Fast Away...

There is nothing special about a day because of the calendar legend.  I know that.  Still, here I fidget, feeling that breathless anticipatory hope that comes from a fresh start.  In six hours I will mentally put a period to the sentence that is 2014...and as arbitrary as that seems, it symbolizes the satisfying exhaustion of accomplishment, mixed with relief.
Some years are filled with harder things than others, and those are months of a forced march with all my belongings piled on my back.  Others are dragonfly-skimming-on-the-water days that blur by in a green and blue haze.  Most of them seesaw between.  No matter the tenor of the time, it is distinctly satisfying to call it "done" and move on.  

The new year feels like the great do-over, where all seems possible...again.  Not because I can try to be, do, become, accomplish, but because God's mercies -- which are new every morning -- feel magnified in their newness at the changing of the calendar.  In difficulty, God has been faithful to provide comfort and growth.  He has multiplied peace and joy.  Like Joshua, I want to pick up remembrances as this old year passes, and carry them over the banks into the new place.  

And I am eager to get moving.

The people came up out of the Jordan on the tenth day of the first month, and they encamped at Gilgal on the east border of Jericho. And those twelve stones, which they took out of the Jordan, Joshua set up at Gilgal.  And he said to the people of Israel, “When your children ask their fathers in times to come, ‘What do these stones mean?’ then you shall let your children know, ‘Israel passed over this Jordan on dry ground.’ For the Lord your God dried up the waters of the Jordan for you until you passed over, as the Lord your God did to the Red Sea, which he dried up for us until we passed over, so that all the peoples of the earth may know that the hand of the Lord is mighty, that you may fear the Lord your God forever.

You Alone

Lately, I seem to be on the fringes of many discussions, debates and sermons concerning the authenticity of the Bible.  I haven't listened very carefully, except to recognize the repeated hot button words about church councils, translations and the canon of books. These are all things I learned very early in my academics; I have since forgotten the particular dates, synods and heresies that have occurred and reoccurred throughout history.  Today I was invited in with the question, "Why do you believe the Bible is the Word of God?"  At first I had to face the truth about myself that I haven't particularly wanted to enter into the fray.  And then I had to articulate an answer, because there seemed to be no legitimate reason for a sidestep.

I audibly reviewed the instances in which Scripture validates itself, the early church acceptance and affirmation of particular portions and rejection of others, the archeological evidence...and then I had to break off.  Basically, I believe the Bible to be the Word of God because of an internal spiritual assent when I read and hear it.  In its light all the issues of this world make sense.  Like Peter I can affirm, "Lord, to whom shall we go? You alone have the words of eternal life."  It is a matter of faith -- what I believe.  And faith in this instance does not mean I am closing my eyes to all anthropological, geological and archeological evidence, rather that I am viewing history from the perspective of truth.

But I am not willing to enter into a debate; I am not adequate to the task.  Instead, I attempt to live "...always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you."  The bottom line is that I was not convinced by any evidence, or discovery or brilliant argument.  It is simply that I believe in my innermost self.  "The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God..."  

Perhaps I hadn't realized the magnitude of the gift of faith given to me before I heard these quests for proof repeatedly and urgently described.  Still, while I am tempted to feel overwhelmed at the spiritual gulf these demands reveal, I think of Thomas who lived with and was taught by Jesus Himself -- the dwelling of God with man.  Thomas (companion, friend and student of the Lord) did not believe the testimony of his fellow disciples when they claimed to have seen Jesus, risen from the dead.  He laid down his challenge to faith:
"Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe."  

And Jesus came to him and held out His hands to be touched and tested.
That is what the Bible says.

Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.

Bittersweet Souls

I hear the word so often lately -- and I think I know what is meant.  Still, the sound of it teases at my mind, begging to be pulled apart and examined more closely.  "Bittersweet" --meaning both at once I suppose, as in chocolate (which is lately everywhere).  But I have a difficult time with opposites occurring simultaneously.  Instead, I choose to believe it is a successive state from one to another.  

I'm thinking of bittersweet as in the rambling vine that profuses with lush greenery in the summer and afterward maintains a bony structure highlighted by merrily bright berries.  Its name describes the nature of the fruit at first inedible to the birds that eventually feast on it after a killing frost.  Passing through the trial of extreme cold, the poisonous berry is changed to become sweet.

Somehow these days of tradition carry centuries of expectation of family unity and joy -- too weighty to be met within a community of flawed and fallen people.  Holidays can hold hours tainted with regret and failure brought sharply into focus by the twinkling lights and music of bells.  Superlatives abound, and in their company the gritty reality of relationships fighting a culture of self-gratification seems to echo with lack.   

But the cold days, the painfully numbing days, are accomplishing much that is unseen.  They are cracking the golden hull of self-love to reveal the berry inside...a fruit for a time when nothing else is blooming or growing and the world is huddled in sleep.  The beauty is so unexpected -- a reddish orange blaze on a dead stalk -- broadcasting a beacon of harvest through an otherwise barren landscape.

I do not know who will be home for Christmas, but many will be missing from these earthly houses.  Merry and bright days make for wonderful greetings, as do peace on earth and goodwill to men, but they are merely wishes.  However, I stand with generations confident that after laying aside expectations requiring human fulfillment, beyond the patient waiting through the killing frost, there will be days of sweet blessing.

Lo, how a Rose e’er blooming from tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse’s lineage coming, as men of old have sung.
It came, a floweret bright, amid the cold of winter,
When half spent was the night.    15th Century Hymn

Clean Earth to Till

The Emerald Ash Borer is decimating the North American ash tree population.  In three more years they could all be gone -- brought down by a brilliantly green colored beetle less than a third of an inch long.  I'm not a scientific person and I usually miss volumes of information, but this species of tree is part of my history.

Lakefront property upon which I grew up was graced by an ancient ash that bordered the front lawn.  Two adults could link hands around the trunk that neighbors declared to be over a hundred years old.  That was "once upon a time" vocabulary to my small self, as a hundred years was basically infinity.  One autumn a hurricane spawned storms that resulted in a limb breaking off.  As thick as most mature trees, it damaged the roof of our house, cracked a cement wall and flattened a fence on its journey to the ground.  It was a mighty giant.  And this week I heard from my scientist friend a little pest from Asia is able to tear through the bark and stop the nutrient supply -- killing millions.

Again, cerebral things of science don't usually stick around in my thoughts.  But this one reverberated because the introduction of the Emerald Ash Borer happened inadvertently through shipping materials.  That strikes a deeper chord.  With all the harm intentionally done by humans in our selfish pursuits, we can wreak devastation accidentally as well.  I'm too insignificant in the environmental power game to do more than recycle and turn off the water when I'm brushing my teeth, but there are many areas of life in which I cause havoc.  Just this week I practiced some hurtful angry words that I fantasized I'd have the courage to say.  Practiced them!  Thankfully, the ugliness that came out of my mouth appalled and shamed me.  But there were plenty of other opportunities in which I chose to speak aloud the selfishness of my heart -- and human beings were hurt.  I pursued my agenda with disregard for the impact on others; I believed and acted as if my comfort and convenience were of supreme importance.

When I think of that beetle, that beautiful killer, I want to remember that I will do much unintentional harm.  Surely I should seek to battle it wherever the risk of damage is even suspected.  As J.R.R. Tolkien charged, there is work to be done in the fields I know.

"It is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till. What weather they shall have is not ours to rule."