Gather

This article was originally written for my church Ypsilanti Free Methodist Church in December (yep, I missed posting it on here)

For many, gathering together is the most recognizable element of church involvement. After all, attendance is the most visible sign of association. However, mere proximity is not the extent of community that the Lord intended when He established the Church. While there are certainly social benefits to the church community, these are not the totality of God’s vision for us.

To press on with the metaphor Paul presents in Scripture, it is not only for personal expediency that the ‘organs’ of the church body come together. Rather, all of the body’s organs work together for a single purpose. In the case of the Church, those purposes are growing in the likeness of Christ and going out into the world as His witnesses.

Gathering together purposefully for those aims is the natural prerequisite. We can do neither alone. Nor were we meant to.

What this vision of the Church requires of us is purposeful engagement. This means (especially for those inclined toward introversion) a deliberate and conscious effort to both attend and build relationships with other believers. The earliest Christians called each other brothers and sisters in Christ, and family we are. Perhaps we are even deeper than family if we live out our purposes by being united in love and united in our shared mission as witnesses of Jesus.

Gathering together means more than simply being in the same place at the same time. It means sinking deep into the notion that we are more than acquaintances but co-laborers and siblings. It also means living out the love of Christ in relationships by bearing each other’s burdens, encouraging each other, confessing to each other, and speaking the gospel to one another. This happens not only in a Sunday service but as we meet in one another’s homes, sit around campfires, babysit someone’s children, go for a hike together, or sit together at the lunch table at school. If we are intentional, Church happens at all these times for wherever we are gathered together for His purposes, His Spirit is with us.

II.

Old things die in the cradle of their birth

moaning, thrashing at the foundations

of the deep, at the roots of the world.

The gentle retirement of autumn

from verdant hues to gilded crowns

belies a Tellurian strife

of rock and water, of wood and flesh.

Ever the world; the heart,

resonates from cavernous expanse

the sounds of fragmentation, of rending.

No shy repose for aching bones

only the dull throb of yearning

only the parched resolve for consolation.

Winds weep and wail in the wilderness.

Souls groan under assault.

Thunderheads beckon, burgeoning,

as their shadows envelop the valley floor.

Earth cries out for violence;

with birth bound in the breaking.

Prince and pauper

mere and marish

alike in solemn expectation

with eyes horizon-fixed for the red dawn

and in their prayers that rush 

to fill the void of night.

I.

As ever,

when the day dawns

and the age of things wavers

the heart knows the deep

inadequacies and yearns

for the consolation

of the home warmly lit

and buffeted with snow.

Rest in the Arms

A few weeks ago, my daughters spent the weekend at their grandparents’ house. Consequently, I didn’t see them for nearly three days. After picking them up on a Sunday night I was excited to go through our nightly bedtime ritual. We brushed our teeth, got into our pajamas, read our story, and sang our songs. I turned off the light in my five year old’s room but soon heard the tell-tale click as the door swung open again. My wife and I made eye contact and engaged in a silent game of rock, paper, scissors which apparently I lost because I found myself meeting my bleary-eyed daughter in the upstairs hallway.

“I’m lonely,” she said quietly, “can someone snuggle?” We walked back into her darkened room and I tucked her once again into her bed and lay down beside her. I put my arms around her; making sure to keep my bearded face away from hers.

As I lay awake, she slowly drifted off into contented sleep. In the darkness my mind was preyed upon by my sins, flaws, and inadequacies. Even as the pangs of despair softly chimed I marveled that I have a heavenly Father who longs for me to run to His waiting embrace; who longs to hold me in His arms in spite of my disobedience; who longs to wipe away my tears and frustrations.

Speaking through His prophet Hosea, the Lord called out to His rebellious people Israel, a people who had taken for granted the blessings granted them, who had disregarded His commands, who had turned to other worthless idols --- they chose dead wood over the Living God. They had given the lives of their children as sacrifices to those no-gods and had executed prophets, the legitimate messengers of God. When confronted by the approach of the invading armies of Assyria and Babylon they turned not to their Lord but attempted to buy the help of neighboring countries. If anyone deserved to be abandoned and indeed punished it was this rebellious and disrespectful people. In spite of the abundance of evidence and guilt, this was the Lord’s message to His people:

When Israel was a child, I loved Him,

And out of Egypt I called my son.

The more they were called,

The more they went away;

They kept sacrificing to the Baals

And burning offerings to idols.

Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk;

I took them up by their arms,

But they did not know that I healed them.

I led them with cords of kindness,

With the bands of love,

And I became to them as one who eases the yoke on their jaws,

And I bent down to them and fed them.

They shall not return to the land of Egypt,

But Assyria shall be their king,

Because they have refused to return to me.

The sword shall rage against their cities,

Consume the bars of their gates,

And devour them because of their own counsels.

My people are bent on turning away from me,

And though they call to the Most High,

He shall not raise them up at all.

How can I give you up, O Ephraim?

How can I hand you over, O Israel?

How can I make you like Admah?

How can I treat you like Zeboiim?

My heart recoils within me;

My compassion grows warm and tender.

I will not execute my burning anger;

I will not again destroy Ephraim;

For I am God and not a man,

The Holy One in your midst,

And I will not come in wrath.

Instead of further threats of punishment and the certainty of retributive justice, the Lord implores His people to come back to Him. “How can I give you up, O Ephraim? How can I surrender you, O Israel?” The love and compassion of His nature oozes from His words. “I will not destroy Ephraim again. For I am God and not man, the Holy One in your midst.” He longed to have His people return to Him; to be swept up in His arms; to restore the relationship that was squandered. The Lord desired it for Israel and He desires it for us. He wanted it so much that He sent His Son to save us while we were still sinners, BEFORE we could offer any gift or obedience. He longs for us to run to Him, to bury ourselves in His embrace, to weep, repent, and mourn.

I long to be a comforter for my daughter, that I might in some small way help to heal the pain and alleviate her fears. However, I yearn a thousand times over that she, I, and whomever reads these words would rest in our Savior’s embrace, that we would confess our sins (which He already knows), pour out our pains and fears (of which He is also aware), and live in the freedom won in Christ.

Rhythm of Communion

Standing this morning in worship as we were preparing to take communion I was struck by an observation. I held in my hands the bread cube and the little plastic cup of grape juice and I tried to identify myself with the millions of other believers across the globe and across time that have stood united by these same words and elements but my eyes and thoughts were drawn to something else. As I watched, I noticed that the surface of the grape juice trembled with the vibration of my own heartbeat. It resonated with the beat of my heart. The ultimate aim of communion is to remember the sacrifice and be united with Christ; to resonate in unison and submission to the one we call Lord. Yet we know too well our failings, our frailty, our immaturity--- the things that often break our focus and our communion with Christ. As I stood watching the visible reminder of the rhythm and patterns of my life I prayed that I would continue to abide in Jesus—my Savior. That I would resonate with His words and the life He modeled. This is our prayer of communion: that we take Christ into our lives physically and symbolically (depending upon one’s views on transubstantiation) and return again the proper rhythms of righteousness. Our aim is that the beat of our own heart, manifested through our thoughts, words, and actions, would become increasingly synced with that of Christ, that through our continual abiding we would be further sanctified by and come to desire more to know the person of Christ. As we stand united even if just for that moment, we pray that we would decrease, that we would still our hearts from the distractions of life: sin, worry, anger, resentment, idolatry, and that in that stillness the surface of our lives would ripple with the reverberations of the Lord; that in the absence of distraction, the Spirit would abide and fulfill its perfecting work. 

Speak

We will sing

as seasons turn

as skies grow dim

as fires burn

when flowers beat

the long retreat,

the crushing march,

the great defeat.

When flesh proves weak

and hope has fled

and shade across

the sky has fled

and verdant hues

turn sickly pale

while harvest winds

moan and wail

still our tongues

will yet rehearse

the ancient words,

the stirring verse.

We will sound

the royal call

with faltering hearts

while kingdoms fall.

When misty veil

draws ‘cross the sky

and mournful clouds

toward heaven fly;

with grieving hearts

while flowers fade

when darkness falls

as daylight wanes

our hearts will cry

profound lament

yet still resound

when tears are spent

with song of hope,

that smoldering coal,

persevering portion

within our soul.

Our groans will preach

a hope yet distant

past starry bowl,

---a joy resplendent.

When joy sticks

in our throats

when words fail,

learned by rote,

in darkest hour,

though they be weak,

our anxious souls

resolve to speak.

Dearest Rutherford (The Crossroads)

Dearest Rutherford[i] (The Crossroads)

Dearest Rutherford,

I pray this letter finds you well

though perhaps you sleep

beneath the covers of tranquility

at Spiegel Grove[ii], where your heart ever resided.

What thoughts, I wonder, fill your slumber?

Valiant conquest?

Or dreams deferred?

What vagrant thoughts fill now your idle hours?

Do you wake to the cries

of our twice-bound brothers

descending again into ignoble barbarism?

--- into living death?

I must ask

with as much civility as I can muster,

did the thrush sing

as the thin mist rolled like silky tendrils

off the Potomac[iii] that cold April morning?

Did the sun, that glorious ember,

perceive the err of its rising that day?

Were the seeds of acrimony evident

or was the veil of expediency too thick?

Its melody too alluring?

Did you weep

as the troops beat their retreat

across the taciturn Ohio?[iv]

Did you rejoice with each vote cast;

each tacit proclamation?

Did you wail as the tide of Christ-won progress

slipped back into the murky

waters of oppression and despair?

Did the halls echo with Tilden’s[v] laughter

even as your banners flew triumphant?

Did you weigh, upon your noble brow,

the question of enforced morality?

Could you know the cost of complacency?

Or were the gears of patronage

wound too tight,

to grind the seeds of humility

into the meal of progress?

Do they grind still?

Dear friend,

do not misjudge.

I condemn you not,

though angels stand ready for the reaping

and judgment beckons upon the horizon

kissed with the kindled watch-fires.

I wish only to know,

while the Emancipator’s form

lay quiet;

lay cold, in the dust,

while the scores rested

in Arlington[vi],

in Gettysburg[vii],

in Andersonville[viii],

and thousands upon thousands more

made their beds in

unmarked field and furrow,

could you hear the whisper stirring from the pregnant earth?

The cries of the people rising to the Lord?

Could you perceive the provocative voice

beckoning from the crossroads

while the fires of democracy burned low?

Did the stench of purification

descend upon Wormley’s[ix] that day?

What remained when the cheers of adulation fell silent?

With the curtains drawn

and the flames extinguished

and the creak of old wood resounding in the night,

were too your dreams of equality snuffed

beneath the douter[x] of pragmatism?

Where does the corpse of idealism lie?

Forgive me,

my friend,

for my own reproach is heavy,

a weight I fail to bear

and I am crushed beneath the crippling

blows of impotence and despair.

My love I send you,

though you dwell I know not where,

beyond the veil

where sorrow, perhaps

fades and hope swells anew.

Look upon us, we who remain,

whose tears wet the parched earth;

whose feet bear the scars of prolonged sojourning

and whose eyes probe restlessly

for the lamp of justice and salvation.

---

[i] Rutherford B. Hayes, the 19^th President of the United States of America elected in the contested election of 1876 and was confirmed in 1877 through what is known as the Compromise of 1877, an informal and controversial agreement between the Democratic and Republican parties in which Democratic electors would switch their votes to the Republican Hayes, in return for, among other things, the removal of Federal troops from the South (a provision of Reconstruction) and the restoration of ‘home rule’ allowing the Southern states to deal with blacks without Northern influence.

[ii] Spiegel Grove was the estate of Rutherford and his wife, Lucy Webb Hayes.

[iii] The Potomac flows through Washington D.C. where the informal Compromise of 1877 was secured.

[iv] In the pre-Civil War period, the Ohio River served as a dividing line between the slave states to the south and the free-soil states to the north.

[v] Samuel J. Tilden, Democratic candidate for President who lost the election of 1876 despite winning the popular vote.

[vi] United States military cemetery established in 1864 on the former site of the estate of Confederate general Robert E. Lee’s wife, Mary Anna Lee.

[vii] Gettysburg National Cemetery was established in 1863 to inter Union casualties. Also, it was the site of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address.

[viii] Confederate prison near Andersonville, Georgia designed to house prisoners-of-war. Noted for its brutality and abhorrent conditions, it held approximately 45,000 Union prisoners. Of that number, 13,000 died within its walls largely of malnutrition and disease.

[ix] A five story hotel in Washington D.C. where the Wormley Agreement, precursor to the final Compromise, was signed.

[x] An instrument used in the snuffing out of candles.