Un-slumping and Adoration

“We need a fresh outpouring”, sings one of my favorite Christian artists. Not that long ago she was singing “brace yourself because he is going to blow through this place”. Is the slump inevitable?

If you ever knew him, you know the adoration and acceptance in his eyes, the sweet comfort of his voice, the warmth of his embrace, the tingling power of his touch. And that “Wow” factor that you would do anything for. 

Easter Joy (A father’s perspective)

I never believed my sin was so terrible that Jesus had to die to pay for it. Nor that God’s law was so supreme that even he was subject to it, even it meant his own death. Utter nonsense. Stupidity.

What is “God’s law”, anyway, and where do I find it? The 10 Commandments? Which of the three versions (Ex 20, 34 or Dt 5)? And how could Adam have disobeyed them? And are they really such a good law? Hardly. Or is “the law” the Torah? The one that requires your raped daughter to marry her rapist. Or that women are abhorrent to God when they are having their period? Or maybe some other supreme law that God never bothered to put together in a single spot so we know what we are supposed to obey?

Imaginary God, or God of Coincidences?

Last July, for reasons that seemed important at that time I took a break from my church and looked for another church home. Nothing came even close. And it got me down. So last Sunday, after wrestling with God for days or weeks, I decided to do what I knew was right and go back for the first time to see if things had changed.

Is God Hiding? Or Are You?

“If you seek me you will find me”, God promises through Jeremiah. “Seek and you will find”, said Jesus. And yet, it more often seems BarlowGirl got it right when they sang “I waited for you today but you didn’t show. I needed You today, so where did You go? You told me to call. Said You’d be there. And though I haven’t seen You, Are You still there? I cried out with no reply. I can’t feel You by my side, So I’ll hold tight to what I know. You’re here and I’m never alone.”

Want to meet God?

What if you knew God was in a good mood? Would you want to know what he had to say to you? Yes, your maker, the greatest brain and power ever. Well, you can. Today. Really.

I spent a life envying the early Christian church. Sure they had persecution. But their faith was electric. Miracles, signs, wonders, healings. Messages from God. Daily. How nifty was that? But that was ancient history. I would have to be satisfied with much less. Prayer. Bible reading. Church attendance. Plus obedience to a set of rules. How dreary. Those magical electric things were gone forever.

I did not realize it but, along with most of Christianity, I was a cessationist. Look it up in Wikipedia. I believed the Holy Spirit was withdrawn at the close of the apostolic age. He had ceased to work miraculously. No longer needed (crazy thought, if you think about it). From now on it was only humdrum Christianity. Holy Spirit became “the wimpy one”.

Of Cats & Dogs – A parable of old and new, law and grace

There once was a shipwreck in the middle of the ocean. The sole survivor, a German shepherd dog, landed on a deserted island. This was a special dog that could do magic. Superdog. Since he was special, he declared himself king of the island.

Soon he felt lonely so he decided to use his magic to create some other dog friends. Dogs of every kind. Although they had no magic, they were still pretty special. Together they had a blast of a time, roaming the island, doing what dogs do.

But one night an Evil Pirate sneaked on the island and fed the dogs steaks laced with a magic potion that turned them into cats. Worse, these cats did not respond to the Superdog’s magic.

Superdog was brokenhearted. He so missed his dog friends. Still, he was lonely so he hoped he could be with the cats. But whenever he approached them, they ran away. It was their nature. Well, being a good dog and this being his kingdom, he decided that if he and the cats were to get along, there had to be some rules. So he wrote up a bunch of them and posted them outside his dog house. Sensible things, like “no running away when Superdog cames close”, “no scratching Superdog in the face”, “no scratching the furniture”, “no going pee on the couch” etc.  This was the Old Plan. 

Sugar-free, Guilt-free (A word from Daddy)

I always knew that I had this ugly condition called “sin” that caused my creator to not be able to abide me. I didn’t even choose it. I was born with it. Because of it, should I ever face him, I would die.

I had better try and shape up, or else. I got one get-out-of-jail card, to be used the day I got baptized. It wiped out my old sins. But from then on it would be worse, because now I knew better. So I was to redouble my efforts. Why would I do that? Because he loved me. And because I wanted a chance at a second life after I died. Pie in the sky when I die.

I cannot say I felt particularly evil or deserving of death. Slight punishment, maybe. Heavy punishment, perhaps. But death? No. Not at all. Sure, I fought with my brothers. Told some little lies. I disrespected my parents, though that brought more immediate and severe punishment. And, horror, I would eat sugar when my mother was not watching, destroying God’s temple, my body. I don’t know why it took me 48 years to realize I really did not want this thing. God could keep his love and I could keep my sin. I spent too much time, effort and money trying to please him. But it was evidently doing no good. One day at church I was protesting that I was not so bad after all when someone pointed a finger at me and called me a sinner for the last time. If that was God’s plan of making me his, it was a complete failure.

Justice? What Justice?

We have some quaint views on justice. Like, that it is possible. Or, that it exists anywhere. Or, that we actually want it. Of course the answer to these questions is a resounding “No.”

I remember growing up. My poor mother was always trying to administer justice in the home. I remember as a kid my three-years-my-junior second brother, Glen, running to Mom with a bloody nose.

Mom “What happened?”

Glen “Craig hit me?”

Legos

I saw a vision. I was trying to fix everything in my life. But I was failing.  Everything was breaking, falling apart. God stood behind me patiently. Then he said “Let me try”.

Frustrated I threw all the pieces in a sack and dumped it at his feet.

He opened the sack and looked inside. Excited, he exclaimed “Ooh, Legos. Great! I just love making new things with these guys.”

 

Of Gifts and Christmas

Who does not like to receive gifts? Kids, especially, think it the best thing about Christmas. As adults, the picture becomes more nuanced. If it is gifts from the family, I’m paying for them anyway. So what’s the point? Did they spend too much? It’s the thought that counts, supposedly. And what if they got the wrong thing? I can’t be seen to not like it. If it is from others, it could be too nice, in which case I will look bad when they open my gift, or it could be too cheap, showing they don’t really care. Even kids too often don’t like their gifts and they don’t mind letting you know as loudly as they can. Why is it so complicated? This year I would rather do without gifts at all. I told my family and they did not take very well to it. They informed me they are going to buy me something (with my money), whether I like it or not. What am I to do?

In Greek we call a Christmas and another gift a “Doro”, as in Dorothy (Gift of God) or Theodore (God’s gift). Two names for the same thing. Wow. Some say it comes from Dorians, an ancient Greek race. Beware of Greeks bearing gifts? I don’t like gifts.

As a kid in Greece I remember another type of gift, what we called “charisma”. Say you borrowed a pen to write something. You liked it and said so as you were giving it back. He said “keep it. It’s a charisma (gift)”. Unexpected, but nice. Or you borrowed $1 from a friend to buy candy (quite a lot, back then). Time to repay? He would say “no need to repay, consider it a gift (charisma)”. Always a surprise. Always unexpected. Always something you saw, something you liked, something you picked, you can keep for free. Nice. No need to reciprocate. Just keep it. He can easily do without it. It’s yours, just because.

Greeks

Greeks are funny people. They have this pride that totally drives them. They call it filotimo, or “love of honor”. It causes them to act in ways that are deemed socially cooth even if they don’t feel like it. So, for example, as a demonstration of hospitality, a must in Greece, a Greek will welcome a stranger in his home and feed him and be incredibly polite to him when, if he encountered the same stranger in the street he would heap abuse on him for driving too slowly or in any way delaying him or on the smallest of pretexts. Anyone who has been in Greece knows how friendly and gracious Greeks are in their homes and how rude on the street, at the bank, on the bus, everywhere else.

Another thing this filotimo does is to keep an accounting of gifts and favors. The balance always has to be in my favor. So I am always ready to give gifts and favors but will resolutely always refuse what others give to me. I simply cannot be “indebted”. That is another big Greek word – ipohreosi, indebtedness/obligation.

Obsessed with you

To hear people talk, we are the most repulsive of things in God’s eyes. What with all those stray thoughts, all those failures to improve ourselves. All our existence and goodness are for nothing. All because we keep messing up.

He has known how each one of us would continue to mess up long before we were ever born. He knew he would give us a second chance, and a third one and a millionth and would still fail. Exasperated he throws up his hands and gives up. Another failed human. What a surprise. So ungrateful, not valuing my supreme sacrifice, completely wasted.

Daddy

My father used to tell me that he would give every last drop of his blood for me, if need be. I always thought that was a little over the top. I did so until that day in July 1990, July 4, to be precise, when I stood in a hospital room in Pasadena staring down at the most amazing thing I had ever seen. Not even 2 feet long, this foreign object looked up into my eyes with a piercing stare and asked me what was going on. And what was going on was that this was my son, my firstborn, whom my wife and I decided to have, and bring to this world, and support and love and adore and do everything in our power to make the most amazing human being. And suddenly I was gripped by the most powerful conclusive grip I could ever imagine, which scrunched my heart, brought sobs to my inner being and completely overwhelmed me. And suddenly I felt wrenching love like I never had before. And I promised to serve this being with all my strength and all my life to my dying breath. No sacrifice would be too big. I, too, would give the last drop of my blood for him, just like my Dad would for me. And suddenly I understood.

Twenty two years have gone by. I had that experience twice again after that. Each time it was different, yet each time was the same. I created the three must amazing individuals ever to have lived. And my passion for my children burns stronger today than it did that first day. I rejoice with their joys. I cry with their sorrows. I would take their sicknesses on myself ten times over if it would relieve them. I just adore them. Not that I have been the perfect father. I’m only human. But I have stopped at nothing to provide in every way for them. And I will continue to do so to my dying breath.

Different drummer

Last week I had the privilege of visiting Choeung Ek, one of Pol Pot’s killing fields outside Phnom Penh, Cambodia. There 17,000 innocent Cambodians were killed and buried at the altar of a communist agrarian utopia, where city living was a crime. To save on expensive bullets, they used any other conceivable means of killing young and old, women and men, children, babies and elderly. To cover their screams from nearby villages while they killed them at night they played loud communist revolutionary music from loudspeakers hanging from a tree. That was the last thing the victims heard. The guards killed 10-20 people per night, each. With machetes, axes, stones, sago palm leaf stems (they have serrated edges) or bashing the heads of little ones on trees. Dead or alive, they were buried and covered in DDT to finish the work.

The place is tiny, like a little green with a few trees, totally unassuming. It could hardly fit 17,000 people standing. And yet. There are hundreds of these killing fields and millions of victims all over Cambodia.