To whom belongs truth?

The following is a response to a note I received from a well-meaning person who showed concern when they discovered that I was a fan of Cat Stevens music, pointing out that we Christians have no need for the thoughts of others outside our faith, all else is distraction and devoid of spiritual benefit.

"I whole-heartedly agree with you that as followers of Christ we are to guard our hearts from all impurity, and unrighteousness for we are temples indwelt of the Holy Spirit. All malice, anger, greed, lust, and deceitfulness, have no place in the life of a believer. Conversely we are to focus on things above, whatever is noble, and pure, and right in the eyes of God.

But I think that you and I would differ on what we consider appropriate sources of goodness, purity, and nobility. While I concede that Yusuf Islam (Cat Stevens) tends to stitch his religious views into the lyrics of his songs (as well as Buddhist and Jewish imagery) does the fact that he is a Muslim negate his ability to speak truth, and beauty? The thought that Christians have nothing to learn of faith and devotion from followers of other religions is spurious at best.

Please don't think me some sort of pluralist for saying that. I do believe that there is but one way to the Father, one road, one truth, one life and that can only be found in the person of Jesus Christ. But doesn't the apostle Paul admonish us in Colossians to "test everything, and hold to the good"? When the Israelites fled from Egypt, didn't they take with them its treasures?

What you call spiritual junk food, I call insight.

In other words, if all truth and beauty belong to the Lord, need we fear from whose lips they proceed?

Consider the lyrics of 'Morning Has Broken'

"Morning has broken like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the world

Sweet the rains new fall, sunlit from Heaven
Like the first dewfall on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where His feet pass

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God's recreation of the new day"

If those lyrics had been written instead by Fernando Ortega and played on Christian radio would any good Christian feel the need to turn the dial in outrage?

Just some food for thought..."

Now dear reader, I welcome your own thoughts and insights. Whether you agree or no, I welcome your input.

Blessings all.

Run

Today I went for a run through town.

On the sidewalks I noticed the buildings that surrounded me.

As I passed by I looked inside, I looked and saw myself looking back.

I could see myself in the glass that reflected back at me.

I saw myself in the pawn shop on Lake Street.

I saw myself in the window of the bookstore on Union.

I saw myself in the restaurants and supermarkets.

I saw myself in the clothing boutiques and movie theatres.

I even saw myself in the cars parked on the side of the street.

I looked and saw the outfit I had picked to run in,

I saw my running shoes gliding through the air,

I saw my arms pumping at either side of me,

I saw the perspiration on my forehead,

To my dissatisfaction I saw the slight bulge of my mid-section under my t-shirt.

Then I ran by a church and I looked inside.

There was no glass, no clear windows that reflected my image back to me.

All I could see was stone and iron, brick and wood.

For a moment I looked away, straight ahead to the sidewalk in front of me.

I looked again and saw a cross.

I saw a man on the cross.

I looked at him and he looked back at me.

I continued to run, without stopping,

without looking back at the man who was always looking back at me.

Chasing the Sunset

So it's been a while since my last blog was written, two months at least. I had actually started a few entries, but none of them really went anywhere. I thought my lack of inspiration was due to the fact that I just had nothing on my mind that was worth sharing. While living at home I was just existing until my cross country trip. What could I possibly have to write about that might be interesting? But now that the whole experience is behind me, I should have pages of stories and anecdotes of my experiences and thoughts on the road, yet I still didn't write. There was nothing I really wanted to talk about. I drove, it's simple as that. I suppose I could attempt to describe the color of the sky in New Mexico at sunset, or the beauty of the rocky crags and buttes in Arizona, but that would be an exercise in futility. I might mention the time I almost ran out of gas in Texas and feared that I'd be stranded in the middle of nowhere until a tow truck with fuel arrived, or the struggle to stay awake until I reached the next civilized town and a bed. I could talk about that woman standing on the highway divider in Oklahoma City, begging for food as everyone drove on; or the friendly man and his wife from that gas station in Barstow who chatted with me for almost 20 minutes just because they saw I had NY plates. I could go on about that outdoor concert in Alabama where I shared a dance with a lovely friend of mine under a clear night sky. In fact I'm sure I could go on and on and on, but I think I figured out why I hadn't said anything about any of it. These thoughts and memories are mine, and I think I wanted to keep them that way, 'til now at least. Looking back now, though it was long and tedious, I realize I actually miss the journey, the solitude, the quiet awe felt in beholding unquestionable beauty. But now my destination has been reached, the journey finished, and I miss the memories of the days spent chasing the sunset.

Why settle for billions?

Today in the car I was listening to one of the top 40's stations on the radio, not so much because I like that music, but mostly because it was the only station that came in where I was driving. Seriously, there was nothing else on the dial but this song. It was Billionaire by Travie McCoy. I laughed at myself as I thought back to Bare Naked Ladies singing If I had a Million Dollars. It seems inflation has skyrocketed over the past decade, a million dollars just won't cut it in this economy.

As I said I usually don't listen to a lot of pop music, but every now and then I like to check it out, just to hear what's being said out there. On the surface the lyrics seem almost altruistic. The man dreams of making an obscene fortune so that he can adopt orphans and give away free cars. But as I listened I realized there was nothing selfless in his intentions at all. His philanthropic musings are only a front, deep down he just wants to be noticed, loved, and adored.

Besides, when you have that much money, is it really a sacrifice to blow a couple thousand here and there? What about all the average, middle-class families who adopt even though they may not have the means? Hey Travie, why wait until you reach 10 figures to do some good? Instead of buying those $400 sunglasses you could finance a child's education. You think just throwing money at problems makes you mother Teresa? I didn't see you at the Superdome after Katrina hit, giving out food packs and shoveling up human feces because all the toilets were clogged. I guess that's not as much fun to sing about though.

The Rocket's Red Glare

So last night like most good Americans I went with my family and friends into town to see the fireworks display for the 4th. It was a beautiful night, perfect weather for remembrance, but I doubt many think about that, I know I usually don't. As I was sitting there I randomly remembered something I learned in my high school American History class. During the revolutionary war the British used to launch flares into the night sky in order to illuminate the battlefield. Such rockets were certainly a death sentence to young colonial soldiers as any cover which the darkness may have provided was suddenly eliminated, leaving them visible and exposed to enemy fire. Yesterday I felt fortunate to be able to look up in awe and wonder at the colors and sounds in the night sky instead of begin filled with dread and terror. I felt blessed that I can sit with my niece nestled in my lap instead of a rifle and powder horn.

I thought about the men who fought and died. What conviction they must have had to march on that field time and time again not knowing whether today would be their day of deliverance, or if they would have to trudge on enduring fear, and pain, starvation, and death in the name of liberty. To sacrifice comfort, safety, family, careers, and finally life itself all for the hope that they had not died in vain, so that their children would be able to determine their own destiny. If it were me, would I have sought the preservation of my life and fled, or if I had stayed and fought would my beliefs have sustained me even in the lion's mouth? Would I have died for my rights then? Would I now? Do I consider my own life more precious than the promise of a free and just life for future generations? If so, what do I live for, and what would I die for?

I'm sure there aren't many of us who would wish for the opportunity to discover the answer to these questions. But the finality and certainty of death often lead us to other questions. What is most important, and how should I live? Once we have those figured out, perhaps it would be easier to answer these other questions.

Spirit-led Shuffle

Today during my break at the pool I sat and read the first chapter of Tozer's The Pursuit of God with my iPod in my ears just playing random songs. I don't know why I had it, I just picked up a book on my way out the door because I knew I'd have some time to kill and didn't want to be bored. I like to re-read my books every year or so just because I know I always miss something or certain passages jump out in new ways. Today I was impressed by Tozer's quotation of John Wesley. He says, "Orthodoxy, or right opinion , is, at best, a very slender part of religion... There may be right opinion of God without either love or one right temper toward Him. Satan is proof of this." This floored me, one can know the truth without having the truth in him. It doesn't matter how many correct things we say or think about God, our faith is only fully realized in the pursuit of satisfaction for an unyielding desire for the presence of God.

I echoed Tozer's prayer... "I am painfully conscious of my need of further grace. I am ashamed of my lack of desire." As I read those words I heard the lyrics of Leeland's "Carried to the Table" in my ears and instantly felt God's love and grace pouring over every inch of me.

I was carried to the table
Seated where I don't belong
Carried to the table
Swept away by His love
And I don't see my brokenness anymore
When I'm seated at the table of the Lord
I'm carried to the table
The table of the Lord

I knew He had heard me, he had seen my heart, and He answered me.

On the Spiritual Gifts

I recently sent this note to a friend of mine who had some questions for me about my views on the topic of spiritual gifts.

"...You ask some really good questions, and the truth is that I’ve had some of the same doubts and misgivings myself about the importance of the practice of tongues and other spiritual gifts in the local church. And before I tell you about my own experiences, I first want to explain you what I’ve become convinced of concerning the gifts through studying the scriptures.

First, there are a variety of supernatural giftings as described in the Bible that are made available to the believer as the Holy Spirit decides. We can in no way take ownership of these gifts as their source is not in us, neither can they be brought about or earned by any effort on our part, but are granted only by the grace of God to those willing to receive it. (1 Cor. 12:4-11; Ephesians 2:8)

Not all believers are enabled in the same fashion, in other words, there is no one definitive sign of the filling of the Holy Spirit (1 Cor. 12:29-30). The true test of the Spirit’s work in the life of a believer is not in supernatural giftings but as evidenced though the fruit their lives produce. If an individual is truly filled with the Holy Spirit then that person should possess (in ever-increasing measure) a Christ-like character and intimacy with God (1 John 2:5-6).

The purpose of the spiritual gifts is for the building of the church (outward) and the personal edification of the believer (inward) (1 Cor. 14). If for any reason these gifts are practiced with impure motives, they become ineffectual as they remove the focus from the Giver, to the gift (1Cor. 13:1-3).

My first experience with the gift of tongues was through my grandpa. He had come to faith in the Lord after receiving a miraculous healing from degenerative arthritis, which in turn had a great impact on my parents’ own spiritual journey. Grandpa used to speak in a prayer language during church services which were confirmed to be an actual language when a visiting missionary from Israel overheard his prayers and asked where he had studied Hebrew.

Recently Grandpa felt God’s leading to share a tongue with the congregation at Big Flats Wesleyan and asked permission from the pastor to do so. When he spoke, a man named Alex Slater, a young Christian who himself had doubts about the validity of Spiritual gifts, stood up and said that he had heard only English while Grandpa was speaking.

In Jr. and Sr. high my youth pastor was a man named Dean Hillyard (he and his family now attend Victory). Dean’s teachings encouraged me for the first time to personally seek the Spiritual gifts in earnest. Like you I wanted a deeper walk, I wanted more of God, and was careful to seek the proper motives for doing so.

In contrast I’ve been to services where people are paraded around the stage, convulsing, falling over, screaming, and could not say that I felt the presence of God in the midst of all that. It felt like chaos, not worship.

I’m convinced in the power and validity of the gifts as long as they are used properly and in an orderly manner as described by Paul in his letter to the Corinthians"

I just want to add for all of you who are reading that I in no way consider myself an authority on the subject. As with anything there are those who are far more knowledgeable and experienced than I about this topic. I still have much to learn about the way the Spirit works in our lives. But I just wanted to share some of my own thoughts. I invite you to let me know what you think, whether you agree or disagree I appreciate your input.

Waiting for my Real life to begin

I stole the title of this blog from a song by Collin Hay of whose music I've become a fan. The first time I heard it was in an episode of Scrubs. The song is sung by a woman who is on a waiting list for a heart transplant. "It's not dying I'm afraid of, it's the waiting I can't stand, I just want to know either way."

I think all of us have been through period of waiting where it feels like our true life hasn't really started yet. I know in the past I've looked at others around me and think, "They've made it, they're there, living the life they worked and waited for." Then I wonder how many of them think of their lives the same way. Would they say they've made it, or would they admit they have some unfinished business to take care of before the end?

I remember once speaking with a man in his sixties whose children were adults with spouses and children of their own. He had had a career in the military for 30 years and moved up the ranks to become an experienced and well respected officer. Now retired he confessed that he still had no idea what he wanted to be when he grew up.

I like to think that we never really "make it", because wouldn't that mean that there's nothing left to hope for? Nothing left to work and plan and achieve? My real life starts when I stop waiting and start living. When I use the days rather than endure them. You can waste your whole life waiting for better days, telling yourself that things will be different. Then you wake up and a lifetime has passed and all you can do is wish for those days back.

Any minute now my ship is coming in
I'll keep checking the horizon
And I'll stand on the bow
And feel the waves come crashing
Come crashing down, down, down on me

And you said,"Be still, my love
Open up your heart
Let the light shine in"
Don't you understand?
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin

Lawn chairs and tree-stumps

So I was mowing the lawn today as I often do, and started thinking, as I don't as often do. That's one of the benefits of a repetitive, menial chore; it allows you the freedom to let your mind drift. It occurred to me, "I've been mowing this same lawn now for over 15 years", every summer it's the same thing. Oh there's been shifts in the landscape, fleets of different mowers, and some of the trees are larger or deader, but for the most part I'm cutting the same edges, overcoming the same obstacles, and pursuing the same ends that I have for the last 15 summers. Hmmm, metaphore anyone?

I reminded myself, "Get a grip, you won't be here for long. Just one more summer and things will really start to change."
And I told myself "True, but what does that really change? I'll still be the same person I was before. Does my destination in life depend on my physical location?"
"It's much more than that, think of the opportunities you'll have that you don't get here."
"Yes, but opportunities are only good to those who have trained themselves to take advantage of them."
"Granted, however..."

It was about this time that my internal dialogue was cut short by a deer fly that attached itself to my neck. In a second it was deftly dispatched with a quick swat and I continued on my way. "They may be irritating, but they have good taste."

I guess the point is, whether at home or at school, I'm still me, no matter where I go, I take my issues with me. The time zone might be different, but the obstacles are the same. The only factor that determines how I meet them, is me.

The truth is...

I hate blogging. You know why? Because I can't stick with it. It's like a model car you get halfway through and then say "aw heck with it" because it really just looks crappy. Seriously, this is about the 5th blog I've started, they're all probably floating out there in cyberspace somewhere cold and alone with no one to read them. So why is this one any different? Perhaps it's not. I guess I got bored with the others because I realized I just didn't have anything to say. So why would anyone read this? I mean look at it. It totally stinks. Check out all the sentence fragments and poor grammar. Not to mention the fact that I really haven't even said anything this entire paragraph worth reading, remembering, or for that matter commenting on.

My eyes hurt. I've been staring at this computer screen for 3 hours straight and I can't stop because my brain won't let me sleep. So here I am typing non-sense blogs into my laptop which, if it had any intelligence in it's 100 gig brain, it would vomit them out if its disc drive.

Maybe my problem is that I don't really have a goal or purpose for my blog. Is it like a cyber-journal where I write down my thoughts and feelings for you to peruse and judge thus fulfilling my need to be appraised and perhaps even approved? If so, I may only pad it with self-serving diatribes which sound all existential and deep while in reality amount to nothing more than cynical bull pizzle.

Or is it more of a topical format where I act as a gadfly prompting heated discussions with provocative and probing questions?

Should I use it to entertain with silly stories showcasing my humor thus endearing myself to you through laughter?

I guess I just want to be honest. The reality is that I'm still pretty immature, I'm still figuring out the world and myself. I try very hard to make it look like I know what I'm doing and I can probably do a good job fooling most people some of the time. But spend enough time around me and you'll see the truth.*


*I looked up exactly 4 words in the dictionary before using them in this post. Can you tell which ones?