In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.
Jesus presents us with what seems to be a paradox, as so many of his commands so often do. We are to love humans with everything that we have. We are to place them above ourselves. We are to serve. This is expected of us as followers of Christ. And yet, we are not to focus on things of this world. We are to constantly be looking toward Eternity. Because, "in the final analysis, it is between you and God."
I find myself struggling with this: where are our earthly cares supposed to end and our heavenly cares begin? Should there be a distinction? What exactly does it mean to be in the world but not of it?
I don't really have any answers to this right now. In fact, I'm sort of at a loss. So I'll keep praying about it, and keep reading, and keep searching.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Sunday, May 27, 2012
The Greatest of These
I never tire of reading Paul's words to the Corinthians (1 Cor. 13) on love. I realize that, within the Christian tradition, we recite them over and over.
Perhaps, though, earthly, non-godly love can be all of these things on its own. Maybe. It might be possible. What Paul says next, however, is the limit of non-godly love: it "bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends." True love - and by "true love," I mean love that flows outward from the church because Christ first loved us - cannot fail. In no circumstances can it break, or wilt, or wither. It bears all. It bears all because, if it is true love, it is eternal, like us. Our salvation - Christ's gift of eternal life - makes us eternal beings. All godly things will last forever. If love is grounded in Christ, then it, too, will be never-ending.
And of all that will last eternally, Paul tells us, the greatest is love. God's love makes possible all things, from our very being to our eternal life. Yes, the greatest is love.
Then let us not use the word casually. Our language - our culture - has made it trite. We have allowed it to become so. Let us be cognizant of our use of this sacred word. It is the greatest of the eternal gifts God has granted us. We should treat it as nothing less.
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away...Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.
So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.In spite of what feels like the extreme overuse of this passage, it will always be one of my favorite scriptures. Until this past month, I never had the opportunity of reading them in a romantic sense before. When taken romantically, the passage is beautiful but difficult. Love makes us whole, and yet we cannot be whole without God. It is Christ's love for us and our love for Christ that gives us the ability to truly love another. And God charges us with a heavy responsibility in terms of giving earthly love, both romantic and not. First, we cannot hope to understand all that love is without allowing ourselves to be loved by our Savior and returning that love. Second, our earthly love must strive to be as pure as Christ's love for us. It must be patient and kind, even though humans, without Christ, are by nature impatient and unkind. God does not allow for jealousy or pride; in fact, true love cannot coexist with either of these. Love means being a servant to the one you love, always putting him or her above yourself - just as we must put God first. Love "rejoices with the truth," which means that it must be brutally, beautifully honest. Our love for God is honest, as he sees into our hearts. His love for us is honest, as he has revealed his heart to us. Earthly love must be just as open.
Perhaps, though, earthly, non-godly love can be all of these things on its own. Maybe. It might be possible. What Paul says next, however, is the limit of non-godly love: it "bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends." True love - and by "true love," I mean love that flows outward from the church because Christ first loved us - cannot fail. In no circumstances can it break, or wilt, or wither. It bears all. It bears all because, if it is true love, it is eternal, like us. Our salvation - Christ's gift of eternal life - makes us eternal beings. All godly things will last forever. If love is grounded in Christ, then it, too, will be never-ending.
And of all that will last eternally, Paul tells us, the greatest is love. God's love makes possible all things, from our very being to our eternal life. Yes, the greatest is love.
Then let us not use the word casually. Our language - our culture - has made it trite. We have allowed it to become so. Let us be cognizant of our use of this sacred word. It is the greatest of the eternal gifts God has granted us. We should treat it as nothing less.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Forgive Them Anyway
"People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway."
A couple weeks ago, I posted Mother Teresa's adapted "do it anyway" mantra. The sentence above is the first part of it. Those words are some of the most difficult words I have ever read. The all-time most difficult are their inspiration:
"Then Peter came up and said to him, 'Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?' Jesus said to him, 'I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven times.'"
Matthew 18: 21-22. It is followed by the parable of the servant who would not forgive his fellow's debt although he was forgiven his own debt by his master. It ends as such:
"'Then the master summoned him and said to him, 'You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. And should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?' And in anger, his master delivered him to the jailers, until he should pay all his debt. So also my heavenly Father will do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother from your heart.'" (Matthew 18: 32-35)
My greatest fault is my unwillingness - or perhaps I should call it inability, at least without God - to forgive others. Grudges are - literally - sacrilege to God, and yet we hold them. I hold them. I'm not sure why forgiveness is so difficult for me. I can sooner love my neighbor, or refuse to lie, or keep myself from swearing, but forgiveness is my crutch.
Peter very well may have been pleased with himself that he thought to forgive someone seven times. That's a great deal of forgiveness, considering how difficult it can be to forgive someone once. Jesus, of course, turned Peter's self-satisfaction on its head (as He was wont to do): not seven times, but seventy times seven times. In other words, infinitely, because that's how much God forgives us. Infinitely. Every second, every nanosecond, every one-millionth of a nano-second, because we are always sinning. And we aren't just sinning, we're sinning against the perfect, almighty God. We are not entitled to forgiveness. We don't deserve it, and we never have. And yet, we receive it. We ask for it. We are given it willingly by the Father.
In the parable, the master delivers the servant unto the jailers until he can pay his debt. The thing about debtor's prison was that you couldn't earn money because you couldn't work because you were in prison, so you could not possibly pay your debt. Thus, the servant would forever be imprisoned and separated from the master. This is Hell - eternal separation from God. It's terrifying. The parable sounds awful. We are bound to be unforgiving of others; how can we hope to escape prison? Well, here's the other thing about debtor's prison: you could get out if someone else - generally a family member, but sometimes a friend - paid your debts for you.
Isn't that precisely what Jesus did? He saw all of humanity imprisoned in sin and death and completely unable to escape. So He paid our way out. He gave his life so that our chains would be broken.
Of course, this doesn't mean that we can go around refusing to forgive others just because we have God's grace. In fact, it's the Holy Spirit within our new selves that urges us to forgive. Christians know that grudges are bad. Even if someone has wronged you terribly and you want to say, "But you don't know what they did," you know that you should forgive them. The idea may be completely unpalatable, but we aren't given a choice. God is in us, and His Spirit speaks to us. Even when we don't want to hear. Even when we want to make excuses. Seventy times seven times, He says. People are unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. It doesn't matter.
Forgive them anyway.
A couple weeks ago, I posted Mother Teresa's adapted "do it anyway" mantra. The sentence above is the first part of it. Those words are some of the most difficult words I have ever read. The all-time most difficult are their inspiration:
"Then Peter came up and said to him, 'Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?' Jesus said to him, 'I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven times.'"
Matthew 18: 21-22. It is followed by the parable of the servant who would not forgive his fellow's debt although he was forgiven his own debt by his master. It ends as such:
"'Then the master summoned him and said to him, 'You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. And should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?' And in anger, his master delivered him to the jailers, until he should pay all his debt. So also my heavenly Father will do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother from your heart.'" (Matthew 18: 32-35)
My greatest fault is my unwillingness - or perhaps I should call it inability, at least without God - to forgive others. Grudges are - literally - sacrilege to God, and yet we hold them. I hold them. I'm not sure why forgiveness is so difficult for me. I can sooner love my neighbor, or refuse to lie, or keep myself from swearing, but forgiveness is my crutch.
Peter very well may have been pleased with himself that he thought to forgive someone seven times. That's a great deal of forgiveness, considering how difficult it can be to forgive someone once. Jesus, of course, turned Peter's self-satisfaction on its head (as He was wont to do): not seven times, but seventy times seven times. In other words, infinitely, because that's how much God forgives us. Infinitely. Every second, every nanosecond, every one-millionth of a nano-second, because we are always sinning. And we aren't just sinning, we're sinning against the perfect, almighty God. We are not entitled to forgiveness. We don't deserve it, and we never have. And yet, we receive it. We ask for it. We are given it willingly by the Father.
In the parable, the master delivers the servant unto the jailers until he can pay his debt. The thing about debtor's prison was that you couldn't earn money because you couldn't work because you were in prison, so you could not possibly pay your debt. Thus, the servant would forever be imprisoned and separated from the master. This is Hell - eternal separation from God. It's terrifying. The parable sounds awful. We are bound to be unforgiving of others; how can we hope to escape prison? Well, here's the other thing about debtor's prison: you could get out if someone else - generally a family member, but sometimes a friend - paid your debts for you.
Isn't that precisely what Jesus did? He saw all of humanity imprisoned in sin and death and completely unable to escape. So He paid our way out. He gave his life so that our chains would be broken.
Of course, this doesn't mean that we can go around refusing to forgive others just because we have God's grace. In fact, it's the Holy Spirit within our new selves that urges us to forgive. Christians know that grudges are bad. Even if someone has wronged you terribly and you want to say, "But you don't know what they did," you know that you should forgive them. The idea may be completely unpalatable, but we aren't given a choice. God is in us, and His Spirit speaks to us. Even when we don't want to hear. Even when we want to make excuses. Seventy times seven times, He says. People are unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. It doesn't matter.
Forgive them anyway.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Exonerating Cressida
The past two months of my life have been dominated by Troilus and Cressida. I'm a theatre kid; I have been since high school. This year, I'll have assistant directed one show, directed two, and played a lead role in what is perhaps Shakespeare's least-loved play, Troilus and Cressida. Saturday night was the final performance. For the first time in all of my years of theatre, I completely invested myself in the role. I decided several weeks ago that I wasn't going to play Cressida. I was going to become her. I'm not a method actor; I usually just hop on stage and do my thing. This time, though, it was different. This time, I cared - perhaps too much. This time, I gave everything.
Cressida never existed. She was invented 900 years ago to be the very epitome of falsehood. For almost a millennium, she has been a "whore." She has been used variously to glorify courtly romantic feelings in men, to warn against the flightiness and inconstancy of women, and to spur the men around her into action. She is never given a greater purpose. She is "false Cressid."
Except, that's not the whole story. Cressida is a young Trojan woman whose father, Calchas, has abandoned her and fled for Greece. In Shakespeare's version of the story, she is practically given away by her uncle, who thinks her a fine prize for Troilus, the youngest Prince of Troy. She is wooed, bedded, and then given away to the Greeks in exchange for a Trojan prisoner. Not one person tries to stop it from happening. Usually, she is portrayed as being false to Troilus from the very start of her imprisonment by becoming the lover of Diomedes, the Grecian warrior. Troilus sees her with Diomedes, declares her falsehood to the heavens, and uses his anger to fuel his rage in battle. So, you see, she is just a literary pawn. As I got to know her, though, I realized how much more is going on in her story and, eerily enough, how alike we are.
In my show, Troilus is played by a guy that I've spoken about in previous posts. A guy for whom, in spite of my best efforts, I developed feelings. A guy that told me, after our last performance, that he feels the same way about me. A guy that I cannot be with for myriad reasons. A guy that broke my heart in two. My will to play Cressida as a victim with no agency whatsoever stemmed from that heartbreak. I refused to let her be the whore of the story, because I loved her too much. It wasn't fair to her to be used, and it wasn't fair to me to be scorned.
So, after two months of emotional turmoil, I'm done with the play and, therefore, am finished trying to exonerate Cressida. People who came to the show could have chosen to see her as the whore, but I know that I did my part to make her something else.
There are two sides to every story, friends. We throw around labels like candy. Sometimes they're meaningless, but sometimes they stick. Sometimes, they stick for 900 years. Let us choose our words carefully, always cognizant of how important language is. And let us be willing to listen to the whole story and to encounter those involved the way God wants us to: as infinitely-loved, ever-forgiven children of the Creator.
Cressida never existed. She was invented 900 years ago to be the very epitome of falsehood. For almost a millennium, she has been a "whore." She has been used variously to glorify courtly romantic feelings in men, to warn against the flightiness and inconstancy of women, and to spur the men around her into action. She is never given a greater purpose. She is "false Cressid."
Except, that's not the whole story. Cressida is a young Trojan woman whose father, Calchas, has abandoned her and fled for Greece. In Shakespeare's version of the story, she is practically given away by her uncle, who thinks her a fine prize for Troilus, the youngest Prince of Troy. She is wooed, bedded, and then given away to the Greeks in exchange for a Trojan prisoner. Not one person tries to stop it from happening. Usually, she is portrayed as being false to Troilus from the very start of her imprisonment by becoming the lover of Diomedes, the Grecian warrior. Troilus sees her with Diomedes, declares her falsehood to the heavens, and uses his anger to fuel his rage in battle. So, you see, she is just a literary pawn. As I got to know her, though, I realized how much more is going on in her story and, eerily enough, how alike we are.
In my show, Troilus is played by a guy that I've spoken about in previous posts. A guy for whom, in spite of my best efforts, I developed feelings. A guy that told me, after our last performance, that he feels the same way about me. A guy that I cannot be with for myriad reasons. A guy that broke my heart in two. My will to play Cressida as a victim with no agency whatsoever stemmed from that heartbreak. I refused to let her be the whore of the story, because I loved her too much. It wasn't fair to her to be used, and it wasn't fair to me to be scorned.
So, after two months of emotional turmoil, I'm done with the play and, therefore, am finished trying to exonerate Cressida. People who came to the show could have chosen to see her as the whore, but I know that I did my part to make her something else.
There are two sides to every story, friends. We throw around labels like candy. Sometimes they're meaningless, but sometimes they stick. Sometimes, they stick for 900 years. Let us choose our words carefully, always cognizant of how important language is. And let us be willing to listen to the whole story and to encounter those involved the way God wants us to: as infinitely-loved, ever-forgiven children of the Creator.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Unabashed Craziness
I've got a lot of posts percolating in my mind right now, including one half-finished draft, but I wanted to post something in the meantime. One of my best friends from high school is extremely active in the interfaith community at her university, and she wrote a blog post about Holy Week. She's Hindu, but she knows how to engage with the Bible in a very meaningful way. She included in her blog post the following quotation famously adapted by Mother Teresa:
"People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and sincere, people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.
What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.
The good you do today will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.
Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.
In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway."
Jesus is the "anyway." Each of the "anyways" could be replaced with "because of Jesus." That's what Christianity is about: doing what God commands in spite of the sheer craziness of it. Giving abundantly, sacrificially, and faithfully. Loving with total abandon. Jumping to give people a second, or third, or one hundredth chance. Sounding completely crazy to the world. Allowing the Holy Spirit to inhabit you fully until every part of you is about God. Jesus asks us for nothing less than complete insanity, from the world's perspective. I will begin to ask myself if I'm on the edge of the cliff being talked into finding safer footing by Satan, or if I'm really and truly taking the dive into the reckless bliss that is Jesus. We must make the decision to jump every single day, every hour, every minute. Does the Creator of the Universe deserve anything less?
"People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and sincere, people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.
What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.
The good you do today will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.
Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.
In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway."
Jesus is the "anyway." Each of the "anyways" could be replaced with "because of Jesus." That's what Christianity is about: doing what God commands in spite of the sheer craziness of it. Giving abundantly, sacrificially, and faithfully. Loving with total abandon. Jumping to give people a second, or third, or one hundredth chance. Sounding completely crazy to the world. Allowing the Holy Spirit to inhabit you fully until every part of you is about God. Jesus asks us for nothing less than complete insanity, from the world's perspective. I will begin to ask myself if I'm on the edge of the cliff being talked into finding safer footing by Satan, or if I'm really and truly taking the dive into the reckless bliss that is Jesus. We must make the decision to jump every single day, every hour, every minute. Does the Creator of the Universe deserve anything less?
Friday, March 30, 2012
When You're in Love
When you fall in love with Jesus, all you want is to keep falling. You don't want to slow down. You long for it, thirst for it, need it. His love is always present, never-failing, perfect, and pure. There are no butterflies in your stomach; just a light in your heart. When you're in love - really in love - nothing else matters. When you're in love, you can truly cry out, "My soul magnifies the Lord!" (Luke 1:46).
Except sometimes, you're not in love. You love Jesus, deep down, no matter what, but you're not in love with Him. You care, but you're not seeing stars. You thank Him and praise Him, but your words are motivated by guilt or obligation rather than love.
I bounce back between these two poles so often that it drives me crazy. All I want is to be so completely in love with Jesus that I could be perfectly joyful and content with doing nothing but running around and shouting his name to the heavens. I want to be so in love that every single action I take is motivated by His love for me and mine for Him. I want to be so overpowered by His love that I cannot speak, think, or act without doing so in love. Yet, I don't. I fall out of love, like a fickle teenager with a crush. As often as I find myself in this state and wish that I were crazy in love, I also have moments where I don't want that love. It's too much. It's too overwhelming, and I'm too imperfect. And I want the world. The very thing that I am told not to want is my greatest desire, and the Almighty God somehow just gets leftovers.
It happens all the time, but lately, both extremes have been amplified. Yesterday, I felt so in love with God. All I wanted to do was spend time with Him, sing to Him, speak to Him, be in complete awe of Him. But then my love for the world took over. I went to rehearsal and, as per usual these past few weeks, saw the guy I've developed feelings for, and all thoughts of God left my mind. I began wondering whether my makeup was alright, or thinking (with guilty paranoia) that said guy might actually be into my best friend, or berating myself for being unable to win his affection. Only hours later did I realize that I'd left Jesus at the door of the building when I went inside to rehearse.
I've been so wrapped up in the (recently learned) knowledge that the guy I like doesn't feel the same way about me that I've been forgetting about Jesus. Jesus, the Creator, Lover of My Soul, who loves me unconditionally in a way that I cannot begin to describe. Jesus, who loves every single person who was, is, and shall be, knowing full well that such people most likely will not love Him in return. Jesus, who is so in love with me that He let the Father pour out all of His wrath against humanity into His own weak human body. Jesus, who died for me. Jesus, who allowed himself to be abandoned by God for me. This is the Love that Will Not Let Me Go. The farther I run, the farther He follows, beckoning me back into His arms.
I know that I will continue to struggle with this every minute of every day for the rest of my life. He knows it, too, and accepts my repentance for my failings. His love is no less.
And that is why I am able to wake up and not simply face the day, but delight in it.
Except sometimes, you're not in love. You love Jesus, deep down, no matter what, but you're not in love with Him. You care, but you're not seeing stars. You thank Him and praise Him, but your words are motivated by guilt or obligation rather than love.
I bounce back between these two poles so often that it drives me crazy. All I want is to be so completely in love with Jesus that I could be perfectly joyful and content with doing nothing but running around and shouting his name to the heavens. I want to be so in love that every single action I take is motivated by His love for me and mine for Him. I want to be so overpowered by His love that I cannot speak, think, or act without doing so in love. Yet, I don't. I fall out of love, like a fickle teenager with a crush. As often as I find myself in this state and wish that I were crazy in love, I also have moments where I don't want that love. It's too much. It's too overwhelming, and I'm too imperfect. And I want the world. The very thing that I am told not to want is my greatest desire, and the Almighty God somehow just gets leftovers.
It happens all the time, but lately, both extremes have been amplified. Yesterday, I felt so in love with God. All I wanted to do was spend time with Him, sing to Him, speak to Him, be in complete awe of Him. But then my love for the world took over. I went to rehearsal and, as per usual these past few weeks, saw the guy I've developed feelings for, and all thoughts of God left my mind. I began wondering whether my makeup was alright, or thinking (with guilty paranoia) that said guy might actually be into my best friend, or berating myself for being unable to win his affection. Only hours later did I realize that I'd left Jesus at the door of the building when I went inside to rehearse.
I've been so wrapped up in the (recently learned) knowledge that the guy I like doesn't feel the same way about me that I've been forgetting about Jesus. Jesus, the Creator, Lover of My Soul, who loves me unconditionally in a way that I cannot begin to describe. Jesus, who loves every single person who was, is, and shall be, knowing full well that such people most likely will not love Him in return. Jesus, who is so in love with me that He let the Father pour out all of His wrath against humanity into His own weak human body. Jesus, who died for me. Jesus, who allowed himself to be abandoned by God for me. This is the Love that Will Not Let Me Go. The farther I run, the farther He follows, beckoning me back into His arms.
I know that I will continue to struggle with this every minute of every day for the rest of my life. He knows it, too, and accepts my repentance for my failings. His love is no less.
And that is why I am able to wake up and not simply face the day, but delight in it.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Tired
Some days, I just get tired of it all. I get tired of my inconstancy in the face of God's never-changing, never-ending love and forgiveness. I get tired of the world. I get tired of the dirty jokes that my friends toss around like candy. I get tired of hateful evangelism. Tired of fighting Satan all the time. My exhaustion does not confine itself to the spiritual or the mental. My heart feels weary, but so does my body. All I really want is to lie in bed and pray that God will help me to throw off all of the negative things I'm feeling.
I want to delight in God's creation; usually, I do. I walk outside in the morning and smile because it's sunny, because Jesus is risen, because I am alive. Yet, sometimes, it's not that easy. On days like today, when it's beautiful outside and my mood remains dour, I am merely exhausted.
The only thing to be done, I guess, is to try to smile. I have to work to move beyond myself and to love everyone around me. It sounds easy. But sometimes, it's not. That is the challenge. When I can quit pitying myself and start moving toward other people, then I am living in the world (although weary of it) but not of it. That is the beauty of Jesus. That's how the light gets in.
I want to delight in God's creation; usually, I do. I walk outside in the morning and smile because it's sunny, because Jesus is risen, because I am alive. Yet, sometimes, it's not that easy. On days like today, when it's beautiful outside and my mood remains dour, I am merely exhausted.
The only thing to be done, I guess, is to try to smile. I have to work to move beyond myself and to love everyone around me. It sounds easy. But sometimes, it's not. That is the challenge. When I can quit pitying myself and start moving toward other people, then I am living in the world (although weary of it) but not of it. That is the beauty of Jesus. That's how the light gets in.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)