A reminder from Glee

I know I'm late in jumping on the "Glee" bandwagon, but, thanks Netflix, my wife and I have been making our way through Season 1 this summer (I think we're through eight episodes so far).

I've had numerous reactions to the show including (a) wondering how can they get a piece of music and immediately be able to sing on key and have such great choreography and (b) enjoying watching the great mix of characters interact with each other. Glee Club seems to be slowly growing in popularity at the fictional William McKinley High School with each episode, but the original members of the small group included a student who's in a wheelchair, a student who's black (by the looks of it, one of the few at the high school), a student who's gay, and a student who's Jewish. Surviving in high school often depends on one's popularity and these Glee Club members don't seem to have it. At first. I'm eager to catch up with the series to see what happens as a greater diversity of students join Glee.

Our culture (and many a high school) loves people who look great, ooze coolness, exhibit strength, and seemingly have it all together. Sometimes Christians make the mistake of thinking that's what following Jesus is all about, too. But time and again, God seems to favor the unhip and uncool and unpopular. 1 Corinthians 1:27 notes, "But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong."

Is God stupid?

That's the first question that crossed my mind when I read the parable of the wicked tenants yesterday (Mark 12:1-12). I've never spent much time with this parable because it's never made a lot of sense to me, but as I'm making my way through Mark during my devotion time, I couldn't escape it.

Every time I've read this text in the past, my first reaction is, this vineyard owner must be stupid. A quick synopsis: Jesus tells this parable about this man who planted a vineyard and then leased it to tenants. The vineyard owner left the country and then sent workers ("slaves" as the text says) back to the vineyard to collect his share. The tenants, though, kept beating the slaves up and the slaves would return empty handed. The vineyard owner, not to be deterred, would continue this process. He'd send slaves. Tenants would beat them up and sometimes even kill them. The owner eventually sends his own son and they kill him, too. First reaction: Why would you keep sending slaves? Clearly this tactic isn't working!

Of course, this parable isn't about commerce and that finally clicked for me yesterday. I haven't read the commentaries to see if this interpretation is "right," but it seems to me that God keeps sending people our way (prophets, teachers, priests, even, as I believe, his son) and we keep ignoring, rejecting, even killing them. And yet God doesn't stop the process. When you first think about it, that's kind of stupid. Why would you keep sending them? Because, simply, God loves and every once in a while we receive the prophet/teacher/Jesus and begin to clue in.

This parable also has a pretty harsh warning for the tenants: "(The owner) will come and destroy the tenants and give the vineyard to others." So there's that and I don't want to simply ignore that part of the text either, but yesterday, I found it comforting that God continually does "stupid" things like bestowing love even when we ignore these entreaties.

Missing cornfields

At our staff meeting on Tuesday, we were reflecting on our comfort soul food--those books, places, spiritual disciplines that we fall back on when we're in need of a faith boost. Brittany, our associate pastor who's heading up our Andersonville launch and who also grew up in downstate Illinois, said that one thing that she misses is cornfields. I knew exactly what she meant.

It may seem odd that cornfields would be a place for spiritual sustenance, but we all have our holy ground, and wide open spaces with crops growing as far as the eye can see are in short supply in the city. I miss that.

I'm often asked how we've adjusting to life in the city and I usually answer that it's unlike anything I've ever experienced. In just about every other place I've ever lived, I'd always say that the town/suburb I live in is "good" or "fine." I don't think I'd have used adjectives much greater than those. Now I say that about 75 percent of the time, the place where I live is "exciting," "energy-giving," and "unpredictable." The flip side, of course, is that 25 percent of the time, I'd use adjectives like "draining" and "difficult." Which would you choose? Living in a place that's "good" all the time or a place that's usually "fantastic" but the other part of the time is "draining"? (Of course, option c is a place that's fantastic all the time!) Obviously we're opting for the 75-25 option, but there are days I wish I could plop myself down on a country gravel road with corn as far as the eye can see and just listen to nothing.

Let me see again

I've been slowly making my way through the gospel of Mark these last few weeks and have been pretty faithful to reading a few verses a day and reflecting on them. Like many new or renewed loves, though, my response to these verse has changed.

I started this process right after I came off a retreat and was renewed and reinvigorated (as often happens when I'm on retreat). The first chapter of Mark was a revelation even though I'd read it many times before. I felt I was there at Jesus' baptism, I was intrigued and inspired by his going into the wilderness. Over time, though, the stories and verses have lost their punch. "Oh, that's the story of Jesus stilling a storm," I think to myself. "Another feeding of masses of people?" I ask. I stick with it, though, and I think this is important.

So many people come to Urban Village and are excited about this new or renewed faith, but then the luster wears off and they go to try something else that gets their spiritual juices flowing. They don't know quite what to do with spiritual boredom. And that's when I recognize how important perseverance (which is often mentioned by Paul) is.

I was reading the story of the healing of Bartimaeus (Mark 10:46-52) yesterday, a man who was blind. Jesus asks him what he wants and Bartimaeus says, "My teacher, let me see again." It's that last word that caught me. He once was able to see. And he wants to see again. That's a good prayer: Let me see again, Lord. Stir up excitement and joy that has been there in the past and I trust will be there in the future. In the meantime, give me the perseverance to keep asking.

Welcome back

There are long to-do lists when starting a new church, but some of the instructions are quite simple. One of the first "rules" is this: Join stuff.

I must confess I've never been a big joiner, but if you want to meet people and let them know about this new church you're helping to start, you've got to be a part of groups. So I started joining all kinds of groups, including a running club. Even though I've been a runner most of my life, I've never joined a running club preferring, instead, to be solitary when putting in my miles. But I showed up one Wednesday morning at 6 a.m. and stuck with it. It wasn't easy. People already knew one another so I felt like an outcast initially, but I kept showing up and people eventually started talking and getting to know me. Last summer, I started in with the group again, but a few weeks into it, I had some changes to my schedule and I couldn't go for a few weeks. Then we went on vacation. And then it just felt awkward to go back. Would they remember me? It was easier just to go back to my solitary running ways.

How similar this is to our faith lives! We get into the groove of prayer, worship, community connection, but something throws us off and other things take priority and we start wondering whether God or a church would even want us back or remember us. Frankly, we'd rather bypass the awkwardness and just put our faith on hold.

Which is why the story of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32)--as familiar as it may be to some--is always a great passage to read and reflect on. A wayward son insults his father, leaves home, falls on hard luck, debates a return, and comes home. And when he does, there are no questions from the father and, as far as I can tell, not much awkwardness. There is only embrace.

If you wonder whether you can ever return to faith or church, read that story. And hear God's resounding answer: Yes. Always.

Counting to 60

Our son is at the age where everything seems to take fooorrrreeeevvvver. When he asks how long he has to wait for something he'd rather not be waiting for and I tell him, for example, "Oh, 15 minutes," he'll reply, "How many times do I have to count to 60?" Kindergartners know their seconds and minutes. I always find it interesting that time seemingly stands still for children and yet rushes by for adults. Over and over we hear (and experience) the challenge of trying to fit everything into the 24 hours we've been given. Lately, though, I've been helped by the experience of counting to 60. It's amazing what can happen. When I close my eyes and count to 60, I can take 10 really deep breaths, which slows me down and reminds me of the nearness of God's breath. When I count to 60, I can bring forth a wonderful memory of one of our favorite places to go in the summer (Pentwater, Michigan) and hear the waves rush to the shore. When I count to 60, I can replay in my head a wonderful song I just downloaded ("The 23rd Psalm" by Bobby McFerrin). When I count to 60, I can make a good start on a list of things for which I'm grateful. When I count to 60, I can reflect on an issue that is important to me (like ending hunger). That's five minutes. After only five minutes, I've experienced a pretty great prayer. What can you come up with if you stop, close your eyes, take deep breaths, and count to 60? Even if you only do it once, I believe you may begin to see time not as something you wrestle with, but something you receive as God's gift.

A child in surgery

Not many groupings of words can bring more anxiety to a parent's heart than those. A child in surgery. But that's where we were yesterday as we waited for our son who was at Children's Memorial Hospital having a cataract removed from his right eye.

On a list of "serious" surgeries, I'd guess that this one might wouldn't qualify. In the days leading up to the surgery, I was confident in the doctor, didn't have much fear, knew it was fairly routine, but I couldn't help but get more nervous and anxious as we sat there waiting for the doctors and nurses to wheel our 6-year-old away. The surgeon talked to us beforehand and explained what would happen. We knew he'd have to have glasses. We knew that by taking out the cataract, she'd put in a new lens in his eye which would mean he'd lose the ability to see up close, thereby needing bifocals. And yet when she started talking about the slim possibility of things like a detached retina, I immediately thought, Oh, God, our son is going to be blind, isn't he? Ethan was taking it all in stride. A social worker showed him pictures of what he could expect. He listened to his own heart with a stethoscope. He watched PBS Kids and a bit of a Harry Potter movie, which just happened to be on one of the channels. As the anesthesiologist came and said it was time to go, we said a quick prayer together and they took him away.

We waited in the surgical waiting room (I could put up with the cell phones going off left and right, but there was a kid who was playing an unplugged video game for a good half-hour that drove me to the brink of bonkers-ness) and a little more than two hours later, the surgeon came in and told us every thing went fine and we could go see him in a few minutes. I'm not sure if there are more sobering places in this world than post-op rooms in children's hospitals. Ethan was sprawled out, still sleeping, but he woke up just a couple minutes after we arrived and that was the start of a couple hours of heartbreaking cries of "My eye is bothering me so much!" It's a helpless feeling to want to do anything--anything!--to ease your child's suffering, while knowing that time is about the only prescription. Time and a little Tylenol.

We did our best to soothe him, caress his hair, hold his hand, talk about all the people who were thinking of him and it did some good and we thought he was OK but then he'd cry some more, all while saying the same thing over and over. My eye is bothering me...so much! Eventually he was able to be distracted by the TV and apple juice, but little did we know that the biggest palliative would arrive later that afternoon.

His big sister.

It was amazing. I think what Anne and I did certainly helped but watching Caroline dote on him, say just the right things, and distract him from the discomfort was a marvel. He did pretty well after we got home, but every once in a while he'd start crying from the pain and Caroline would be there to do just the right thing. The picture above sums it all up. I realize I'm on the verge of overstating our children's goodness, but I don't mind bragging when our kids display remarkable courage and compassion. I really don't know when I was more proud of both of them.

Ethan goes back in today to have the surgeon take a look at his eye and he may not have to wear as elaborate of a patch from here on out (though he has a birthday party later today and I wouldn't put it past him or blame him to want to show off his badge of honor). There will be a multitude of drops we (mostly Anne) will have to put in his eye over the next several weeks and then in mid-August we do it all again on the left eye, but hopefully when the healing is complete, he'll be able to see amazing colors and clarity of shapes like never before. That will be a pretty remarkable gift.

Just One Night

Whenever I tell friends and family about the different pastoral experiences I have since coming to Urban Village, they often say, I hope you're writing this down!

I am. Sort of. Some of my experiences, though, aren't for public consumption because of privacy concerns with the people I meet with and listen to, which I, of course, will always honor. Though as a person who likes to observe and share these observations, that can be hard. Last week, though, was just a glimpse of the kinds of people I meet with and the stories I get to hear. We had a party/benefit at T's Restaurant & Bar in Andersonville (where we're launching a third site this fall) and had a nice crowd attend. Here's a quick list of the people I talked with--some with whom I had lengthy conversations and others were just quick hellos:

**There were the three guys who are part of a gay burlesque show (two dance, the other does tech) and perform at various venues across the Midwest to raise money for AIDS awareness and prevention

**There's the 40something woman who got divorced a couple years ago, recently came out as a lesbian, and is wondering how or if she should tell her mother

**There's the couple who just got married in January--she gets up at 3 a.m. every day to work at a Caribou Coffee while also finishing school and he's a financial advisor at Edward Jones

**There's the woman who used to throw the shot put and discus at a Big 10 school and is now a veritable Pied Piper for our gay community (though she's straight)

**There's the transgender man who just finished his master's in social service administration at the University of Chicago and is looking for a job

**There's the straight guy who's going to Cincinnati this weekend for a reunion with his friends

**There's the woman who just happened to be at the bar last night, but is looking for organizations to partner with AmeriCorps for hunger relief

And there were a few others. And that's just one night. I've stopped trying to figure out the "right" way to respond to all of these diverse stories. I've learned simply to listen, be present, and love.

Religion & politics follow-up

A few days ago, I posted about combining religion and politics and wondering about tax-exempt status. Here's a clarification from Rev. Phil Blackwell, senior pastor at the First United Methodist Church in Chicago (aka the Chicago Temple) and I'm thankful for his expertise:

"The distinction is between commenting on legislation and policies on the one hand, and endorsing political parties and candidates on the other. We (as clergy) can do the first. You simply can quote the Social Principles as a warrant for engaging issues. I make a distinction between public issues of general interest and political activities. The line becomes blurred when, for instance, we at the Temple host a forum at which someone in the political spectrum refuses to participate. I use the Social Principles and the NIC positions as guidelines.

"Since the gambling expansion legislation is bi-partisan, members of both parties supported or rejected it, anything we say is not political.

"The initiative on immigration in the NIC, discussions about public education, state budget issues related to caring for people who are disabled, and war are proper issues to discuss. Endorsing particular politicians or parties is not."

A couple of definitions--the Social Principles is a guideline for United Methodists on where we stand on particular issues and this is voted on by a worldwide body of elected clergy and laity every four years. I emphasize the word "guideline" because United Methodists aren't expected to the toe the line on these issues, but gives us (and the world) a sense of our beliefs. For what it's worth, I agree with nearly all of our Social Principles (the United Methodist stance on homosexuality is one big exception).

Second definition--the NIC stands for the Northern Illinois Conference, essentially the organized body of United Methodists (similar to a diocese or presbytery) in northern Illinois.

Father's Day quilt

A few months ago, I saw an ad for a company that made quilts out of old t-shirts. My dresser drawers have long been overflowing with t-shirts of races I've run in my life, so this seemed like a great idea. I (not-so) slyly mentioned it to my wife, gave her a pile of t-shirts that had particular memories for me and, to be honest, kind of forgot about it. Until yesterday.

I'm not sure how often it happens when a mother is more pleased than a father when it comes to Father's Day gifts, but this may be the case for us. I love the quilt, but I think Anne loves it even more. One of the cool things about is that every t-shirt on there has a specific memory. They include some of my favorite races (like the Drake Relays On-the-Roads 8K), a race I won (a 5K last summer in Chicago), some races from long ago (one shirt is from 1988), and momentous races (like the Boston Marathon, even though I crashed and burned at Mile 16). Anne can't get over how great of a job they did and I have to agree.

Now, if only it weren't 80 degrees outside...

The blessings of Bollywood

A reminder of why we live in the city...

I reflected a few posts ago about living in the city and my kids missing out on having a big backyard (or, in our case, any backyard at all). We saw the flip side last night. My wife and I went to a benefit for an Indian non-profit and my daughter performed with a Bollywood group that she's been dancing with the past few months. It's moments like these that remind me that though there are things that my kids will miss out on, there are also opportunities that will open their worldview, like Bollywood dancing and going up to Devon Avenue in Chicago and buying a sari.

As you can see from the photos (this is from an earlier performance at their school), there's a wide variety of girls in the group and Caroline has a great time with them. I like to think that she's being formed in really wonderful ways in doing things like this. I know I am just watching her.

Mixing religion and politics

I'm almost done with the book "Amazing Grace," which isn't exactly a beach read, but is interesting nonetheless--it takes a sociological snapshot of Americans and religion and I've learned quite a bit from it. One of the surveys that they site states that, not surprisingly, Americans really don't care for clergy espousing political views. I totally get that. It bugs me when certain clergy hand out "voter guides" or make it known that true Christians will follow Candidate X. (Unless, of course, they say things I agree with! :) )

And yet a couple times in the last few months, I've made what I thought were pretty benign political statements and have been called out on it because some people don't think they're so benign. In Urban Village's e-newsletter that I sent out yesterday, I encouraged people to consider writing Gov. Pat Quinn and tell him to veto SB744, which would drastically increase gambling in Illinois. United Methodists have historically been opposed to gambling because, among other things, it can have harmful effects on lives and essentially serves as a tax on the poor. (To see more specific reasons, check out this link.) I've asked people in previous churches to do so and haven't had any push-back on it so I made that request again. Two individuals, though, have responded, wondering if I'm overstepping my role as a pastor in doing so. One asked if I wasn't endangering UVC's tax-exempt status and it's a question I've started to investigate. I tend to think that clergy aren't supposed to endorse candidates as opposed to issues, but, again, I'm trying to find out.

Can/should clergy get involved politically? If so, should they ask their congregation to follow suit? I'd guess that most people (in line with the "American Grace" survey) would say no, they shouldn't. I don't do it a lot, but I draw my inspiration from the Old Testament prophets who would sometimes call out the rulers of Israel if the marginalized of society (e.g. the poor, widows) were being ignored. That's part of my own discernment. Are the marginalized being ignored at the expense of those who have much? How one defines "the marginalized", of course, is tricky. One person might say unborn children are marginalized. Another would say young men in jail. There is no easy answer, which is why I don't use my prophetic voice (which I don't claim is particularly strong) a lot. But I also don't think it should be mute. And I would say that about anyone.

Sunglasses

Somewhere in this world, there is a drawer and in this drawer, there are probably at least 15 pairs of sunglasses that I have lost over the years. Cheap glasses and slightly-more-than-cheap sunglasses. I know not to invest in an expensive pair anymore because I usually have them a year or so. Normally it doesn't bother me, but I really kind of liked the pair I lost a couple weeks ago so I've had to reflect more on the spiritual practice of indifference. I've been reading about Ignatius of Loyola, an early 16th-century priest and theologian who is the spiritual father of the Jesuits. Indifference, for Ignatius, doesn't mean you have no feelings for anything, but instead means "the freedom to approach each decision afresh. The ability to be detached from one's initial biases and to step back, the willingness to carefully balance the alternatives. An openness to the working of God in one's life." (from "The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything," a book I've been quoting liberally from lately). That's obviously easier said than done. It's difficult to go into a decision or situation and check our biases at the door. I can say to myself, if I find my sunglasses, wonderful and if I don't, that's still OK. But the small and inconsequential pang of that loss still lingers even when it's something as superficial as sunglasses. There are times when things will go well in my life and times when they won't. But because my meaning in life doesn't stem from sunglasses or anything else but rather because I'm deeply loved by God, it's a bit easier to let things go. But I'll still won't mind if those sunglasses show up.

Haven't we met before?

My wife and have a long-standing joke that she gets asked this question by strangers at least once a month. We're not exactly sure what it is, but she has a face/persona that invites these inquiries. I had the opportunity to make one of those inquiries yesterday. I was having coffee with Joel Balasingham at Cafe Too in Uptown and as soon as I walked in I saw a woman who looked unbelievably familiar. I couldn't stop sneaking glances her way, racking my brain and trying to figure it out. I thought maybe I went to journalism school to her, but I wasn't sure. Of course, what I should have done was go up to her, apologize for interrupting, and just asked, haven't we met before? What's the worst that could have happened? She might have laughed and rolled her eyes and I would have been embarrassed for a few seconds, but at least I would have known. But I convinced myself that I didn't know her so I didn't do anything. Trey will be preaching about Jesus talking to strangers this Sunday and I underestimate just how much courage it takes to go up to people you don't know or don't know well and say hello. It takes a lot of vulnerability and you risk being rejected or embarrassed. I confess I don't take those chances often enough. But when I do, amazing things can happen. Sometimes friendships begin. Other times, I find an issue we have in common and perhaps we can start working on something together. Of course, sometimes nothing happens that I'm aware of, but if I trust that the Holy Spirit is actively working in the world, perhaps something is taking place. Many of us can feel disconnected in this big city, but this week pray for the courage to take a risk, maybe make a bit of a fool of yourself, say hello to a stranger and you might build a friendship in the process.

Inauguration Day

I went back to Iowa about three weeks ago for my/our annual trip to the Drake Relays. We stayed with my mom, who lives in suburban Des Moines. She and her husband have a nice house in a nice neighborhood with a nice, fenced-in yard. I was out in the yard one night with our kids playing kickball and they were having a great time. Our dog was happily off in the corner of the yard, panting, observing, and clearly quite content. It was a scene that reminded me of why people choose live in the suburbs. Anne said later that, as she watched the kids playing in the back, she missed having a yard so much that it hurt. I felt the same way. During moments like these, of course, I ask myself, why again did we move into the city? I know, I know, it's the church thing, but still...

Monday was a day that reminded me of why we live in the city, specifically, why we live in Chicago. It was Mayor Emanuel's inauguration at Pritzker Pavilion and I'm a sucker for events like this. There were an estimated 7,500 people there with a lot of notable attendees: Vice President Biden; both U.S. Senators

from Illinois; numerous U.S. Reps; Pat Quinn, the Illinois governor; and others. The Chicago Children's Choir sang, there were elected officials being sworn in, a high-school student read a poem she wrote, and Mayor Emanuel, if course, gave his inaugural address. It was a chilly day in the 40s, but, I swear, when we stood there with the sun shining, the weather could not have been more perfect.

Events like these instill civic pride in me. There are lots of reasons to be cynical about them (and, indeed, one live blog was serving the cynicism deep-dish style). I'm sure there are more than a few aldermen who took their oaths of office who have some serious ethical issues. The praise of Mayor Daley (who, of course, was also there) was getting to be over the top. Emanuel has his issues, too (I didn't vote for him). But as I stood there, I couldn't fight the feeling (nor did I want to) of being hopeful and connected to all the people around me. I committed to praying for new mayor. I recommitted Urban Village's efforts to combating hunger in the city. I vowed to look for ways to do something rather than just give up or believe that nothing I do will make a difference.

Call me Pollyanna if you must, but I'll wear that label with pride.

140 Characters

Is it possible to summarize the death of Osama bin Laden in 140 characters? Many people have tried in the last couple of days, some more successful than others. One article I found interesting highlighted research done byOpenBible.info's Stephen Smith in which he cataloged the top tweeted Bible verses 12 hours after the announcement of bin Laden's death. It's quite a list and includes Rick Warren's choice from Proverbs: "When justice is done, it brings joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers" (this was #3). The number one verse, however, was also from Proverbs and gives a different take: "Do not gloat when your enemy falls; when they stumble, do not let your heart rejoice." The first verse is from Proverbs 21, the second from Proverbs 24. These passages encapsulate my own emotions as I watched Sunday night. Relief and--maybe if I'm honest with myself--joy at first, but those emotions eventually turned to deeper reflections on the biblical nature of justice and how we define and respond to our own "enemies." I mentioned a few weeks ago that I'm in the midst of reading a psalm a day and so far (I'm through 38) almost every psalm makes some sort of mention of having enemies and many express a desire for these enemies to perish. That's a very human desire, one that the psalms express nakedly. Of course, followers of Jesus also trip up over his command for us to love our enemies. Does that command have limits? Do we need to expand or redefine "love"? I wrestle with all these questions and emotions and wonder what the "proper" way to respond is. And I find myself realizing that 140 characters are probably too many. Instead, I go before God, not saying a word, and listen for wisdom and peace.

The Candy Man and Psalm 27

I went to Wabash Tap last night to meet with a couple who goes to Urban Village and we were sitting there, quietly (well, not so quietly as the Blackhawks game was on in the background) chatting and they were munching on cheeseburgers when a man approached us. His odor and demeanor made it pretty clear that he had been drinking quite heavily. He was wearing a Blackhawks jersey and he put a miniature Stanley Cup down on our table.

"I need you to rub this for good luck," he slurred.

For those who don't know, the Blackhawks are in the playoffs against the Vancouver Canucks, but they were behind 3 games to none in the best-of-seven series. In other words, things were looking pretty grim.

The man started chatting about the Blackhawks for a while (I'm not a hockey fan, but I knew enough to keep the conversation going) and, after we rubbed the cup for luck, he moved on to the next table. About 15 minutes later, he was back. He had a plastic Walgreens bag filled with large boxes of Whoppers, Sno-Caps, and Jujyfruit candies.

"Here," he said. "Take one."

I wasn't exactly sure what he meant, but apparently he wanted us to have one of these boxes of candy. I wondered why he was being so generous and he explained to me that people knew him around that bar as the Candy Man because he gives away candy. Who am I to say no to the Candy Man so I took a box of Whoppers. I wanted to thank him by his real name so I asked him what other name he goes by. "I'm also known as Mr. Big," he said.

Of course he is.

This morning, I read my latest Favorite Verse in the Bible from Psalm 27:13-14: "I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!" I particularly like verse 13. I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. I've been repeating that to myself all day today and when thinking of my interaction with the Candy Man (aka Mr. Big), I believe I shall see the goodness of the Lord in that exchange.

Psalm 18, part 1--dependence

I'm going to break up Psalm 18 into two parts. Today I read verses 1-24.

This is a psalm of thanksgiving to God for God's deliverance of David from enemies. Much gratitude at the beginning and then a very graphic description of how that deliverance took place--a description of a God who was angry, smoking coming from his nostrils and devouring fire from his mouth. This God reaches down from on high and draws David from the mighty waters, delivering from his enemy. Verse 17 is the one that caught my attention: "He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from those who hated me; for they were too mighty for me."

For they were too mighty for me. An acknowledgement of...vulnerability? Limitedness? Weakness? Not sure, but I find it very comforting, to be able to name the fact that much in this life may seem too mighty (overwhelming) for us. The God of this psalm is very active and, needless to say, powerful. I'm not sure if my image of God is one with smoky nostrils and "firey" mouth. But when I think about trying to tackle this ministry (or even tackle this life), I breathe much easier knowing that (a) it probably is too mighty for me and (b) I believe in a God who will deliver me, act on my behalf, and will hear me when I call.

Catching up

I'm still reading these psalms every day, but I'm falling behind in blogging them. Briefly:

Psalm 13: This one has really affected me. When I wonder why I do what I do or why the church should do what it does, I imagine the voice of this psalmist as the voice of many in this city who are lonely, hurt, and at the end of their rope. "How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?" So many need to know they are not alone.

Psalm 14: The pessimist's psalm. There is no good, he says. Anywhere. It inspires me to step forward and say, yes, there is.

Psalm 15: Need an instruction manual? Here's a few things to consider when wondering, Hmm, I wonder if I'm abiding in God's holy tent (because so many of us wonder that very thing):

Do what is right

Speak the truth from the heart

Do not slander with your tongue

Do not lend money at interest (now there's a great conversation starter)

Plus, there just has to be "Despise the wicked." Lest we forget that there are enemies out there.

Psalm 16: What's this? A psalm full of joy and promise? "You show me the path of life. In your presence there is fullness of joy. In your right hand are pleasures forevermore." Glorious. I'm eager to get to Psalm 24, but so far, 8 and 16 have been more of your upbeat psalm.

Psalm 17: This is the psalm for those who say, "I've lived a good life, haven't I? I've done all the right things." Of course, who's to say what "good" is, but the psalmist here makes his case. I imagine the older son in the Prodigal Son story liking this psalm.

Psalm 12--A good Christian is hard to find

A friend recently had this interesting line in an email he sent: "I don't doubt God, just His darling creations." The author of Psalm 12 could relate, I think.

People will eventually let us down. Even those we trust and love the most. Sometime, somewhere that special someone, the one you look up to and admire, will mess up. Though we are crowned with glory and honor (Psalm 8), those crowns don't always shine. They have cracks. Jewels fall out.

That's the frustration of Psalm 12. Verses 1 and 2: "Help, O Lord, for there is no longer anyone who is godly; the faithful have disappeared from humankind. They utter lies to each other; with flattering lips and a double heart they speak." Where are the godly?

On the one hand, it motivates me to (despite my own faults and foibles) to stand up and say, we're here! I'm faithful (most of the time)! I don't utter lies (very often)! I don't have a double heart (on my better days)!

On the other hand, it reminds me that, in the end, our ultimate trust and hope can only be in God. "The promises of the Lord are promises that are pure" (v. 6a). That's not to say that we don't sometimes feel like God has abandoned us. Many psalms wonder that very thing. I have to depend, though, in the everlasting presence and nearness of God.