In realizing yesterday’s crushing sense of unanything, I remembered a particular bit of scripture that always buoys me.

Briefly, I am becoming who I am (I think). Still have loneliness, guilt, whatever; but those are not ends as much as means.

I meant to write something about a refinery here, but after boiling away the words I think it was all to say this: masks within masks. Devastation within fight face within resignation within a pious observance of passing. You are within layers of reality, I promise.

I woke up at five this morning for some unknown reason, beating out my alarm clock, even. Maybe the vacation screwed up my sleep rhythms or some such - I haven’t the foggiest. But in any case, I was reading scripture this morning and came across Psalm 34, a psalm I urge you to consider. Here’s an excerpt:

The righteous cry out, and the LORD hears them;
he delivers them from all their troubles.

The LORD is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

A righteous man may have many troubles,
but the LORD delivers him from them all.

And all I have to say to that is, “amen”. Can I get an amen?

* * *

Now, four hours later, I’ve been to the gym, got in a good half hour of cardio, and shown up at work. The odd thing is I just spent the last five minutes puking up everything I’ve eaten in the last 24 hours. And, since the only thing I’ve eaten in the last 24 hours was two mints, it tasted sweet on its way up. Note to self: find out why you’re puking, and stop eating mints.

* * *

Six hours later. I’m listening to the song “Move Along” by The All-American Rejects, perhaps the only song that truly themed this year’s trip to Hilton Head. Thanks in no small part, I might add, to their absolutely amazing video for that song. “Speak to me, when all you got to keep is strong / Move along, move along like I know you do / And even when your hope is gone / Move along, move along just to make it through.”

* * *

Seven hours later. I feel like crap. But I think I’ll stick it out here at work. You know, no puking up guts, no glory. Or something.

* * *

Eight hours later. Do you ever have a day in which you decide moving your feet is too much effort? Yeah. I’m tired, sick, and edgy. But I’m not complaining. I’ll just keep moving. Dreamstate.

* * *

Nine hours later. I’m feeling a bit better; my breath, however, must smell something like a cross between cigar ash and farm equipment. Brush teeth, use mouthwash. I am slowly catching up on last week’s faxes, while todays faxes and emails pile at an alarming rate. It looks like - sick or not - I’ll be putting in the long hours again. Also: self-deception is such a beautiful thing.

YES YES YES.

Now that I’ve said that, let me ask you all a question: what’s a good thing that happened to you this weekend that you didn’t deserve?

dan (YES)

The world isn’t ending anytime soon. Of course, I don’t know this for a fact any more than those gurus gathered on mountains did, but it doesn’t seem right: God’s kingdom hasn’t yet swept from east to west. We haven’t seen the demise of our bankrupt western ways of thinking, though I’m sure we will. Scripture speaks too often of the triumph of the Lord in this world for it to be any other way - and his power is certainly enough to make it happen.

First, it was Abraham. Then it was Israel. Now it’s this chosen people scattered throughout the world, but not a people hunkered down in concrete caves. David was hunted by that time’s version of the antichrist, too, but his kingdom roared to a glory unseen before that time; our David has come, and the kingdom is at hand. No, the world isn’t coming crashing down in persecution and brimstone.

Another note: how often do you hear of the blessings of serving God? Not often enough, I imagine. It sounds too name-it-and-claim-it, I guess, or too much like a prosperity gospel. But you have it, still. Cursing and blessing. Good for the servant, evil for the rebel. Pleasure that elevates, or pleasure that rots in the belly.

These rules and laws, they themselves are blessings. Odd, isn’t it? How often do you (how often do I?) look at them as restrictions and limitations? But God’s law is good - more, it’s delightful. The poet said that, and three thousand years haven’t changed that one jot or iota.

Jesus endured a cross for the joy set before him. But isn’t that selfish? Of course, until you understand that you and I are part of that joy. And there is a future of joy set before you and I as well. It’s the battery in our faith, the thing that keeps it ticking. At times it sounds odd, though the alternative is as heterodox as can be.

I’d wrap these things up if I could, but you’ll have to read scripture to get there. I’m not as good at tying the strings together as God is, and I can say that with confidence. But the future joy, the blessing, the kingdom flowering glorious, these are not just concepts only for rosy-eyed grandmothers. Far from it: they are anchors for men and woman of both this world and that to come.

dan

God, grant me patience with the people around me; the stupid, the smartassed, and the lazy. Give me grace to deal with those who store up their grievances so they can shoot them at people when they’re angry. And since you apparently won’t change anyone else, change me into a more loving person. More to the point, if you won’t stop throwing curveballs, at least give me a glove.

Also, remind me often that I’m all these things and more; that publican guy is me, just with a shorter prayer.

Help me to be brief.

Dan

Who are you?

The answers you give to that question are, in themselves, the answer to the question. Ironic, isn’t it? You can tell more about a person by how they answer that question than by the answers they give.

Who am I?

Let me tell you. I’m a stupid, thick-headed, idiotic sinner. That’s what I am. On Sunday, we got to hear again about the law, that perfect law, that thing that drives us to Christ. I am constantly confronted by that law, and I constantly fail it. Constantly. I am more than anything that servant that digs a hole in his yard and tosses the talent it. I’m the guy that won’t put his crap up on Ebay to follow a homeless carpenter and his ragged bunch of fishermen. I’m the people taking Judas’ money back and having profound scruples about how to invest blood money. I’m a hypocrite, a big talker, and the irony of this entire paragraph is that something inside me is going, “Oh yeah, look at me telling people I’m a sinner! How good is that!” There’s that good old Dutch Reformed pride at being able to admit to people how much I suck at being a Christian.

Look at that sentence for a second. Does that even make sense? Suck at being a Christian? I don’t know. I don’t think so. What makes me a Christian - as we’re so fond of telling ourselves - is not the fact that I have all my ducks in a row, my “I”s dotted and “T”s crossed. It’s not about me; it’s about Jesus. You know, the homeless carpenter, the hope and glory of Israel?

Grace. It’s a beautiful concept. The law is a strong thing pushing me toward it. I know I need it. But I’m so sick of being told about my sin: I get it. I know. I live it every day. I’m already on the train. As I get older I become more aware of it. I have at least a small understanding of how sinful I am, and being told that again isn’t going to help me.

God rest my weary soul, tell me about grace! Tell me about how a bunch of people woke up in the middle of Catholic Europe so long ago and thought, “Something isn’t right here…” Tell me about how a monk finally got somewhere and when he was done understood that he could beat himself dead and it wouldn’t mean a damned thing! Tell me about the Solas that Derek Webb has tattoed on his arm; tell me about grace, and forgiveness, and love, and glory!

Don’t assume I understand it already, or that I’m sick of hearing about it, or that I’ll get it on my own. No - preach to me a gospel that doesn’t consume me with the agony of my sickness, but infuses me with the hope of a cure; tell me about heaven, describe it for me with all the words you have. Tell me about gratitude. Tell me how God wrapped himself in humanity and wandered the earth for thirty years, homeless, persecuted, and finally nailed to a cross with the agony of hell resting on his shoulders, all so that he could rescue his people - and me, me - from those agonies and give them a hope of something better, a hope that will not disappoint. Tell me how life entered his body and how he walked out of his tomb. Tell me how clouds took him, how he sits in glory now. Use every word in the dictionary if you have to!

Tell me that story - I’m not sick of yet. Never will be. Don’t let grace and peace be the capstone of a service, or words sucked dry through repitition. Tell me again and again, grace, grace, grace. Mercy. Peace. Love. Hope. Eternity. Grace.

But for now, let me tell it to you. It’s simple: for you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich.

dan (aMEN)