What are words? Are they not but a tool by which we paint a picture? A medium aimed at creating an experience?
I think in both words and images. Regardless of what the verbal language communicates it is always the images that are much more poignant because they give life to words. If one has not at least seen an apple the concept behind the meaning of the word is non-existent in one's mind. Therefore, the experience is lost. It remains true though that one can know what an apple looks like and not have a word for it. However, the gift of language/word is the manner in which it allows us to communicate what we experience via our five senses, however slow or inaccurate it may be.
If you are wondering exactly why I am dissecting the place of spoken/signed language, images and experience in communication...
Today a friend sent me a picture that was worth a 1,000 words. In viewing the image I felt as if we had in an instance had a 1,000 dialogues, and in that moment a world of conversations fell into place. I gained understanding in studying that photograph that words alone could never convey.
Much of the understanding that came from this photo was the result of personal experience and understanding that has been processed via the use of words. I cannot deny the validity of language, both written and verbal. However, I can now better understand the depth of the adage "A picture is worth a 1,000 words."
Language and experience are intertwined. Images convey hidden meanings while words establish a common manner by which we can communicate and process information. They shall therefore be forever conjoined.
What is a picture but a visual experience?
“The fact is that if you have not developed language, you simply don’t have access to most of human experience, and if you don’t have access to experience, then you’re not going to be able to think properly.”
- Noam Chomsky
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Discovering my Multi-Racial, Multi-Ethnic, and Multi-Cultural Self: A New Language—Reconciliation
(It has taken some time now, but I think I am ready to start processing in writing this passion for reconciliation. Please bare with me. It may be a little rough. I plan on doing this in a series of thoughts over the next few… well, however long it takes.)
I am mixed. My Father is black and my Mother is white. My grandmother on my Father’s side, based on what I have been told, was ½ Hope Native American making me a 1/16. I have a cultural understanding that has developed out of my identity as a multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural individual. I identify with each of these racial and ethnic identities excluding the Native portion of my cultural heritage. I often consider myself to be a “Third Culture Kid” (TCK).
I make the distinction between multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural because they are not the same. In the United States we live in a racialized society that has a narrow understanding of the differences between race and ethnicity. We often times combine ethnic and racial categories and view them as being one. I also make a distinction when discussing what it means to be multi-cultural. One can be multi-racial and/or multi-ethnic, but not know or understand culture or potential cultural relationships connected to the racial and/or ethnic identity to which they may or may not subscribe.
A Little History…
My Mother grew up in Elwood, Indiana. This area is notorious for overt racism. She grew up in a community that was segregated. Her family, excluding her Mother (my Grandmother), was against interracial relationships. My Mother and her sisters all eventually moved to Indianapolis—the largest city in Indiana (also the state capital). My Mother and all of her sisters chose partners who were African American/Black, thus all of my cousins are multi-racial. My Grandfather for the longest refused to fully associate himself with us. In his eyes, for most of his life, we were not his Grandchildren. He recanted what had happened and asked for forgiveness on his deathbed. I was not there, but my family says that it was a redemptive moment for all.
My Father grew up in between Indianapolis, Indiana and a factory town in Louisiana. His Father and Mother, my Grandparents, were both the children of sharecroppers. His parents made the trek north to Indianapolis when the plastic factory closed in their hometown. My Grandparents were factory workers the entire time they lived in Indianapolis. His family accepted my Mother, but they were not necessarily happy with his choice.
Growing up my cousins and I existed in our own world. We lived in an area of the city where there were quite a few multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural children and couples. Most of my friends having similar experiences contributed to me thinking that being multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural was normal.
As a child I quickly learned how to move seamlessly between each of the groups with which I identified, or so I thought. I understood the differences, I knew the lingo, and I did so unconsciously. Despite all of this understanding, other people struggled to understand me. I was rarely fully accepted by the groups that I identified with outside of other multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural people. It is hard for people to grapple with my ambiguous identity unless they are able to intuitively understand it.
Growing up I was not unaware of racism. One only had to drive to the outskirts of Indy to encounter it overtly. Just a few blocks from my high school, close to the heart of the city, people did not hesitate to display confederate flags. So, even in the city it was present and visible. My parents being Black and White in a hegemonic racialized society often took the brunt of these racial attacks. I remember times when we would not be served in a restaurant in the appropriate manner, and those moments stuck with me. I remember being with my biological Father in public when I was younger, and people would ask if my sister and I were his children. They would even stare, and be protective when he disciplined us. As I got older I would go shopping with my white friends and I would be followed through the store. This made me angry.
At the age of 14 I began working for a Christian campground. I would be gone two months of the summer and I loved it. Even on the camp ground though racism existed. Very few urban churches would send their youth for summer, but when they did those youth were always placed in my cabin. If there was a problem with one of those young people I was consulted. Everyone on the campground knew how to work with youth. Why was I consulted on all matters with urban youth or youth of color? The older I got the more questions I asked and the fewer answers I could find. A deep seeded festering lie began to develop in me over time, and bitterness slowly made its way into my heart.
Fast-forward four years…
I moved to Seattle, Washington to attend Seattle Pacific University. In October of 2004 Dr. John Perkins came to speak to the entire University. His plane didn’t come in on time, and so his daughter spoke at the afternoon convocation. It was at this convocation that the realities of ignorance and the need for reconciliation became startling evident.
In Dr. Perkins absence his daughter spoke. The University had not intended for Elizabeth Perkins to speak, but she was phenomenal. It was obvious that God delayed Dr. Perkins plane for a reason. As she walked up to the podium my heart beat with anticipation. Out of the crowd in front of a friend of mine the voice of a young woman rang out in a condescending tone, “Who is she—John Perkins’ mascot? I thought he was going to speak, not her.” My friends tried to ignore the comment, but it stuck with them. After the convocation they shared with us their experience. We, together, felt the sting of her words, and she most likely didn’t realize what she had said.
Dr. Perkins plane was set to come in that evening. A time was arranged for him to speak at a local church. The moment he arrived on campus they hurried him over to First Free Methodist. It was a packed house from the first floor to the balcony to the foyer. It felt like the entire campus was there. The scene quickly brushed the chip off my shoulder that had developed from the young woman’s comment.
As he spoke my heart, mind and Spirit had an encounter. He brought a truth that I had hungered to hear my entire life. The message of reconciliation both horizontal and vertical hit me like a ton of bricks. My local church had skimmed over this message my entire life; and yet I had felt it deep within the core of this faith in Christ from the moment I first encountered the Lord, but I didn’t have a language to express it. He was unafraid and he called out the devil’s lies around me, but more importantly he spoke the truth against the lies that were buried deep within me. Suddenly I had a new language to talk about all that I had been feeling and experiencing for so long. That day hope re-entered entered my life. The chains fell off and I was free.
It was God’s good planning that I was there because I discovered one of the greatest passions in my life—reconciliation. This is at the core of the Gospel. The hope that we can be reconciled both to Christ and to each other is powerful. I am thankful for my multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural identity because the message of reconciliation has been made real in my flesh and it is a message I am honored to carry. The being of such people challenges the systems. This ambiguous being begs us to ask questions about reconciliation and what it means to be united to God and to each other even in our flesh.
My life will never be the same because of the hope that permeates this life that is the message of reconciliation brought to humanity through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
I am mixed. My Father is black and my Mother is white. My grandmother on my Father’s side, based on what I have been told, was ½ Hope Native American making me a 1/16. I have a cultural understanding that has developed out of my identity as a multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural individual. I identify with each of these racial and ethnic identities excluding the Native portion of my cultural heritage. I often consider myself to be a “Third Culture Kid” (TCK).
I make the distinction between multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural because they are not the same. In the United States we live in a racialized society that has a narrow understanding of the differences between race and ethnicity. We often times combine ethnic and racial categories and view them as being one. I also make a distinction when discussing what it means to be multi-cultural. One can be multi-racial and/or multi-ethnic, but not know or understand culture or potential cultural relationships connected to the racial and/or ethnic identity to which they may or may not subscribe.
A Little History…
My Mother grew up in Elwood, Indiana. This area is notorious for overt racism. She grew up in a community that was segregated. Her family, excluding her Mother (my Grandmother), was against interracial relationships. My Mother and her sisters all eventually moved to Indianapolis—the largest city in Indiana (also the state capital). My Mother and all of her sisters chose partners who were African American/Black, thus all of my cousins are multi-racial. My Grandfather for the longest refused to fully associate himself with us. In his eyes, for most of his life, we were not his Grandchildren. He recanted what had happened and asked for forgiveness on his deathbed. I was not there, but my family says that it was a redemptive moment for all.
My Father grew up in between Indianapolis, Indiana and a factory town in Louisiana. His Father and Mother, my Grandparents, were both the children of sharecroppers. His parents made the trek north to Indianapolis when the plastic factory closed in their hometown. My Grandparents were factory workers the entire time they lived in Indianapolis. His family accepted my Mother, but they were not necessarily happy with his choice.
Growing up my cousins and I existed in our own world. We lived in an area of the city where there were quite a few multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural children and couples. Most of my friends having similar experiences contributed to me thinking that being multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural was normal.
As a child I quickly learned how to move seamlessly between each of the groups with which I identified, or so I thought. I understood the differences, I knew the lingo, and I did so unconsciously. Despite all of this understanding, other people struggled to understand me. I was rarely fully accepted by the groups that I identified with outside of other multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural people. It is hard for people to grapple with my ambiguous identity unless they are able to intuitively understand it.
Growing up I was not unaware of racism. One only had to drive to the outskirts of Indy to encounter it overtly. Just a few blocks from my high school, close to the heart of the city, people did not hesitate to display confederate flags. So, even in the city it was present and visible. My parents being Black and White in a hegemonic racialized society often took the brunt of these racial attacks. I remember times when we would not be served in a restaurant in the appropriate manner, and those moments stuck with me. I remember being with my biological Father in public when I was younger, and people would ask if my sister and I were his children. They would even stare, and be protective when he disciplined us. As I got older I would go shopping with my white friends and I would be followed through the store. This made me angry.
At the age of 14 I began working for a Christian campground. I would be gone two months of the summer and I loved it. Even on the camp ground though racism existed. Very few urban churches would send their youth for summer, but when they did those youth were always placed in my cabin. If there was a problem with one of those young people I was consulted. Everyone on the campground knew how to work with youth. Why was I consulted on all matters with urban youth or youth of color? The older I got the more questions I asked and the fewer answers I could find. A deep seeded festering lie began to develop in me over time, and bitterness slowly made its way into my heart.
Fast-forward four years…
I moved to Seattle, Washington to attend Seattle Pacific University. In October of 2004 Dr. John Perkins came to speak to the entire University. His plane didn’t come in on time, and so his daughter spoke at the afternoon convocation. It was at this convocation that the realities of ignorance and the need for reconciliation became startling evident.
In Dr. Perkins absence his daughter spoke. The University had not intended for Elizabeth Perkins to speak, but she was phenomenal. It was obvious that God delayed Dr. Perkins plane for a reason. As she walked up to the podium my heart beat with anticipation. Out of the crowd in front of a friend of mine the voice of a young woman rang out in a condescending tone, “Who is she—John Perkins’ mascot? I thought he was going to speak, not her.” My friends tried to ignore the comment, but it stuck with them. After the convocation they shared with us their experience. We, together, felt the sting of her words, and she most likely didn’t realize what she had said.
Dr. Perkins plane was set to come in that evening. A time was arranged for him to speak at a local church. The moment he arrived on campus they hurried him over to First Free Methodist. It was a packed house from the first floor to the balcony to the foyer. It felt like the entire campus was there. The scene quickly brushed the chip off my shoulder that had developed from the young woman’s comment.
As he spoke my heart, mind and Spirit had an encounter. He brought a truth that I had hungered to hear my entire life. The message of reconciliation both horizontal and vertical hit me like a ton of bricks. My local church had skimmed over this message my entire life; and yet I had felt it deep within the core of this faith in Christ from the moment I first encountered the Lord, but I didn’t have a language to express it. He was unafraid and he called out the devil’s lies around me, but more importantly he spoke the truth against the lies that were buried deep within me. Suddenly I had a new language to talk about all that I had been feeling and experiencing for so long. That day hope re-entered entered my life. The chains fell off and I was free.
It was God’s good planning that I was there because I discovered one of the greatest passions in my life—reconciliation. This is at the core of the Gospel. The hope that we can be reconciled both to Christ and to each other is powerful. I am thankful for my multi-racial, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural identity because the message of reconciliation has been made real in my flesh and it is a message I am honored to carry. The being of such people challenges the systems. This ambiguous being begs us to ask questions about reconciliation and what it means to be united to God and to each other even in our flesh.
My life will never be the same because of the hope that permeates this life that is the message of reconciliation brought to humanity through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
What is in a Favorite Color: Simple Intentionality
At my age certain questions now seem juvenile. The question in particular that spurred this train of thought is, “What is your favorite color?” Recently I asked a friend this and they laughed at me. At first, I thought they were right to laugh. In that moment I said to myself, “That is a stupid question. I know you work with elementary students, but you are not in elementary school.”
Later as I reflected on the day I replayed the evening’s conversations in my head. I reviewed this specific conversation and I noticed a tension. The Word of God frequently points out how children and youth, those whom society most frequently views as juvenile, are those who are closest to the heart of God. It is in their simplicity that they are able to best understand what it means to have an intentional relationship with God without all of the complexities, responsibilities and theological mush that adults typically allow to cloud the picture.
During the holiday season we have a habit of encouraging children to make cards for those whom they love. When they do so you will see that they are intentional about the colors they use so as to make those cards genuine and personal. Knowing a friend or family member’s favorite color allows one to specialize the gift; to make it personal and meaningful based on the individual preferences of that person. People can show love to one another in a simple, but intentional manner when they know someone’s favorite color. It is a small and simple detail, but nonetheless it is valuable. It is a way of showing intentionality within a relationship, and it really does not take much effort.
So, is this a juvenile question? I honestly do not think so. Ageism is a prevalent –ism in the United States that is often ignored. Children and youth do a lot of things that seem odd or juvenile, but they are really foundational concepts that we, adults, have forgotten. We have written off the value of how something as simple as remembering your friends favorite color can be a stepping stone towards building intentional relationships that seek to understand personal preferences that are both big and small. If I buy my friend flowers they will pry mean more if they are their favorite color because I showed them how much I valued them by remembering their personal preference.
I think that the Word directs us to observe our children because those foundational concepts are still so fresh in them. They can remind us of the basics. When learning to read, write or perform mathematics it is the basic concepts that are the most important because without those you can’t move forward to anything more complicated. Even though one does eventually move on it is still important to remind one’s self how to add, subtract, multiply and divide. A lot of people would say that they have forgotten how to do basic algebra, and it is because they do not practice. If we want to continue to be intentional in our relationships we have to continue to remember to practice the basics.
The beauty of this question is that it is a simple and basic intentionality that can lead to more complicated showings of love and affection. When you remember someone’s favorite color you show that you are not only intentional, but that you can be trusted to remember details. If you can be trusted to remember small details you can be trusted to remember the big ones. These are the building blocks of healthy relationships from the mouths of babes. Isn’t God funny?
Later as I reflected on the day I replayed the evening’s conversations in my head. I reviewed this specific conversation and I noticed a tension. The Word of God frequently points out how children and youth, those whom society most frequently views as juvenile, are those who are closest to the heart of God. It is in their simplicity that they are able to best understand what it means to have an intentional relationship with God without all of the complexities, responsibilities and theological mush that adults typically allow to cloud the picture.
During the holiday season we have a habit of encouraging children to make cards for those whom they love. When they do so you will see that they are intentional about the colors they use so as to make those cards genuine and personal. Knowing a friend or family member’s favorite color allows one to specialize the gift; to make it personal and meaningful based on the individual preferences of that person. People can show love to one another in a simple, but intentional manner when they know someone’s favorite color. It is a small and simple detail, but nonetheless it is valuable. It is a way of showing intentionality within a relationship, and it really does not take much effort.
So, is this a juvenile question? I honestly do not think so. Ageism is a prevalent –ism in the United States that is often ignored. Children and youth do a lot of things that seem odd or juvenile, but they are really foundational concepts that we, adults, have forgotten. We have written off the value of how something as simple as remembering your friends favorite color can be a stepping stone towards building intentional relationships that seek to understand personal preferences that are both big and small. If I buy my friend flowers they will pry mean more if they are their favorite color because I showed them how much I valued them by remembering their personal preference.
I think that the Word directs us to observe our children because those foundational concepts are still so fresh in them. They can remind us of the basics. When learning to read, write or perform mathematics it is the basic concepts that are the most important because without those you can’t move forward to anything more complicated. Even though one does eventually move on it is still important to remind one’s self how to add, subtract, multiply and divide. A lot of people would say that they have forgotten how to do basic algebra, and it is because they do not practice. If we want to continue to be intentional in our relationships we have to continue to remember to practice the basics.
The beauty of this question is that it is a simple and basic intentionality that can lead to more complicated showings of love and affection. When you remember someone’s favorite color you show that you are not only intentional, but that you can be trusted to remember details. If you can be trusted to remember small details you can be trusted to remember the big ones. These are the building blocks of healthy relationships from the mouths of babes. Isn’t God funny?
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
I am the Enemy
This morning I was reading Psalm 3, Isaiah 2 and Lamentations 2, and something hit me. "I am the enemy." All of my life I have been reading those passages, and others as if I am the one being saved. Now, I am not saying that God is not saving me, but I am asking questions about perspective, perceptions and "the Other".
I wonder, "Do people pray for God to save them from me (me--personally, figuratively, the United States, etc.)? In what instances am I the enemy/the villain? How often in relationship have I hurt someone and they have in turn prayed for deliverance because of my actions?"
This is why I need saving. I need saving because for the past 22 years I have struggled to see where "I am the enemy."
Now my actions and choices are challenged, and I can see where I have pillaged much and many...I further understand why I need to be saved.
I wonder, "Do people pray for God to save them from me (me--personally, figuratively, the United States, etc.)? In what instances am I the enemy/the villain? How often in relationship have I hurt someone and they have in turn prayed for deliverance because of my actions?"
This is why I need saving. I need saving because for the past 22 years I have struggled to see where "I am the enemy."
Now my actions and choices are challenged, and I can see where I have pillaged much and many...I further understand why I need to be saved.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Faith and Prayer
As I spend time in the company of "true" Saints I am thrust deeper into what it means to believe, to have faith.
Faith is not simply believing in the unseen. While that is quite the anecdotal answer I believe that faith is much more.
Faith is believing in what one cannot see, but it is also acting upon movement that one cannot see. A movement that comes from an unseen place, but that is clearly real. Acting with vigor--knowing (different than thinking) that what has been said will be done.
On Friday I listened to a woman tell me that she prayed to God for direction. God gave her a list of ten initiatives for the group that she is leading--and all in the same leading told her to quit. Now as she is on her way out she watches as this list of ten is slowly but surely completed. In the world of faith-based non-profit a list of ten items flowing smoothly has to be the work of the LORD.
As I reflect on where I am in life and as I attempt to follow the modeling of "true" Saints around me I feel pushed to pray. This woman prayed and God lead. God told her exactly what to do next. Now God did not give her the plan in its entirety, but God gave her the next step.
As she talked about her career change she said to me, "God will give me my next job. I am know that God will lead me to it."
What more would it be for me to believe that God will lead me to the next place that I should go? To believe that God will give me the plan for my current position?
Nothing more.
I must pray.
I fear though that I do not know how to pray. In that instance though, I can remember what a wise woman said to me. She said, "You have a beautiful voice. A gift from God. Pray to God. Sing to God. Pray in song. As you read the Word sing melodies using the Word of the LORD. That too is prayer."
I will pray and know by faith in God.
Faith is not simply believing in the unseen. While that is quite the anecdotal answer I believe that faith is much more.
Faith is believing in what one cannot see, but it is also acting upon movement that one cannot see. A movement that comes from an unseen place, but that is clearly real. Acting with vigor--knowing (different than thinking) that what has been said will be done.
On Friday I listened to a woman tell me that she prayed to God for direction. God gave her a list of ten initiatives for the group that she is leading--and all in the same leading told her to quit. Now as she is on her way out she watches as this list of ten is slowly but surely completed. In the world of faith-based non-profit a list of ten items flowing smoothly has to be the work of the LORD.
As I reflect on where I am in life and as I attempt to follow the modeling of "true" Saints around me I feel pushed to pray. This woman prayed and God lead. God told her exactly what to do next. Now God did not give her the plan in its entirety, but God gave her the next step.
As she talked about her career change she said to me, "God will give me my next job. I am know that God will lead me to it."
What more would it be for me to believe that God will lead me to the next place that I should go? To believe that God will give me the plan for my current position?
Nothing more.
I must pray.
I fear though that I do not know how to pray. In that instance though, I can remember what a wise woman said to me. She said, "You have a beautiful voice. A gift from God. Pray to God. Sing to God. Pray in song. As you read the Word sing melodies using the Word of the LORD. That too is prayer."
I will pray and know by faith in God.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Arise with Hope and Vision!
This summer has felt as if someone is punching me in the face over and over again. I feel unrecognizable. This veil of frustration covers my face so thickly even I cannot see. I ask God for wisdom and receive more strife. I ask God for patience and find more resistance. I ask God for grace and find more unforgiveness.
Youth work is a thankless job. I don't mind that at all though. What bothers me is that I feel so discouraged. How can I be discouraged when God reigns supreme and victorious?
This summer the high school students lack hope and vision. They cannot see their own potential. They are unwilling to accept the love of Christ. They fear their own greatness. They see any attempt at boundaries and accountability as some sort of ploy to hold them down. Every standard is a conspiracy to dismember their youthful freedom. Why can't they see that they are allowing themselves to be chained to stones and cast into the ocean? Their disregard for standards will most likely be the demise of their actual freedom.
It is clear to me that God redeems, but even so He still allows us to feel consequence. We cannot avoid the truth of our choices.
In the evening when I get home I am drained. I am exhausted because I feel so much. I am so sad, so angry, so frustrated, and so passionate... I cannot bear to see them act so callously with their lives, but they cannot see the gifts they possess. I want them to instantaneously see in a moment of revelation and grow up, but that is not how it works.
I lay awake thinking and asking God for the next thing to say--for the next prayer to pray--in hopes that they might wake up and together we might rise up.
As a generation they hold so much power, but they suffer from the same youthful complacency that we have all encountered. We can have so much power and yet never touch it, and never see it come to fruition.
We are creating a generation that can talk using internet intelligence about issues, but that cannot act with historically grounded intelligence on issues.
Oh that God would wake this generation from their slumber. Oh that they would cry out in lamentation and mourn the lost. Oh that they would stand up out of their lament to by God's power act in Christ-like victory.
Oh that we could encourage them and not see them filled with anger when faced with accountability. Oh that we could be one in mind and purpose in the Lord. That we could cry out as one to the God of Israel and in the power of the LORD step forward in a spirit of truth. That we would as one people rise up as Children of the Light--together.
They are our Oaks of Righteousness. They will rebuild the city. Together we will rise up out of the ash heap--they needy, the poor, the disenfranchised, the overworked, the discouraged, the wayward youth, the lost soul, the thirsty, the hungry, the prostitute, the embezeller, the tired, the searching, the happy but not joyful--unmasked and revealed--together we will rebuild the city.
Oh God will set us free from complacency. Give us a hope and a vision.
Let your servants not weep and suffer the singe of discouragement in vain. Let your servants rejoice for the joy of the LORD is our strength. We know this momentary discomfort is nothing in light of the cross and what Christ has done.
Youth work is a thankless job. I don't mind that at all though. What bothers me is that I feel so discouraged. How can I be discouraged when God reigns supreme and victorious?
This summer the high school students lack hope and vision. They cannot see their own potential. They are unwilling to accept the love of Christ. They fear their own greatness. They see any attempt at boundaries and accountability as some sort of ploy to hold them down. Every standard is a conspiracy to dismember their youthful freedom. Why can't they see that they are allowing themselves to be chained to stones and cast into the ocean? Their disregard for standards will most likely be the demise of their actual freedom.
It is clear to me that God redeems, but even so He still allows us to feel consequence. We cannot avoid the truth of our choices.
In the evening when I get home I am drained. I am exhausted because I feel so much. I am so sad, so angry, so frustrated, and so passionate... I cannot bear to see them act so callously with their lives, but they cannot see the gifts they possess. I want them to instantaneously see in a moment of revelation and grow up, but that is not how it works.
I lay awake thinking and asking God for the next thing to say--for the next prayer to pray--in hopes that they might wake up and together we might rise up.
As a generation they hold so much power, but they suffer from the same youthful complacency that we have all encountered. We can have so much power and yet never touch it, and never see it come to fruition.
We are creating a generation that can talk using internet intelligence about issues, but that cannot act with historically grounded intelligence on issues.
Oh that God would wake this generation from their slumber. Oh that they would cry out in lamentation and mourn the lost. Oh that they would stand up out of their lament to by God's power act in Christ-like victory.
Oh that we could encourage them and not see them filled with anger when faced with accountability. Oh that we could be one in mind and purpose in the Lord. That we could cry out as one to the God of Israel and in the power of the LORD step forward in a spirit of truth. That we would as one people rise up as Children of the Light--together.
They are our Oaks of Righteousness. They will rebuild the city. Together we will rise up out of the ash heap--they needy, the poor, the disenfranchised, the overworked, the discouraged, the wayward youth, the lost soul, the thirsty, the hungry, the prostitute, the embezeller, the tired, the searching, the happy but not joyful--unmasked and revealed--together we will rebuild the city.
Oh God will set us free from complacency. Give us a hope and a vision.
Let your servants not weep and suffer the singe of discouragement in vain. Let your servants rejoice for the joy of the LORD is our strength. We know this momentary discomfort is nothing in light of the cross and what Christ has done.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Whose Not Who
In the search for my identity I have often asked the question, "Who am I?" Such an open ended premise being asked only in the caverns of my own mind is bound to be answered incorrectly or not at all. I find that my mind is so finite that I answer all questions with finite answers. Instead of allowing questions to answer questions and accepting the ambiguity of things I simply cannot understand I fight for clear cut and defined definitions.
The question of "Who am I?" is most certainly answered only when followed by another question. "Who am I?" is not nearly as pertinent as "Whose am I?" Which interestingly enough fully informs the "who" by asking the "whose".
The Bible says that God calls us by name. By asking "Whose I am?" as opposed to "Who I am?" I am seeking out the wisdom of my Creator. Who better knows the name, role and function of an item than its creator. So, why would one think to attempt to inform themselves as to who they are by seeking out there self or others--since neither are the one who created them.
Now that it is clear that I am God's the question I ask the LORD is "What is my name?". In knowing my name I will hear the LORD when He calls and then I can reply, "Yes, Lord your servant is listening."
The bottom line is:
If I do not know "whose I am" I will not know "who I am".
If I do not know "whose I am" I will not know my name.
If I do not know my name I cannot know when my Creator, the LORD, is calling me--since the LORD calls us by name.
I am not defined by "who I am", but by "whose I am".
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)