{oh I'm worn by the war in me}

On reading well

I heard someone not long ago say that you can learn a lot about someone by their bookshelf.  I thought that was kind of odd, until I got home and I began to look at my own bookshelf.  And as I looked at book after book, volume after volume, I began to see myself.  Biblical scholarship, feminist scholarship, autobiographies, poetry, comedy, music.  Favorite authors; favorite books with worn spines and pages; favorite notes and pictures tucked into those pages.

And I find it to be true.  My character has been shaped and molded and challenged by the books that I read.  I have discovered that the foundation of my faith is the only thing that matters, and that the house that I build upon it is simply an expressive response to what I believe.  I have discovered that Jesus is bigger than I could possibly imagine-- and ever dream to fit into my brainbox or my hands or even, my vocabulary.  I have discovered that I love wisdom more than correctness, and freedom more than rightness, and righteousness more than division.  I have discovered that I love big words, and people who write about their own experiences, and thoughtfulness that inspires me to do good and to love well with my hands, my head, and my heart. And I have discovered that I am proud to display a quirky self through my bookshelf.  So if ever you find yourself at my house-- feel free to take a look, pick up a book, and thumb through the pages.  You may see me-- or maybe even you-- in what you find.

Here's to the books that change us, teach us, and love us well through their pages and their words.

Here's to the voices & lives that spur us on to betterness.  Grateful for the life of this man.  

{You and I were held in the arms of good intentions}

On Piety

I love words.  I always have.  There is so much that we can do with language-- so much that can be accomplished when we use our words thoughtfully and well.  And in contrast, we can afflict much pain and heartache when our words are used too quickly or with harsh intent.  There is a duality with language, and we choose which side of the wall we fall on: the side that draws us close to our neighbors, or the side that simply puts the wall between us and them.

Today, I've been munching on a word that you may be familiar with... I've been thinking about piety.  There's been a lot floating around the internet newsstand in recent days that has given me pause.  So many stories of social inequality, national and international disaster, and tragedy that I can hardly think straight.  And for some reason this made me think of piety.

Now, as a Christian person, I know a lot of pious people.  But as you read that, did you hear that as an upstanding statement, or a degrading slam against my own family of believers?  Truth is, it can be read both ways.  Pious, by it's very definition, stinks of duality.  On the one hand, it is reverence for God.  A beautiful definition of what it means to follow Christ.  And on the other, it stands for hypocritical concern with the aforementioned virtue.

So, which did you hear?  If I'm being honest I heard hypocrisy, degradation, and blatant disregard for the sanctity of devotion. And in most vocabularies, I would be in good company.  There are very few times when piety denotes reverence.  And my honest question is: who made it so?

If I'm being really honest, I think I have an answer for that question:  we did.  And by we, I mean the church.  Those whose legacy began with Christ himself, but was implemented by everyone who came after Him.  We crusaded in the High Middle Age, we hung women in the 17th century, we enslaved human beings based on race too long after we knew better, we denied (and continue to deny) women a voice in the church.  And I say "we" because we should all claim responsibility for where we come from.  And we should all work to better the legacy we leave from here on out.  Now, not everything in Christianity's rearview is negative.  In fact, Christianity has been responsible for some of the most amazing, world-changing movements led by Christ-centered, Christ-devoted people:  Mother Teresa, John Wesley, Martin Luther King Jr., Joan of Arc, the newly-inaugurated Pope Francis (among SO many others).  But we can't just sweep the bad under the rug and display the good in the trophy case.  Eventually, the ugly under the rug starts to stink and overshadow all that we've worked hard to keep shiny with pride. That's how Christians get the reputation of being hypocrites; how we get reputations that overshadow the amazing works of our Savior-- through the hands and feet of who He made us.

I hurt to think that people look at me and think of me as pious because I represent religion to them-- hypocrisy, degradation, total disregard for the sanctity of devotion.  But I'm sure that it happens. I hope that I can represent Christ to people as a flawed, definitely-don't-have-my-shit-together human being, who believes in the beauty of Jesus, the intimacy of the Holy Spirit, and the inexplicable love of the Creator.  And in some quiet, small way, I dearly hope that some see in me a reverence for God.  And I hope that they see that same reverence, grace, and life in my church, my family, and my Jesus.

Thunder Clatter

{You spoke like broken thunder, deep into the center of me}

The tree of Deborah

In the book of Judges, there's a woman called Deborah.  If you're a lover of the Old Testament (like I am), or you grew up in/around a church, you may know who I am referring to.  If not, a brief history: after the death of Joshua- the successor of Moses, who led the Israelites out of captivity in Egypt and through the desert- the people fell away from the Lord; worshiping idols and doing what was dishonoring in the sight of the Lord.  Because the Israelites- like all people, I think- struggled to be obedient to the Lord in the absence of a strong leader.

So, because our God is a faithful God, He raised up Judges in that time to judge Israel.  During the lifetime of the judges, the people were faithful to God, but once the  judge died, the people rebelled again.  I don't know about you, but to me it strikes me as the life cycle of all of us who succeed in being strong followers-- but fail to be strong leaders.  Does this ring true to anyone else?!

Anyway, so there was one female judge mentioned in the book of Judges, the judge Deborah.  And Deborah judged Israel from beneath a tree on a hill in the land of the tribe of Ephraim.  The book of Judges tells us that the Israelite people would come to Deborah for judgement.  And in this time, because of the unfaithfulness of the people, there was war in the land.  So one day Deborah summons a military leader named Barak and tells him that she has heard from the Lord, and that soon, the Lord would delivery the commander of the enemy army into his hands.

An interesting conversation follows this proclamation-- Barak informs Deborah that he will not go unless she goes also.  I don't know what it is about that, but I always feel like Barak is letting Deborah in on his own weakness, his own fear.  I have always loved that.  It's a sentiment that rings true for me, because more often than not, I want to know that my weakness and my insecurity is welcomed with open arms that are not ready to fix my problems, but rather are ready to walk with me through the battles to discovering my own strength.  And Deborah agrees to go.  She also tells Barak that while he may lead the army, he will not be the one who claims the victory.  That honor ultimately goes to a woman named Jael, who kills Sisera (the opposing army's leader) by gruesomely driving a tent peg through his head while he slept.

Sometimes, we focus on the death of Sisera as the climax of the story, but I would like to offer an alternative.  I believe that the climax of this story is when Barak asks Deborah to go with him- to walk with him, to lead him, and ultimately, to give the glory to someone else.  That is powerful.  The fact that sometimes we simply get to be a part of someone else's victory.  Sometimes our story isn't our story at all-- but borrowed from someone else.  And not in a plageristic way, but in a way that is real, and deep, and true.  To me, the story of Barak is not a story of his heroism, but rather, a story of his willingness to admit weakness.  The story of Deborah is not really about judging Israel from beneath a tree, but rather a story of the compassion of the LORD, whose prophet is compelled from beneath her judgement seat to walk with the people in their battles. And the story of Jael is not about whom she was married to or who she killed, it's a story of bravery.

But my favorite part of this whole story, is Deborah's tree.  Because, to me, it seems so symbolic of the presence of the LORD.  There is a sturdiness that we can see in the character of God, there is a height to His Glory that is far above the heights of man.  But there is also a depth to His mercy and wisdom that are far beyond our reach-- but the more we know Him, the more we walk with Him, the more we uncover the depth as well as learn to stand in awe of the height.

This is widely accepted as the Tree of Deborah in the Holy Land.