Simple Connections

Simple connections tend to be the lifelines that keep us from floundering in the rough patches that following our Leader will run us through. The simple love of those who know us the best. The smiles, and tears of those who have walked this way with us. The ones who will keep moving their feet one in front of the other as they put their arm around our shoulder. Those precious souls who will lift our eyes back to the triumphant Lamb upon His throne, and remind us of the prize for which we strive. In John Bunyan's classic “Pilgram's Progress”, Christian had his companion Faithful to keep his feet falling in the Way. Who have you in this way you find yourself?
It seems that when I survey the narrow way there is only room for a small handful to walk abreast, and in this life there are many I know, but few with whom I have truly traveled, travailed, and prevailed. This in no way diminishes the walk of the others I know, but rather leads me to pray that they will find those ones who will step into the fray and the narrow way with them even as I have.
I write this as a public thanks to the ones I hold responsible for holding me on my journey. I also hope that I have in some way returned their fair graces to me. My thanks yet again are given with honor and respect to Mr. Kerry Donovan who first taught me to walk this way by actually getting me out of the map store and walking it with me. My deep love and thanks also go to my wife who has traversed waters deeper than any other has gone through to remain at my side. She has put her back to mine and raised high the sword to lay into the foes that have beset us, and has always offered her hand when I have tasted the dust.
I write this little post to say thanks, and to remind those of you who pass by here to say your thanks where they are deserved, and to remember to raise your sword and your prayers for those who have set their way beside yours.
Grace and Peace

Not Sure....

Sometimes I am leveled by the things that seemed so elementary just a few days earlier, and as I lay there trying to shake it off the question arises of why I thought I wouldn't have to deal with that particular attack again. Rolling over to get back up is like an escape dream, every motion finding its energy being sapped by the jeers being delivered to my mind as spittle from reviling lips. Jeers founding themselves on the truth of the situation; I failed. Taunting faces in the crowds leering out like mirrors showing me playbacks of times when I spoke of overcoming, mockeries of revelations shared to bring hope to others. They lunge from the dark periphery, because the spotlight is on the now, burning down from the nosebleed seats to scorch the canvas I have kissed. The noise, like static, relies on its cacophony even before its volume for maximum effect. White noise. A penetrating spiritual tinnitus tearing away thoughts like so much parchment. The noise, though, like all things, finds in its greatest strength the dark shadow of its greatest weakness. The discordant chorus cannot help but to juxtapose itself against the small still stream of order and purity flowing to my ears. Flowing from my corner. Words of such tangible substance they splash across my very vision. Flowing from my corner. My eyes settle there. They settle upon the eyes of the one who is in my corner. They see no teary eyed sop, but rather are gripped by the ferocity of the passion and fire burning within those regal orbs of glory. My Lord is there, and there is no towel to be seen. He is in my corner!
He bids me to look past the mobs amassed in the shadows, He bids me to raise my gaze above them to the cheering throngs of heaven. He reminds me.
He reminds me of why I need a lawyer; an advocate. The crowds tell me that I need Him to plead my case with the Father. They hurl every substantial accusation they can claw from the dirt of my flesh into God's face. Every one of them twisted, but true at the core. The crowd tells me that my Advocate stands to sprinkle blood over every accusation, because every new sin brings a renewed need for shed blood. This flies in the face of the totality of the sacrifice of Christ. Everything from conception to death is finally, and fully covered. Hebrews 6: 6 states this quite emphatically. (love to go into Hebrews 6 more in depth, but not right now) The crowd tells me that Christ stands there dispiritedly spilling His blood over every renewed transgression. They tell me that He knows I'm a failure, but He'll do it anyway.
The picture of the Advocate that scripture gives us is one who comes alongside to help and to console:

Advocate
(Gr. parakletos), one who pleads another's cause, who helps another by defending or comforting him. It is a name given by Christ three times to the Holy Ghost (Joh_14:16; Joh_15:26; Joh_16:7, where the Greek word is rendered “Comforter,” q.v.). It is applied to Christ in 1Jo_2:1, where the same Greek word is rendered “Advocate,” the rendering which it should have in all the places where it occurs.
Easton's Bible Dictionary

The question that arises in this imagery is why does Jesus need to remind the Father about His blood sacrifice every time I transgress? Does the Father have a bad memory? Is He just itching to let me have it? No. The memory jog is meant for the accuser. Or is it? Consider a courtroom drama where the accused stands beside his lawyer and the verdict has just been read. It comes back as a resounding 'Not guilty!'. The defendant turns and heartily embraces his advocate, but the accuser, rather than hanging his head in defeat, begins to hurl further insults and accusations. He is restrained by the bailiffs from physically assaulting the pardoned criminal, so he uses the power of his voice to rob the joy of this victory day. To whom will the advocate turn his attention? The judge, or the defendant? He needs not address the judge because the verdict has been handed down and the accuser has no more power over the outcome. He turns his attention rather to the one who has been pardoned by his defense. He consoles him, and reassures him that the judge will see to the accuser for being in contempt of court. He leads him from the courtroom in freedom.
See, the picture I was given before had me in a courtroom until the day I die with Jesus repeatedly telling the Judge that He had forgiven me. Court was always in session. The days were long, bleak, and insidiously repetitious. I don't know if this picture is the one you have, but let's do ourselves a favour and pitch it in the rubbish bin. In the courtroom shown by scripture the verdict has already been read. IT IS FINISHED!!!! Finished. No more haggling and drama. No more bloodied bulls and gore drenched priests. Only the victorious Christ leading us from the courtroom, and a bound accuser with no more rights to us ever again! Our Advocate speaks not to the judge anymore on this case, because it is completed. He speaks rather to us to comfort our minds and bring us peace. He speaks to each accusation reminding us of His victory over each and every one. He reminds us of the overwhelming totality of the power of His blood. He reminds us to walk from the courtroom with heads held high, not bowing and scraping. He reminds us that we are BELOVED!!!
Today I needed to be reminded of this, and His voice came through a television program I normally would have ignored for its flashiness. Today the clear stream of His voice came from another servant. Today I will stand.


PS I will apologize here for the seeming incongruities between the metaphors here, but the former image is based in blind feelings and emotions and the latter is based in unseen fact. If you search it out I'm sure the connection will become clear.

Context Is Everything

It's interesting to be sitting here and relaxing after watching a good movie. Interesting because of the surroundings, and stirring because of some of the dialogue from the movie. It was “Good Will Hunting” that I watched in the dark of the staff room while the brothers watched their movie in kwongyeh (wilderness), as they affectionately call the main assembly area. If you haven't seen the movie, and you can stand a lot of South Boston expletives being thrown around, it tells a very intriguing tale. In it the character of a psychologist, played by Robin Williams, confronts a brilliant young man, played by Matt Damon, regarding his lack of true knowledge about the world he could so blithely quote and critique at a comfortable distance. He had never experienced anything outside of his hometown. It made me think again about where I am, because as a friend of mine once said, “Context is everything!”

Context in this case is strangely inescapable, and even more so strangely familiar. I really have to focus on it before it seems out of the ordinary. Reflecting intentionally on my past will show the odd juxtaposition of my current situation, but it cannot sustain the sense of oddity. Like pushing on a minor obstacle, it falls away with little effort leaving only what was before my eyes to begin with. The only thing that is sustained is the sense of belonging that comes not from being in an environment where I am the eternal stranger, but rather the rightness of being wherever I am with my Father.

Hope That Stands

The most difficult aspect of faith, is faith. The aspect which demands that we place our trust in that which is not seen, nor will be seen until faith is thrown in the pot like dye in pure water. As it swirls through the transparent purity of hope then there is some form lent to the unseen. When it curls through the liquid current hope makes sense, but without faith there is no substance given to hope. The interesting thing about faith is that it will only mix with purity. If there is mixture then all we get is mud. If it is a worldly commodity it will simply dissolve. If it is a person it will only disfigure them. Faith only mixes with heavenly things. Faith never apologizes for this either, just as oil will not utter a word as it drifts across the water; it knows no other way.

This is wonderful as we set our thoughts on things above as we are entreated to do by scripture. All of glory opens up before our longing gaze as we sweep the light of faith across the invisible realms of promise. Light, life, and love pour out upon us as fluid music, and our feet are found to be on immoveable bedrock. On the other hand, our gaze will turn to fear, remorse, and despair as we witness the crushing weight of faith settle upon our earthly dreams, grinding them to dust as their insubstantial forms are proven.

I would love to report here that my eyes have beheld the glory of the coming of the Lord, but today I am wiping some dust from my eyes. It will be a good thing in the long run, because it is teaching me about the things of the kingdom, and the benefit will be peace. Yesterday it felt horrible, but today will be better. Today my Father will remind me that faith is all about Him. He will remind me that the hopes that I have in Him will never be crushed by a faith that was given by Him. He will remind me of His love.

Up In The Air

It feels a little weird to be writing this from 31500 feet above the Bering Straits, but that is just how fast life can change for a person. I’m not lucky enough to be doing this with my thumbs. I am, however, blessed enough to be doing this on a laptop that was purchased with funds forwarded to us from Dad. Our Dad that is.

It all seems a little strange because if you have followed this blog at all you will know that I have been having some real issues with the institutions that Christians have established in my homeland. Strange because it was while attending a service at our particular institution that I was handed some white packets (not red, but white) with a substantial amount of cash in them. We were told that the money was to be used for personal items and not ministry unless specifically instructed to by Dad.

The cool thing about that is that before we left we were trying to decide whether to put out a request to see if anyone had an old laptop that we may be able to have for home schooling and for my work. This took a while to work through though since we have already been working through where we stand with the whole institution thing. In the end we both felt that it would not be right to be feeling the way we do and then still expect to suckle up to the mothership, if you know what I mean. So I left it in Dad’s capable hands. If He put it on someone’s heart then that would be fine, and if He didn’t that would be fine too. It seemed much better to trust in Him than in my ability to pull off the puppy dog eyes.

It was also cool how Dad did the hand off. You know how you are usually expecting the play to go to the star receiver from your particular team. The one whom you’ve played with forever. The one who knows you. The one who it would be easy to run the play with. Not so with Dad. He is always using import talent to shake things up on the field. That’s what He did to me. When I decided to hand the playbook back to Him he took the least likely player to pair up with me, and put exactly what I needed in my paws. It wasn’t a laptop, but of course He wasn’t done yet.

When we came back to the Fraser Valley the focus was on two things; a sleep over for the kids, and our final packing for the trip home. I was not really thinking of doing any more shopping because of the issue with bringing back extra luggage, which means more stuff to haul home on foot from the ferry. I could say that it was a need for pit stick (hard to find good stuff in HK) that sent me to Costco with my mom, but now I’m sure it was HS who was giving me a push. When we arrived the first thing that caught my eye, after the flat screens ;) were the laptops. When I went over to check them out it didn’t take long to realize that there was a good deal to be had there. I didn’t jump at it though. After all I am still part of a team. After going home and running it by my wife, and checking on prices back in HK online, I realized this was the way to go. I also realized that I had asked Dad about a laptop. Hmmm.

A number of years ago someone looked right into my financially stressed out eyes and told me,“God is your sugar daddy.”. I still carry this with me. Now I can also carry along a means to write to all of you about it. Cool.

I QUIT!!!!

It is all over the web now that Anne Rice, author of "Interview with a Vampire" and many other works including a series on Christ the Lord, has given up on Christianity. Not Christ, just Christians and Christianity. A friend of mine posted a short piece to his blog from author/speaker/theologian Brian McLaren regarding Mrs. Rice's announcement. I think that anyone who has regularly read this blog will have a good idea of how I feel about this, but I, like my friend, am interested in how others feel about it. Perhaps I should rather say how others think about it. Anne's renouncement is nothing new these days, so feel free to broaden the discussion.

My only input at the outset of this discussion will be that we remember, as we speak and write, those who have gone before us.

That's Life

Life is so interesting in how it moves by us while we watch from behind these eyes. Somewhere it is all being recorded and stored away in the most amazing computer ever conceived, an organic web of cells that contains not only sights, but true 4D. It is not designed for access at will though, only certain events will easily coalesce in its lightrooms. Events written in emotion will often lay like a projection on water's surface, clearer images cast by the light of love and hate, lesser visions cast their recollections ever deeper below the surface. Our retrieval, like our lungs, has limitations. We can only go so deep.
This is one reason that I want to teach myself to feel things. I want to remember those things that should remain. This post will be a brief listings of just some of the things that I hope will stay with me:

- Friday morning we took some students to Tung Chung for a friendly basketball tourney organized by the police. The tourney was cool, but the ride back was amazing. We bused to Mui Wo and took a sampan across to Cheung Chau. Sampan rides are everyday for me now, but a night cruise is a rarity. A night cruise on a clear night even rarer. I sat on a chair on the bow and drank it in the whole way back. The stars above, and the city lights of Hong Kong in the background off our port side, beyond Hei Ling Chau's glowing prison lights. All it takes is remembering back to who I was, and where I was not even so many years ago. How did I ever get here! So sublime.

- Got the call late in the day early last week to go with one of the brother's as an escort to his mother's birthday dinner. English is not on the menu. He is Thai and Chinese. His family is wonderfully warm and inviting to this necessary stranger who must come with their son. As we sit in their little store with the aunts, one uncle, some cousins, and a genuinely gregarious grandfather I am fed some pre-dinner desserts of Ferrero Rocher© and a refreshingly sweet mango coconut dish. This eased what I anticipated to be an uncomfortable forty-five minute wait before we left for the restaurant. When we did sit down at the restaurant the uncle went after his young nephew with a merciless ribbing that entertained everyone at the table, especially the young cousins who gripped their sides as they laughed. I couldn't help but laugh even though I didn't understand a word. Grandpa kept making sure that my bowl was loaded up with abalone, prawns, crab (with egg and Chinese wine), and he wasn't even sitting next to me. It was an absolute blast.

- This morning I had to go into the city early to get some stuff for my son's birthday party, and while I was waiting for the fairy back I sat and ate a quick breakfast with a coffee at the Star Ferry pier in Central. Buddhist monks frequent this area, because just like sharks at the edge of a reef, they know there'll be food here. Food in the form of pasty white foreigners too travel giddy to know that this guy is just a religious scam artist without a cable show. He hands them some little trinket and then tells them that he needs money for his monastery, which they usually hand over. The guy I watched today didn't even try to fake humility, and clearly was agitated with how long it took for the gwai lo (鬼佬) to figure out that he wanted cash. The usual 100HKD (~$13CAD) was handed over and off the respective participants went. By his attitude I figured this guy needed the cash for his morning coffee fix. I wanted to yell,"You know the guy's a fake, right!?". Couldn't bring myself to do it though. Maybe next time.

- This one I did not witness, but my wife and daughter relayed it with such intensity that I had to include it here. When my daughter came to the dormitory to drop off some clothes for me she saw our elderly neighbor whacking a bamboo pit viper into Nirvana with a long stick; probably bamboo. These brilliantly fluorescent green visitors are venomous and aggressive, but no more so than our aged neighbor who stands right around four feet high when she can straighten up, and that last happened on her 80th birthday. My oldest ran back into the house to tell my wife, about the goings on outside and when they arrived back at the scene granny was still whacking the thing. Apparently the buddha had not yet confirmed the viper's arrival in bliss. When she was finally satisfied that the reptile was no more she picked it up and disposed of its carcass, which my daughter said was dripping blood from its crushed cranium. I'll have to remember to keep the hissing to a dull roar the next time I saunter by her house.

There are more that I could write, but I'm gonna save them for a different glass of wine and free time. Thanks for reading. Cheers!

God & A/C

We are truly blessed to live where we do. It comes with its challenges to be sure, but the sweet upsides cover a multitude of 'sins'. One of these is the fact that we live five minutes from Kwun Yam Wan beach.
It was on my journey there today that I had a really cool thought. The short cut to the beach takes us through the grounds of one of the numerous temples on our little island. I grew up in the bible belt, but we had nothing on this place where there are temples littered on every path and byway with hundreds of little shrines to boot. As I walked past the open doors I thought I heard the hum of an a/c unit busily chilling the interior of the building. The first thought that struck me was that these gods may need a/c, but my God does not. After this the next thought was about all the nicely air conditioned churches all around the world where Christians gather in comfort to meet their God. This actually caused me to laugh, because our God truly does not need a/c, but we do. The only reason we cool the building is for our comfort, yet for some reason we still think that we come to the building to meet with God. It got me thinking about how messed our thinking is regarding Sunday mornings, and how much detox we need to go through.
Now I don't think that anyone really thinks that we set the climate control to please God, but our view of the sacredness of these places that we meet in definitely hint at a subliminal doctrine that I believe is undermining our true foundations. The importance of the building and the Sunday morning program has in many ways taken the place of the importance of the people who are gathering in the building. I guess that my first thought when the a/c breaks down would not be about how many people in the building can't even afford a/c in their own homes, it would be a thought about my personal discomfort, and how it will distract me from the experience that I came to enjoy. I know this to be true, because it actually happened once.
God was with me when I climbed out of bed on Sunday morning. He was there with me in the shower. He heard all my conversations with my family. He saw the look on my face as I missed yet another green light. He knew my thoughts. None of this changed when I walked through the doors of my local church. The one thing that did change was that there were a whole bunch of other people who were (and are) known by God there at the same time. Why is it then that in my mind, whether consciously or subliminally, I felt that something changed? I may have even said something as silly as,"Wow, the Spirit is thick in here today!". Huh? Did I think He was contained in this little building? Did I? Do you? Not any more.
This is why people who come to a new church may feel ignored. The other people who are there came to meet God, not them. Meeting these folks is meant for the foyer if we have time, not during the service when they may distract me from my 'experience'. I have got to be kidding me! I say it that way because I discover this thinking in myself all the time. I see it at the school where I work when they have a morning worship service with the students and I kindly bow out because it is all in Cantonese. Our head staff member, who was a student once himself, will unfailingly invite me to join, and try to get someone to translate for me. He doesn't do it for any other reason than that he knows that the fellowship is what it is truly all about. I tend to forget that with my oh so western, churchified mindset. I need to detox so badly.
Church is not about comfort. At least not the kind that comes easily. It is about the comfort we receive as we give it out. It is the comfort of the nearness of God who draws near in the fellowship between broken people. Sure you may get a warm fuzzy when you shut everyone else out and go "into the worship zone", but that pales in comparison to the filling that happens when you embrace someone in need, or a stranger, or actually find someone who isn't afraid of really hearing how you are doing, because they have prioritized their Sunday lunch date in a Spirit led fashion. Think about it. Has any of those things happened to you? How long did it take for the glow of that to wear off? It may have been emotionally, and physically draining, but there is nothing like it. Maybe the reason that restaurant servers say that the church crowd is the worst part of their day is that we come out of church feeling smugly superior from our "personal encounter" with God. Think about it again; Jesus went off by Himself to spend that intimate time with the Father. The rest of His life was about engaging people, and it was exhausting not refreshing. So what am I doing? Why am I going to church to be refreshed? Why am I not refreshed when I walk in after being alone with the Father like Jesus, and ready to engage?
I have a long way to go.

Simple Thoughts From A Simple Mind

Just got home early in the morning from a very late night out that spurred a fury of activity in a recently dormant mind. Bought what is so far a phenomenal book from and Irish author and watched Inception which had an Irish born actor as a central character, which may explain the happy melancholic mood I seem to find myself in. This evening brought so many thought s to the surface like shoots from fresh seeds after a spring rain. Tonight I felt frsh earth between my toes as I went out to see the verdany green of the new growth. The intoxicating scent of wet soil taking hold of my mind like a drunken sailor offering a tour of the evening's highlights.

Though there is a lightheartedness about how I describe all of this there is a certain weight to it as well. The book is about a conversation between a man digging his own grave and the man who is appointed to see him fill the hole in the cold earth of a European winter. The movie also bears a weighty message of the power of our own memories upon the course of our souls. In the book there is a wonderful statement from the protagonist when the invading armies come into view of his home in the shape of a tank:

What a terrible sound, that rumble. My house was paper, my skin water, my life transparent all of a sudden. I thought, I am going to die.
pg. 18 "Schopenhauer's Telescope" by Gerard Donovan

When I read these words I knew that I had a small taste of what he meant. That tenuous grip on a frail mortality in the face of imminent extinction is a place I have come across on occasion, both in imaginings and reality. Many evenings as I have struggled to slip into natural unconsciousness these thoughts have played out in my mind, leaving their tangible touch in the beads of sweat dotting my brow. Many times I have replayed the evening when I saw my life's blood spilling relentlessly from a facial wound inflicted by the steering wheel of a totaled Ford Pinto as I crawled away beneath the lamplight of a deserted onramp in the wee hours of a morning many years ago. The fragility of my life, and the foolishness of how I treated it has sent numerous chills through me. At the end of these thoughts there is, thankfully, the grace that has lead me to the safe harbor of my Father, but the trip easily grips my thoughts, and arrests spurious speculations of other, darker, possibilities.
This lead me to pondering the sparse crowds that populated the wee morning hours of a return trip to Cheung Chau after the movie. Pondering where their paths are taking them. Pondering what they have done with the knowledge the Father says He has given to all of us. Pondering as I looked out the window of the fast ferry at the barely slumbering city rushing by. This city rolls fitfully in a shallow sleep as it dreams, lusts, and clutches for the spoils of the next day, never reaching the rem realm where the Spirit seeds revelations into passing souls. Perhaps this is why it is the poor in spirit that Jesus said are blessed, they have relaxed their grip on the insanity of a somnambulist's dream in the face of an unrelenting reality. These are the ones who lift their eyes and see the door of heaven swung open wide on blood stained hinges. These are the ones who surrender the illusions for a taste of the real. These are the ones who light up like beacon's at Christ's invitation to come and find the eternal quenching of their thirst in Him alone. The surrendered ones.
Oh to be more fully surrendered and forever leave the delusional meanderings of this world. To embrace the knowledge of the grave as Ecclesiastes 7:1-4 enjoins:

¹A good name is better than a good ointment,
And the day of one's death is better than the day of one's birth.
²It is better to go to a house of mourning
Than to go to a house of feasting,
Because that is the end of every man,
And the living takes it to heart.
³Sorrow is better than laughter,
For when a face is sad a heart may be happy.
⁴The mind of the wise is in the house of mourning,
While the mind of fools is in the house of pleasure.

Fearsome words in a slumbering age. Cold water to a parched soul.

The Starbuck view where I delved into "Schopenhauer's Telescope"

The Evolution Of My Thoughts

Evolution.....

Not even sure where to go with that initial thought. Not even sure why it is such a charged subject sometimes. I do understand why most of the time, but today is not one of them. I was reading a book called "Created from Animals: The Moral Implications of Darwinism" by James Rachels, which is an interesting enough read if you like scientific/philosophical books. I enjoyed it to a point. That point was when I could no longer stand the obvious bias in all the arguments the author presented both on his own and the arguments of Darwin's he regurgitated. The one that I found the most humorous was the argument of Darwin against the existence of God based upon the presence of evil. The argument goes that if there is an all-powerful, all-good God out there, and He is responsible for all of creation then why is there so much evil, and why is there so much perverse evil? This was a strong reasoning of his against the existence of a god, and particularly the God of the bible. It is understandable why this made sense to him. It is understandable why so many educated people will also buy this line of reasoning. The simple truth is that the implications of the presence of God in the universe are to overwhelming to consider. The loss of a personal godhood for these people is a horrific thought, tantamount to suicide in a physical, soul-ish, and intellectual sense of the word.
The argument of the presence of evil makes no sense whatsoever, because without the presence of God as a plumb line there is no true evil. Whatever is evil to you may not be evil to me. Pol Pot certainly didn't see himself as evil, and even if he did there was not enough power in this realization to stop him. There have been many people who have steeped themselves in what we would term heinous evil, but have not seen their actions as wrong. If evolution is true where is the plumb line? Mr. Rachels says that Darwin even felt that the evil suffered by nature was too much to accept that there could be a god allowing all of it. Of course if there is only evolution then where does the idea of suffering come from? Are we to weep about survival of the fittest? What about diseases and blights that wipe out populations thereby allowing another species to thrive? Is this evil? Is it suffering? How could it be? If the universe is as evolutionists say it is, then please don't tell me that there is real evil, or even real good. There is only existence, and what you can get out of it. If I am stronger, smarter and well armed I can take whatever I want from you, and evolution will not support me, or admonish me, because it is a simple process not an entity. There is nothing moral about the universe apart from God, so please don't explain away God by one of the very measures of His presence. Even if that measure happens to be the presence of evil.
I have always said that I don't mind someone saying that they want nothing to do with God. To me that is an honest assessment of their true position. What I have always hated are the ludicrous lines of reasoning people want me to swallow in their attempts to explain away the God who terrifies them. At least then they wouldn't have to sound so silly.