Silent Fly

I couldn't hear it make a sound.

Under the light of my desk lamp, between it and my open bible, I saw a fly. Not a housefly, but some sort of flying insect. It was tiny and brown, with quick little wings. It flew rather well. The lone light in the room beckoned it, and as the fly would meet the siren, it would quickly bounce away; the landing was too hot to handle.

I saw the fly. Oddly, I couldn't hear the fly. I listened close. I even leaned in. I heard the passing cars on the street below, through a closed window. I heard my roommates down the hall, through a closed door. I heard the air conditioner blow, through an open vent. But I couldn't hear the fly. I could see it right in front of me, but I couldn't believe I couldn't hear it. It was strange.

Psalm 119 silently watched as I watched the silent fly. Eventually, my attention returned to the task at hand - reading Scripture. I would read a few verses, then, again, there's that fly. I would watch it float.

Read a verse.

Watch the fly.

Read.

Watch.

Verse.

Fly.

Listen.

How often do I read Scripture, but not hear it? The whole point of (devotionally) reading the Bible is to hear God speak through it. So, do I hear anything?

I started to think that, like the fly, the whispers of God can be drowned out by cars, roommates, air conditioning and a million other things. It takes a certain discipline to listen, and to hear through the noise what God might wish to say in that moment.

I didn't have any special revelation from Psalm 119, though I did enjoy meditating on it. This morning I was lying on my floor, as is my prayer custom every once in a while, listening for the whisper of God. I was challenged with the word I preached a few weeks ago, that Christ bids us to come and die. That calling can be for anyone, at any point. It could be for me. That's a scary thought.

I heard the words spoken to Paul echo in my memory, "I will show him how much he must suffer for my name." Those aren't comforting words. But if Jesus wasn't spared the terror, why should his disciples expect any different? As one smart guy once said, "Jesus lived in the tension of the confidence in his calling, and the terror of where that would take him." Again, why should his disciples expect any different?

I figure there's an easy way to avoid that end: I could stop listening for God. But then like Peter I think, "Where else would I go? Only you have the words of eternal life." Ironically, life and death are bedfellows in kingdom economics.

Where will this crazy thing called faith take me? Only God knows. Is it scary? A little bit. But it's scary to think I could live an entire life not walking into the works I've been prepared in advance to do. I don't want to live like that. I want to listen to the whisper to ensure I take each step I need to take.

In the midst of the noise, I want to hear the sound.

You're the teacher?

Nothing so disappointing.

One of the only negative memories I have from my undergrad is a certain class I took. Surprisingly, it was a leadership class. I swear the entire course could have been taught in a weekend, and I'm sure I still wouldn't have remembered anything. In the professor's defense, it was his first time teaching it. I think it'd been thrown at him and I heard it got way better in the coming years.

During those four months the fact that a teacher was teaching something he didn't seem to grasp troubled me. Leadership for ministry majors is like learning the 5 basic sauces for culinary students. It's foundational.

Thinking about that experience earlier today set the context for these words tonight:

"You're Israel's teacher," said Jesus, "and you don't even understand these things?" (John 3:10)

Story #2

On a recent walk with a friend I somehow made a comment about the Holy Spirit being so much more active than we ever imagine. In that moment, I thought about disciples healing the sick, and how I'm afraid to even try to pray over someone at work who's barely standing, or I don't continue to evangelize for whatever reason. (Fear is often the best and most effective demotivator.) I had to ask myself, "You're a pastor, and you don't even understand these things?"

Thanks, Jesus.

There are plenty of things I can get away with knowing very little about. For instance, predestination or free will? Whatever you want is fine with me. Just know that it will directly impact how you interact with non-Christians.

But there are some things I just can't get away with, like the reality of the Holy Spirit and what its role in the world is. Beyond that, actually living in that truth instead of just intellectually assenting is the step that proves real knowledge, heart knowledge. It's what makes a person say, "You understand these things."

I'll never say that every Christian, not even a pastor, needs to know everything. But there are things that each Christian should understand: creation, fall and redemption are prime examples. And I don't expect each Christian to explain these the same way, but they are integral to the story.

What I've learned so far is as a follower of Jesus Christ I need to continue learning, seeking, asking, wrestling and growing so that when I'm in a tough spot, I'm not faced with, "and you don't even understand these things?" And when I am faced with that question, my hope is that it won't be because I was lazy.

What do you do to continue growing in faith and knowledge?

Walking (on) Water

Somehow I made my way to the lake.

It was that kind of dark that makes you wonder who's creepin' on ya; it isn't foggy, but it feels foggy. My feet carried me this way, then that, and ended at the place where I stood weeks ago, peering over the water. Only now, the place where I stood stands under a few feet of water. It's amazing what a month of rain can do.

I cast my eyes skyward to meet the greys and purples herding themselves along. Maybe they'd catch the storm that preceded them hours before. My head sank again to the lake. The ripples synced with the clouds, but halted at my feet, the edge of the concrete path-turned-shore the new beach.

I set my foot out, on top of the water. It sank an inch to the bottom.

I tried again; it sank again.

I stepped out with both feet, one at a time. This time, my socks dampened, and my eyes dampened as I lamented the lack of faith or grace that kept me from walking on the water.

But stepping out in faith isn't really faith. Inches are not a risk.

I needed to jump.

I laughed at the idea. I said I was crazy. I reasoned, though, that craziness would be not believing what happened to Peter could possibly happen today, and could not happen to me. Surely, rationale says that if a thing is possible once, it is possible again.

With all the reason I could muster, I backed up the flat black path, let out a boyish chuckle, turned, ran and jumped.

I couldn't help but think of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego who, before being thrown into the furnace, affirmed that their God could do the impossible, saving each one.

"But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up." (Daniel 3:18)

For them, God not providing a miracle or doing the impossible is not a sign that God is not present. God does what God wills. Man is made to serve God, not the other way around. And I resolved that I would rather put my faith in God and sink than put my faith in myself and stand.

I turned. I ran. I jumped.

And I landed firmly on the same flat black path, six inches deep.

I let the water soak my shoes as I smiled up to the sky, laughing aloud, by myself, in the dark.

Sloshing back to my apartment, I felt faithful; this same God who lets me sink is the same God who makes me to stand.

Prayer Asthma

I wrote this up for my church's blog today. Enjoy!

If praying is like breathing, I have prayer asthma.

Sometimes I breathe just fine. I can stretch out my arms, open my mouth wide, and breathe in the goodness of the world. But sometimes, in certain seasons, I'm coughing, weezing, gasping.

Can you relate?

I've been gasping lately. In fact, several people I know have. Not only gasping for breath because of the unusually high pollen this season. But also for God's presence, because of the unusually high busyness of life.

It seems that prayer asthma is impartial. You can be a pastor, layperson, worship leader, college student, seasoned or newly initiated Christian. It doesn't really matter. Prayer asthma is also caused by several roots. Maybe you've never learned how to pray. Or, maybe you've been taught prayer over and over and over again, and now you're frustrated thinking, "Will I ever get this right?"

It's discouraging, eh? I know it is for me. But are you and me the only ones that have this issue? Is there any hope to draw in fresh breath freely, instead of weezing?

Take heart.

There is hope.

It's comforting to hear these words, "Lord, teach us how to pray." (Lk 11:1) The disciples, like many of us, saw a man of prayer and figured, "Hey, maybe he can help my prayer asthma. I'm strugglin here."

I was encouraged this past week at Pastor Sam's home, when about a half-dozen of us confessed that we have prayer asthma. We gathered together to be taught about prayer, to be encouraged in ways to pray, and most importantly, to spend time in prayer. That gathering was a deep breath from an inhaler, opening up the blocked passages, reminding me what it feels like to breathe.

I think the most important thing I learned that night is that we, like the disciples, shouldn't be embarrassed if we don't know how to pray. Those following Christ, 2,000 years ago or today, can still humbly ask that question, one alongside the other: "Teach us how to pray."

We'll be continuing this group for the next three weeks. If you think you might have prayer asthma, come on out.

I know I'm breathing easier.