I'm thinking about optimism. I've always considered myself an optimist, at least until I read a scathing indictment of optimism by Eugene Peterson in the second-to-last chapter of Reversed Thunder, where he makes a compelling point about how optimism can be a way to avoid God.
Optimism, he argues, is built on faith in ourselves and our ability to make the world around us work in a pleasing way, shaping it to our desired outcome. He describes how optimism can be moral--using goodwill to fend off injustice; or technological--applying scientific intelligence to solve world problems. And he wisely acknowledges, "It seems ungracious to be unenthusiastic over such an enormous expenditure of intelligence and good will. These people, after all, are at least doing something."
That's the rally cry of our world, right? "Things are falling apart, DO SOMETHING!" We receive 1,001 daily exhortations to do our part, each promising that if we all do our part, things will get better.
What if this is a false promise? I've seen too much to believe that things get better, in any long-term way, without God, and Peterson's words made me realize how much of my optimism is "a way of staying useful" while keeping God out of the picture so the pieces and factors which make up my life feel more manageable.
As I thought about this this morning, I realized that optimism is not the same as hope. I've used them interchangeably for most of my life, but I wonder if perhaps I've been missing a piece of the puzzle? Hope, as it's described in the Bible, has a huge element of mystery to it. You can't just "have" hope. It's a gift from God. We think we know what we're hopeful towards, but the Bible suggests that our imaginations are limited, that what God has for us is bigger, better, faster stronger...entirely other than anything we can dream up to staple onto a vision board or write down in a prayer request. That's what I want.
So this morning, I'm trading in my optimism--my belief that through careful stewarding of my gifts and talents (along with dogged recycling and a determined effort to reduce my carbon footprint) I'll make the world a better place. In its place, I'm asking for hope. Hope is scary and mysterious and entirely out of my control. But so is life. And in that way, hope seems an entirely more suitable tool for this journey than the small control of optimism.
I'm brought back to two oft-cited quotes, one a reminder, the other a warning:
From the New Testament letter to the Hebrews: "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." I'm going to focus on the first word--NOW. This is what faith is, and I'm asking God for more of it, in this moment. I want that unexplainable certainty that my hope has substance.
And from the venerable C.S. Lewis: "We are half-hearted creatures...like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased."
It's tough for me to imagine that what I've asked God for is somehow less than he has for me. But today, I'll allow for the possibility, asking God to make me a whole-hearted creature, excited about the offer of a holiday at sea.
Because really, who couldn't use a vacation? :)
Checking in: On a scale of 1 ("what's hope?") to 10 ("I'm walking on sunshine") where is your hope-o-meter today?
Monday, June 7, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Day 6: Conversations with God
It's Sunday, which seems like a good day to change up our prayer approach, and try conversing with God. Let's go for dialogue, rather than monologue.My friend Dave does this often. He takes long walks to chat with God, and he usually starts out with something simple, like: "Hi God, how are you?" (he's happy to report that God is usually doing quite well). This seems as good a place to begin as any.
After the small talk, listen. Give God some room to speak. Not just for three or four minutes, as I tried this morning. But for the whole day. Let's try to stay "tuned in" to the God channel and see what happens.
And if you hear something? Hold it lightly. Use it as a starting point for future prayers. As someone told me recently, hearing from God is the easy part; it's interpreting what God means that's complicated. Acknowledging this tension, let's tune in.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Day 5: No More Chains
I woke up thinking about forgiveness. We've moved twice in the past year, so I'm very acquainted with my belongings, and the sense you sometimes get about certain things that tells you, "This is not important enough to me to haul up and down even one more flight of stairs..."
Pain can be like that, especially when it's caused by other people. Broken hearts and disappointments come in all shapes and sizes, and sometimes it's not even the big stuff that weighs us down--it's little stuff, unattended.
Nichole Nordeman sings a song called No More Chains that I think is about this feeling, about the pressure and stress of hauling a heavy weight up and down a mountain. No one made her, she says. She just did it without thinking, believing it was part of being her. We don't have to pull those chains around, though. We can just forgive.
This is one of the coolest things about Jesus, the way he helps with forgiveness. We don't even have to mean it, I've learned. We just have to be willing to say it (the power of our words again), and invite him into the process. So today, I've been saying, "I choose to forgive ____, in Jesus' name." With each sentence, I feel lighter. It's good.
The last lines of this song say, "I should let you give me wings...I should let you set me free..."
A captivating possibility.
Pain can be like that, especially when it's caused by other people. Broken hearts and disappointments come in all shapes and sizes, and sometimes it's not even the big stuff that weighs us down--it's little stuff, unattended.
Nichole Nordeman sings a song called No More Chains that I think is about this feeling, about the pressure and stress of hauling a heavy weight up and down a mountain. No one made her, she says. She just did it without thinking, believing it was part of being her. We don't have to pull those chains around, though. We can just forgive.
This is one of the coolest things about Jesus, the way he helps with forgiveness. We don't even have to mean it, I've learned. We just have to be willing to say it (the power of our words again), and invite him into the process. So today, I've been saying, "I choose to forgive ____, in Jesus' name." With each sentence, I feel lighter. It's good.
The last lines of this song say, "I should let you give me wings...I should let you set me free..."
A captivating possibility.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Day 4: Sunshine Day
I was at a gathering last night with friends, looking at a letter the Apostle Paul wrote to friends of his at Philippi. It was not an especially cheery letter--Paul was in prison, the Philippians were feeling the heat from folks who weren't all that excited about their devotion to Jesus. Paul was trying to help them keep their emotional/spiritual boat afloat.
One line in particular caught my attention: "Do everything without complaining or arguing," he says. He had his reasons, but I didn't quite get that far. I was captivated by the concept of even going one day (let alone a lifetime) without complaining. Now, I'm a pretty positive person, and I left a career as a civil litigation attorney because I realized I hate conflict. So it's not like I head out each morning looking for battles. But somehow, they find me. If I decide I'm in the mood to complain, I can usually find plenty of material to work with. Do you ever feel that way?
As I thought about what this no complain/no argue idea might look like for me, I sensed that in this, God isn't asking me to go all Polly-positive, or ignore reality. If it rains, I think it's okay to say, "Wow...I really wish I'd thought to grab my umbrella..." And if something terrible happens--a breakup, a disappointment, something you hoped would work out didn't--I think it's okay to acknowledge that disappointment, and to mourn. What we want to avoid is complaining about the way things are in a broader sense--giving individual situations that hurt or frustrate us roots and vines that shoot through the rest of our lives.
Today, I'm going to try this. As we discussed yesterday, silence can be a powerful weapon in our spiritual arsenal. So for the next few h0urs, if I don't have something nice to say, I won't say anything at all. If nothing else, it should be interesting to see how that goes :)
Anyone want to join me?
One line in particular caught my attention: "Do everything without complaining or arguing," he says. He had his reasons, but I didn't quite get that far. I was captivated by the concept of even going one day (let alone a lifetime) without complaining. Now, I'm a pretty positive person, and I left a career as a civil litigation attorney because I realized I hate conflict. So it's not like I head out each morning looking for battles. But somehow, they find me. If I decide I'm in the mood to complain, I can usually find plenty of material to work with. Do you ever feel that way?
As I thought about what this no complain/no argue idea might look like for me, I sensed that in this, God isn't asking me to go all Polly-positive, or ignore reality. If it rains, I think it's okay to say, "Wow...I really wish I'd thought to grab my umbrella..." And if something terrible happens--a breakup, a disappointment, something you hoped would work out didn't--I think it's okay to acknowledge that disappointment, and to mourn. What we want to avoid is complaining about the way things are in a broader sense--giving individual situations that hurt or frustrate us roots and vines that shoot through the rest of our lives.
Today, I'm going to try this. As we discussed yesterday, silence can be a powerful weapon in our spiritual arsenal. So for the next few h0urs, if I don't have something nice to say, I won't say anything at all. If nothing else, it should be interesting to see how that goes :)
Anyone want to join me?
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Day 3: The perfect is on the way
We have to be careful what we say. Our words have creative power, and all too often I find myself talking about how all the things I'm most afraid of are true, while the things I want will never happen in a million years. Not smart.
I'd love to offer some grand plan for choosing our words wisely, but I'm no expert. One discovery I've made, though: silence works. Sometimes, it's all I can do to keep myself from playing along when someone declares definitively that "We're all going to get the flu this winter," or "There are no more good guys around." But what I CAN do in those moments is shut my mouth. I don't have to agree.
In my better moments, I'm able to say what I want (and believe) to be true: that my immune system works quite well and I'm not afraid of winter, for example; that God knows how many good guys are needed and has made enough.... But in areas where my belief-o-meter is running low, the least I can do is not add to the avalanche of fear and doubt swirling around in the world.
There aren't many things I "know for sure" (as Oprah might say). But I know that God has a plan, and things will work out well in the end. I have no idea how, or when. But that's okay. This is where today's quote comes in: "The walk of faith is to live according to the revelation we have received, in the midst of the mysteries we can't explain." (Bill Johnson). That pretty well sums it up.
The Apostle Paul wrote to the people of Corinth about the challenge of walking this line, being caught between prophecies--things we hear from God about what the present might mean or the future might hold--and the challenge to love in the midst of all the questions we still have. "Love never fails..." He says. "For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears." I don't pretend to know exactly what that means (Paul was a complicated guy) but here's one thing I take comfort in: God is love, and he won't fail. The perfect is on the way.
I'd love to offer some grand plan for choosing our words wisely, but I'm no expert. One discovery I've made, though: silence works. Sometimes, it's all I can do to keep myself from playing along when someone declares definitively that "We're all going to get the flu this winter," or "There are no more good guys around." But what I CAN do in those moments is shut my mouth. I don't have to agree.
In my better moments, I'm able to say what I want (and believe) to be true: that my immune system works quite well and I'm not afraid of winter, for example; that God knows how many good guys are needed and has made enough.... But in areas where my belief-o-meter is running low, the least I can do is not add to the avalanche of fear and doubt swirling around in the world.
There aren't many things I "know for sure" (as Oprah might say). But I know that God has a plan, and things will work out well in the end. I have no idea how, or when. But that's okay. This is where today's quote comes in: "The walk of faith is to live according to the revelation we have received, in the midst of the mysteries we can't explain." (Bill Johnson). That pretty well sums it up.
The Apostle Paul wrote to the people of Corinth about the challenge of walking this line, being caught between prophecies--things we hear from God about what the present might mean or the future might hold--and the challenge to love in the midst of all the questions we still have. "Love never fails..." He says. "For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears." I don't pretend to know exactly what that means (Paul was a complicated guy) but here's one thing I take comfort in: God is love, and he won't fail. The perfect is on the way.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Day 2: Maintenance
I'm still thinking about this boat imagery. When I was growing up, my Dad was a lobsterman. Every year around this time, just as the weather was warming up, Dad would pull his boat out of the water for a week to repair it. I never told him (I was a boy & makeup crazy pre-teen, so we didn't talk much about lobstering in those days) but that time out of the water always scared me.
Here's the thing: I've never been great at conceptualizing large numbers of anything, so I was a little fuzzy on how many lobsters he had to catch to keep a family of our size in back-to-school shoes. But it seemed clear that the number was HUGE, and that there were a finite number of crustaceans out there on the ocean floor for the catching. So taking his boat out of the water seemed absurd to me. Why risk a week of no lobsters? "So what if the paint on the hull is chipped and the engine needs tuning?" I thought. "The most important thing is being out there!"
Now though, I get it. (Dad has been retired for years, and I'm sure he'll be happy to hear that I've finally come to terms with the finer points of his profession...) If you don't take care of your boat, your whole operation is at risk. Wood rots, engines die...the cost of replacing things you haven't taken care of is far higher than a week out of the water. (BTW, I tried to get a picture of a boat in dry dock to illustrate this post, but mostly what I found was pics of boats run aground, which is an entirely different thing...)
Today, let's ask God if we need to pull our boats out for repairs. This might be literal--stepping back from our busy schedules for a few days to tend to our physical/mental/emotional/spiritual upkeep. Or it might be more of an internal thing, where we tweak some area of our lives that's showing signs of wear. Or--who knows?--some of us might be in great shape, ready to head out onto the seas and pull in a big catch. As we pray today, let's give God a chance to weigh in on that, and let us know what's going on under the water, so to speak, in the places we can't see.
(And out of the kindness of my heart, I'll spare you the Southern Cross video I'm watching right now, because I can't possibly keep up 40 Days of Boating Songs...and because I don't understand why Graham Nash, one of my favorite singers ever, is wearing that weird striped shirt?)
Here's the link to yesterday's prayer outline (scroll down to the bottom).
And today's quote is my all-time favorite, Jesus' reminder that "What is impossible with man is possible with God." Nice to know that if we need to take time out for repairs, it won't throw off God's plan.
Here's the thing: I've never been great at conceptualizing large numbers of anything, so I was a little fuzzy on how many lobsters he had to catch to keep a family of our size in back-to-school shoes. But it seemed clear that the number was HUGE, and that there were a finite number of crustaceans out there on the ocean floor for the catching. So taking his boat out of the water seemed absurd to me. Why risk a week of no lobsters? "So what if the paint on the hull is chipped and the engine needs tuning?" I thought. "The most important thing is being out there!"
Now though, I get it. (Dad has been retired for years, and I'm sure he'll be happy to hear that I've finally come to terms with the finer points of his profession...) If you don't take care of your boat, your whole operation is at risk. Wood rots, engines die...the cost of replacing things you haven't taken care of is far higher than a week out of the water. (BTW, I tried to get a picture of a boat in dry dock to illustrate this post, but mostly what I found was pics of boats run aground, which is an entirely different thing...)
Today, let's ask God if we need to pull our boats out for repairs. This might be literal--stepping back from our busy schedules for a few days to tend to our physical/mental/emotional/spiritual upkeep. Or it might be more of an internal thing, where we tweak some area of our lives that's showing signs of wear. Or--who knows?--some of us might be in great shape, ready to head out onto the seas and pull in a big catch. As we pray today, let's give God a chance to weigh in on that, and let us know what's going on under the water, so to speak, in the places we can't see.
(And out of the kindness of my heart, I'll spare you the Southern Cross video I'm watching right now, because I can't possibly keep up 40 Days of Boating Songs...and because I don't understand why Graham Nash, one of my favorite singers ever, is wearing that weird striped shirt?)
Here's the link to yesterday's prayer outline (scroll down to the bottom).
And today's quote is my all-time favorite, Jesus' reminder that "What is impossible with man is possible with God." Nice to know that if we need to take time out for repairs, it won't throw off God's plan.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Day 1: Where is your boat?
Happy 40 Days of Faith 2010! This is always an exciting time for me--it feels a little like back-to-school, a chance to start fresh and see what the new year brings. Never so more than this year.
For the past two years, I've flown into our June 1st start with wind in my sails, ready for adventure. This year is a little different. My sails aren't even up yet. In terms of faith (and to continue the sailing metaphor) I've seen a few storms, and my boat is a little banged up and in need of repair. So this year, for me, our 40 Days together feels less like charting a new course for lands unseen, and more like a safe cove were I can spend some time with God and ask him to patch my boat & sails back together.
It makes me think of the lyrics to The Wood Song by the Indigo Girls, describing the "boat" they find themselves in:
The wood is tired, and the wood is old...but we'll make it fine, if the weather holds.
But if the weather holds, we'll have missed the point.
That's where I need to go.
If you listen to the song, it's so powerful: it describes a certainty that our lives are unfolding according to a greater plan that we can understand, acknowledging that it takes a ton of courage to keep going. More than we think we have on some days. For this 40 Days of Faith, I'm asking Jesus for that courage. I'm asking for specific things, too...but it seems like the courage to get my boat back out into the water is necessary for all the rest.
I'd mentioned that I had an idea of how we might approach prayer, and I'll share it now. I discovered this a few years ago when I was new to the Bible, and was reading Psalm 40 in a panic, knowing I was supposed to teach on praying from the Psalms the next day and having no idea what I might say. As I read, a pattern emerged and I thought, "Oh...I can do that..." It's pretty straightforward.
First, read over Psalm 40.
Second, let's pray, using the same 7 steps as David:
1. Begin by recalling specific things God has already done to bless you.
2. Thank and praise God for these things, noting how His plans have exceeded your expectations.
3. Submit to God's will for your life.
4. Commit to glorify God publicly--in other words, to giving Him credit when He comes through.
5. Ask God to bless you with His mercy, and the protection of His love and truth.
6. NOW outline the troubles/hopes you need God's help with, and the specifics of what you are asking Him to do. (In our 40 Days terms, this is where we tell Jesus what we'd like him to do for us)
7. Acknowledge your lowly status before God (that He's God, and we're not), and that we are obeying His word by asking anyway. Ask that He act QUICKLY!
Amen!
I'll try to close each of our 40 days with a quote that inspires me. Today's is from Eugene Peterson:
"Prayer is the realization of personal powerlessness and, at the same moment, participation in God's power: I can do nothing, God can do anything."
That about sums it up. Here's to an amazing, awe-inspiring, surprising 40 Days of Faith! If you're in, drop a comment below. I think that helps with courage, knowing we're not in the boat alone :)
For the past two years, I've flown into our June 1st start with wind in my sails, ready for adventure. This year is a little different. My sails aren't even up yet. In terms of faith (and to continue the sailing metaphor) I've seen a few storms, and my boat is a little banged up and in need of repair. So this year, for me, our 40 Days together feels less like charting a new course for lands unseen, and more like a safe cove were I can spend some time with God and ask him to patch my boat & sails back together.
It makes me think of the lyrics to The Wood Song by the Indigo Girls, describing the "boat" they find themselves in:
The wood is tired, and the wood is old...but we'll make it fine, if the weather holds.
But if the weather holds, we'll have missed the point.
That's where I need to go.
If you listen to the song, it's so powerful: it describes a certainty that our lives are unfolding according to a greater plan that we can understand, acknowledging that it takes a ton of courage to keep going. More than we think we have on some days. For this 40 Days of Faith, I'm asking Jesus for that courage. I'm asking for specific things, too...but it seems like the courage to get my boat back out into the water is necessary for all the rest.
I'd mentioned that I had an idea of how we might approach prayer, and I'll share it now. I discovered this a few years ago when I was new to the Bible, and was reading Psalm 40 in a panic, knowing I was supposed to teach on praying from the Psalms the next day and having no idea what I might say. As I read, a pattern emerged and I thought, "Oh...I can do that..." It's pretty straightforward.
First, read over Psalm 40.
Second, let's pray, using the same 7 steps as David:
1. Begin by recalling specific things God has already done to bless you.
2. Thank and praise God for these things, noting how His plans have exceeded your expectations.
3. Submit to God's will for your life.
4. Commit to glorify God publicly--in other words, to giving Him credit when He comes through.
5. Ask God to bless you with His mercy, and the protection of His love and truth.
6. NOW outline the troubles/hopes you need God's help with, and the specifics of what you are asking Him to do. (In our 40 Days terms, this is where we tell Jesus what we'd like him to do for us)
7. Acknowledge your lowly status before God (that He's God, and we're not), and that we are obeying His word by asking anyway. Ask that He act QUICKLY!
Amen!
I'll try to close each of our 40 days with a quote that inspires me. Today's is from Eugene Peterson:
"Prayer is the realization of personal powerlessness and, at the same moment, participation in God's power: I can do nothing, God can do anything."
That about sums it up. Here's to an amazing, awe-inspiring, surprising 40 Days of Faith! If you're in, drop a comment below. I think that helps with courage, knowing we're not in the boat alone :)
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