminids peaked tonight, and the forecast, of course, was clouds. The sky was just overcast enough to obscure the show. I resigned myself to waiting for the Lyrids or the Perseids next year - most other showers are too faint to be seen without a degree of effort that I typically can't put forth. At around midnight, though, I took the dog for a walk, and noticed that a nice patch of sky was visible through a break in the clouds. Suddenly, a brilliant meteor streaked across the opening in the sky, bright enough to leave a faint afterimage in my vision. I don't believe I've ever seen a meteor so bright; I stood gaping at the sky, looking to any who might have passed by as though I had lost my mind, or at least my sense of direction. As I watched, I was able to observe several more before the clouds resumed their oppressive vigil, but in truth that one moment of brilliance was enough.

Knowing the science behind this sort of thing doesn't reduce the wonder of it to me. It's amazing to think that that particular piece of debris could have been drifting through space for billions of years, destined for a collision with our atmosphere at half past midnight on December 14, 2004. For One who hung the stars in place, it is a simple thing to set objects in motion so that their paths will cross eons later - in this instance, a chunk of debris from some comet or asteroid, and a cynical man who needs to be reminded of things beyond my control, things wild and beautiful and untamed.

When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?
You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings
and crowned him with glory and honor.

Mark 4:1-34

Read It

Ok, I'm going to come clean. This passage bugs me. I've been thinking about it for a while now, and I can't resolve it. Here's the problem - the parable of the sower works just fine on its own. It seems rather straightforward and uncomplicated, a fine tale about seed and soil and who can receive God's message. But if we'll stop chopping up the story into tiny bits and connect it with the rest of the narrative, things start to come apart for me.

See, Jesus talks about how he speaks in parables to keep those on the outside from hearing the message. (His words, not mine, and if you think I'm taking them out of context, read the connecting passage in Isaiah 6.) So, if that's the case, why this talk about lights and dinnerware? Is he hiding or revealing? Make up your mind, Jesus - you can't have it both ways!

Here's what I'm thinking so far. In Mark, we find this recurring theme of the Big Secret of the Kingdom. For Mark, God's Kingdom is mysterious and surprising, never working in the ways that one would expect. Now we find this series of parables all about seeds and soil. I think Jesus is talking about the subversive, unexpected nature of the Kingdom, how it can't be controlled or managed or predicted, but how it comes on its own terms to those who are receptive. I think the point of all of this is that we are the soil - that the seed of the Kingdom is being sown in our lives, that it takes root and grows and overwhelms all else - if we are good soil. But the fruit doesn't show immediately. It comes later, sometimes unexpectedly in unexpected places. The seed is there, doing its work, fulfilling its purpose, waiting for the right season to explode with life and growth. Its very nature and purpose demands that it be hidden, only to be revealed in due time, in the proper season.

What do you think?

Chuck

Last night, I heard a prophet speak. I watched him stand in the face of shame and persecution and proclaim truth. I watched him act in accordance with his convictions and by his actions call others to transformation. I watched, and I was amazed.

Although I have heard this prophet's story before, in truth I heard it for the first time yesterday. It was as if I heard with new ears. Perhaps it was that I was granted such ears, an early gift in this holiday season to one who is in need of comfort. His story has been told many times over the years - it is no longer young, but now carries the weight of tradition. And, as traditions often do, it has perhaps lost the sharpness that it once had to penetrate our consciousness. It is unfortunate, really - possibly the most tragic thing that can happen to a prophet is not persecution, torture, or death, but rather assimilation into the dominant culture, the prophet's message becoming the next label or brand.

This prophet searched for meaning in a world of consumption and commerce. He questioned those who wanted to force his thinking into their mold. In a bold move, he challenged the prevailing wisdom with an act that shocked everyone, redeeming the outcast and rescuing meaning from the merchants. He faced scorn and derision but held firm to the last, mourning his people's loss of perspective and their fabrication of a story that lent credibility to their sin. In the end, his costly stance brought repentance and renewal - a triumphant end to a tragic story. I was amazed and wondered at the depth of meaning that I had missed in this remarkable tale.

Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown.

Air

After reading this, I have a new perspective on my pipe smoking. The only question I have is whether there will be warning labels created for the bulletins.