Grow

This article was originally written for my church, Ypsilanti Free Methodist Church

We’d all like to believe that we’re growing. None of us wants to look back after twenty, thirty, or forty years only to realize that we’re the same person we were at eighteen; acting the same way, making the same decisions. Most of us tend to equate change with growth. When life circumstances change we assume we’re growing and maturing alongside. While change is inevitable and happens to everyone, growth--- real growth requires concerted effort.

As followers of Christ, too often we mistake our tenure as believers for Christian maturity. We are fooled into believing that changes to life situations, whether it is in ministry, career or family mean that we have learned to more closely emulate Jesus. This is simply not true.

Rather, Christian maturity comes with active cooperation with the Spirit of God as it produces fruit in our life while we respond to its leading and properly apply Scripture. We do not grow by osmosis or by sleeping with a Bible under our pillows (or sleeping through a sermon! No! We’d never do that!)

More than that, since the Lord designed us for community, we grow best when we are engaged with other believers. We grow when we come to view the church less as a social institution and more as an opportunity to learn, apply, and see the example of Christ modeled by others. This is the type of environment we see demonstrated by the first Christians who “devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.”

The Christian life, rather than being a momentary acknowledgement of Christ, is a persistent obedience motivated by love and gratitude to our Savior. It is progressive conformity to the image of Christ. That progress occurs most often when we partner with the Spirit and other believers. One day, Lord-willing, we will look back upon our years and praise the Lord at how he has grown and developed us.

III.

Born on an altar of frigid stone

far from the halls of a royal home

at the mouth of roaring Terriand

where waters meet; river, sea, and sand

where the currents churn the sea foam green

and sea birds cry but are never seen

whirling high in zephyrs bold, they rise

to soar above sallow, fog-laced skies.

Here encamped beside the rushing waves

sits the hero of the ‘Thousand Days’.

Here the champion has tarried long

far from the cheers of adoring throng

farther still from love of kith and kin

long since there were battles yet to win.

Palomar Feri was his name of old

when fortune favored warriors bold.

Long have been the nights since elder days

longer still since triumph the banners raised.

Dark have been the troubled thoughts of men

and darker still have been deeds since then.

Here, he alone the dire watches keeps

while in the black, lonely hours weeps

for the glories of Lord Antrop’s hall

before shadow cast its ghastly pall.

Oh! The riches of such splendid feasts

where larders bulged with riches replete.

There sang the bards the songs of old

and children were awed at tales retold.

But here upon the forsaken beach

where wood and bone lie forever bleached

by that vengeful, unrelenting sun

there stood alone the oft-herald’d one

and at his feet lay Turcien bound

that beast of such monstrous renown.

Even in death was its fury seen

Though his eye now stared with glassy sheen.

Roughhewn flesh caked each tremendous paw

and still venom dripped from gaping maw.

For years untold the most craven spawn

did with spite and malice prey upon

the hearts and fears of all Eastenwell

with such grievous threats and deeds most fell.

From the falls of River Errantry

to the pale shores of the Endless Sea

the shadow of the villain grew long

til no maid alone should dare a song

for fear her dreams would with howling fill.

Though in recent years so few could tell

of a time when Turcien was seen

or mark the place he had truly been.

Perhaps, they mused, he had simply fled

and in some lithesome hovel to bed.

So his horrid legend slept, but grew

til all men had passed and time renewed.

All but Palomar who did endure

bound to his heroic fate and moored,

suffering silent indignity

as men forsook bonds of loyalty

and fled, in turn, each man to pride.

Then the hero sought again a prize

worthy of forsaken memories

---a tale to echo beyond the seas.

So early one spring morning he crept

beyond the gates where the drunkards slept

and found himself on familiar roads

though forgotten now and overgrown

ever southward under Dormane’s leaves

sleeping beneath its shimmering eaves,

following the foothills of Lorment

slightly east, the rugged trail there met

the headwaters of sylvan Ennule

where moonlight danced ‘cross her silver pools.

Yet ever he found the stain of men

men who lost still more honor since when

he had left, now dwelt in shadow it seemed

and faded along with deferred dreams.

So he was led yet farther afield

by a spirit that would not yield

seeking for himself a nobler end

and to revive flagging hearts of men.

Still the call of glory pressed him on

til the lands of his youth were far gone,

where foreign tongues bespoke foreign shores

into this scene the Terriand poured.

Wandered he over emerald glen

beyond the curve of the river bend

til a thrilling rumor reached his ears,

a dark rumor of some latent fear.

Of mighty Turcien it was said

he had to this fertile land been led

and did besiege, fostering alarm.

At this Palomar sprung up to arms

and set out at once to slay the fiend

seeking a sign of where he had been.

Pursuing for years specter and shade

Rushing headlong from glade to glade.

Relentlessly he sought out the beast

whose reign of terror seemed to have ceased

for peace had fallen in spite of fright

much to the dismay of the questing knight.

Still with fervor did the champion

assail with such reckless abandon.

Til on that fated high summer’s day

Palomar heard the hound loudly bray

and for the hilt of his sword he did reach

charging forth onto that forsaken beach.

There upon the sand Turcien lay

(though what he perceived no may could say)

in such a state of aged repose

its eyes bleary from a morning doze.

It rose with great labor to its feet

the encroaching champion to meet.

There the titanic battle occurred

though time and motion seemed strangely blurred.

The beast then rose up to meet the man

who fought with fury in his cold hands.

Though dulled by age the hound savagely

swiped massive claws belying infirmity.

Fresh blood it drew from the hero’s flesh

while singing sword hew a gaping cleft.

The air boiled with hatred’s vicious heat

as the monsters mercilessly beat

and landed such cruel rending blows

though locked they were as in lover’s throes.

Palomar felt the cur’s limbs quiv’ring

though in its heart vengeance simmering.

Its breathing slowed and its strength was stayed

as good vitality’s years betrayed.

Its noble muzzle dipped and light fled

from its ancient eyes and timeless dread

passed away. The knight drew now his sword

and looked the ever-conquering lord,

and into its breast did plunge the blade.

Uttering a mighty sigh it laid

down, its struggle lost, to rise no more.

Thus pass baleful wolf on dismal shore.

Then upon the day fell weary calm

as if some languishing spirit’s song

had swift and suddenly come upon

the now nigh-exhausted champion.

A silent spell cast by solemn breeze

did his melancholy spirit seize.

Where joy should flourish, only regret

only tears for years and dreams misspent.

No stories penned nor ballads were sung

Though before his feet the beast was slung.

What strength took it? What fortitude

to slay a beast in decrepitude?

Now the gathering wind grew quite loud

as the cur’s poison his flesh befouled.

He knelt down before his vanquished foe

grotesque castles grew where blood was sowed.

Its listless eyes mirrored his deep grief

as time stole in upon as a thief.

Distantly, he heard, as on the wind

the adoring throng he sought to win

the voices of crowds so long ago

lost friends and lovers he had once known.

Then, like a wisp; like a passing mist

gone were the dreams of a lasting bliss,

only then as sickness veiled his eyes

did he see great Turcien beside

and in his defeated presence found

a monster to whom his fate was bound.

Wind-whipped salt spray stung his distant eyes

as whitecaps rode the incoming tide.

Ever stretched the undulating sea

as velvet sunset loomed plaintively.

Fiery orange and lavender hues

did the fading summer's eve imbue

and from the deep gibbous moon arose

to claim vanishing sky unopposed.

Parched lips uttered silent prayer as day

fell behind the greedy, violet shade

and now eternity's lot was cast

beyond the veil the two monsters passed.

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.