My Wistful Dreams

The quiet hours of the morning are my favorite time to read the Bible and pray. I especially enjoy opening the window to my office in the church and allowing the cool morning air in while I read our daily reading. Outside my window this morning, there are a host of sparrows who dance and twitter across the metal splash guard below the window sill. I wish I knew what they were saying as they take wing and head out after another insect meal.

There was a time when I didn't concern myself with such things, that was until the day I came face to face with my mortality. (A story for another blog.) Now, I don't pack my days from one to the other with meaningless things that don't satisfy. I will be happier, when I can slow down and devote two or three days to mentoring younger men, chatting with brothers in the Lord over a cup of coffee every morning, and spending lazy afternoons with my wife talking about our kids and grandkids.

Don't get me wrong, I like to work. A matter of fact, the day I can't work will be a terrible day for me. I enjoy the gift of work. I love the feel of power tools, hand tools, and the thrill of a project as it takes shape by the work of my hands. I'd enjoy it more, if it weren't so compulsory. My father put me to work at his place of business when I was thirteen. From the time I was twelve, I took care of sixteen horses. My father is the kind of man who works from the moment he gets up till he goes to bed. He doesn't know anything else. Thankfully his need to keep moving and doing things was not genetic. I look for the day when I can awaken anytime I want and spend more time before the Lord. I'm not asking to retire, just slow down.

My wistful dreams go to things that have been in my heart as long as I can remember. I long to spend unconcerned hours discussing the Kingdom with my Pastor. I long to share the things of God to those who are hungry to know him and want to explore the mysteries of God together. I wish to expose the love of Christ to those who don't know him. My spirit has desired to walk foreign shores and bring the Kingdom of God on earth. I long to see the lame walk again, the blind see again, and the deaf hear once more. These things thrill me more than anything I've done in my life, and I've done a lot of things.

In my lifetime, I've stood on the shores of both the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, looked out into the Great Lakes, stood on the banks of the Mississippi river, stood on ancient dried up lake beds, walked prehistoric Native American pueblos and sat on the meeting stones in their Kivas. I've seen things and worked on things I can't talk about. I've talked for hours with Saudi men and women, while dangling my bare feet in the Persian Gulf. I've walked through Frankfurt, Germany, and stood in places I wasn't permitted to put a name to. None of this, absolutely none of it compares to the joy of watching a child hear for the first time as Jesus opened their ears. Nothing I've ever done has ever brought me more joy than watching a little boy or girl give their heart and life to the Lord for the very first time. I've seen so many addicted and bound young people get saved, that they had to have two forty gallon trash cans to haul away the drugs and alcohol given up by them. I've seen cancer fall off someone more than once. I've thrilled to the enthusiasm as a blind girl saw her own face for the first time. These are the things I want to see more and more as my days on this vale grow shorter and shorter. You see, I'm not one of those people who have a death wish or are miserably unhappy in this life. Actually, I would like to live another 40 years to see the goodness of the Kingdom of God explode on this earth. I would like to be there when my great grandchildren see the power of God split the sky and reveal the Christ.

As I write this, I watch with amusement while a sparrow pecks at an unfortunate bug just below the window sill. I want to be like the little sparrow that King David wrote about. I want to flit in and out of the tabernacle of God without fear, safe in secure in the knowledge that God has my every need taken care of. I live for this day, and like Job, I know I shall see it in the land of the living.    

BEING GRATEFUL

In many ways, I am enjoying this time in my life, more than any other. Things are clearer to me now than they've ever been. I'm not overrun by testosterone, pride, anxiety, or any of the other trappings of my younger days. Sunrise and sunset move me to tears. Right now, I'm looking out my office window of the church toward lake Harrison and watching the sun rise. Suddenly, I'm tearing up. The noise from the street wafts up over the edge of the second story and echoes softly. I have the window open, and a sparrow is bathing himself in a puddle on the roof made by the early morning dew. It is the antics of these little birds that caused me to name this blog the Sparrow's Perch. They don't fret about what to wear, where to live, where the next meal will come from. It is a place of complete trust. Listening to them talk to one another, I feel an amazement at how patient our God must be with us silly humans. It's as if they are saying: Trust God, Trust God, Trust God. You see, the sun came up. Don't start laughing and go all scientific on me. I know all about orbits, fusion reactions that power stars, gravity, and other mechanical factors that hold this rock in place around our sun. The mechanics don't impress me.

The sun 'rose' long before I was born, and for the sake of my children and grandchildren, I am sure it will continue long after I'm gone. What goes unsaid in the machinations of everyday life, is gratefulness to the creator for sustaining this physical universe he created for us. Gratitude doesn't come easy for us humans. We are so cocksure of ourselves that we are the center of the universe. For a large part, the modern world has dismissed the idea of a creator and embraced the lunacy of extraterrestrial guidance. It's easier to be angry at long forgotten alien species than to humble yourself before a loving and ever mindful creator.

Withholding gratitude is one of the most selfish acts we commit. We withhold it from our God, and from one another. Sure, we give one another a polite “thank you,” and move on quickly with our life, but being grateful is a step above. Gratefulness takes our appreciation of God to another level. In our relationships with one another, gratefulness absolves the other person of any debt or responsibility. Gratefulness says: “I am pleased and content with what you did for me.” It is deeper than the cursory 'thanks.' Once we express our gratitude, we can't call them back in anger and say; “what'd you give me the piece of crap for?” or “I can't believe you only went that far in helping me when I needed more help.” Gratitude is the most freeing thing we can give someone else. It means we give up ownership or any future claim to dissatisfaction. Why do I say that? Because we all know from our childhoods when we became bored with a toy or a friend and would begin to complain, our parents would say; “you sure seemed happy with it when we gave it to you.” Or, “what happened, you were playing with your little friend just fine a few minutes ago?” What we learn early on in our life, is that gratitude is forever. Stinginess offers a stifled “thank you,” and moves on quickly to the next thing it wants.

So, as I watch the little sparrows splash with joy in the puddles on the roof, I will be grateful to God for the sound of their chirps, the rumble of cars in the street below, the whir of the fan on my computer, and the soft ticking of the second hand on the mantle clock. I will praise God for the sun rising in a blaze of light behind a curtain of lush green trees. I will breathe and be grateful that my heart still beats within this frail earth suit which holds my spirit.

WHY?

This I know; somewhere this morning there is a hormonally challenged young man weaving through traffic and cursing everyone who gets in his way. There is a mother cursing a crying child because she can't figure out what the child wants. There is a businessman shaving himself and wondering if he will be able to pull off the business deal of the year. There are people everywhere, doing what people do, oblivious to what God is doing to keep them alive. Scientists eagerly search the macro and micro to disprove God, only to come back to the most basic question: where did it all come from? This is a moot question for me. I've chosen to live in the sparrows perch, close to the Holy Place, in the shadow of the Almighty. Yes, I know the mechanics of the universe, because I know the creator. I don't have to be grateful for the mechanics, but I choose to be grateful for the next heave of my chest, the dance of my fingers upon the keyboard, and most wondrously of all, the mind which allows me to do all of it and still hear the little sparrows chirping outside my window.

I am so grateful Lord God for who you are and all you do.       

THE CREATIVE CHURCH

I've never apologized for being a Christian.

There were times when I've felt embarrassed for those who call themselves Christians, who allowed themselves to be drawn into the media spotlight to defend some aspect of their faith. From the sparrows perch, faith appears foolish and childish in the cold hard glare of the media camera. There is nothing logical or scientific about faith. There is no apologetic argument that can prove God just as there is also no logical or scientific argument that can disprove Him. He exists above and beyond our futile attempts. Ever since I was a young man, I've always loved science and the exploration of our universe. I've always stayed at the far edges of the Christian paradigm, but have never lost my faith in a creator who created me to be creative. Actually, my heart breaks for those who've divorced science from the one who created it. It must be sad to spend your days in hot pursuit of an answer beyond the one given to us. You see, at the end of it all, the physical death of this fleshly vessel resolves all issues. It requires just as much faith to believe there is no God, as it does to accept the internal knowledge that he does exist.

I'm always amazed at the anger and malevolence of non-believers toward those who believe. Our liberal universities with all their claims to free thinking, will not tolerate or entertain the idea of intelligent design. Christian speakers are lambasted and ostracized before they ever appear. Scientific papers can't even allude to the divine. It is no wonder our universities, technical sector, and manufacturing giants are bemoaning the lack of science graduates. By their very antagonism, they are pushing away one of the most creative block of thinkers to walk the earth. By it's very nature, science doesn't imagine. That would imply faith. The life and light of faith moves beyond the mathematical construct into a dimension of thought beyond the numbers. Faith will always align with the numbers, but numbers don't always align with faith. That is the power of a creative spirit. It is the spirit God himself put in us. It is the spirit the church needs to regain.

I believe the church should be the most creative, talented, and innovative people on earth. We claim to hold the Spirit of God in these earthen vessels, yet we stifle that creative spirit by our dogmatic rush to “a better place.” The better place is now! The Kingdom of God doesn't begin on the day of our death, it began on the day of our spiritual birth. On that day, we became infused with the life giving, creative power of the Holy Spirit. Yet, as quickly as the newborn babe in Christ is put in the spiritual bassinet, the old heads who've had the light of creativity stolen from them, begin to bind up the newborn. Statements like; “You can't think that way.” “It'll never work.” “That's heresy.” echo up and down the spiritual maternity halls we call churches. The dogmatic, fearful, and those who lust after power, poison any attempt to express the joy of new birth.

Creativity should be one of the hallmarks of the Christian walk. We should be the ones who dream upon the stars and see new worlds at our fingertips. For example, Science Fiction writers don't create fantastic worlds for the sake of creating worlds we'll never see, they see them now, and they long for our world to be a greater place of understanding and creativity. They create an extraterrestrial world to resolve a terrestrial conflict. Christians live in an extraterrestrial Kingdom and we have the answer to the terrestrial conflict.

From my place on the sparrows perch, I see the unending parade of people who seek to know God, and the happiest ones, are the ones who are creative. These are the ones who recognize the impossible and will it to be done by faith. I see those things we wish we were, as guides to those things we will be. This brief stay upon this earthly vale isn't even our childhood in an eternal time line, it is more like the blink of an eye. I just think that the blink should sparkle with the light and life of a creative God.        

My Grandson Brendan, and The Place of Intimacy

From the sparrows perch atop the posts of the tabernacle, one thing becomes abundantly clear; there is a true desire among most men to have a place of relationship with the creator of the universe.  The ebb and flow of mankind through the gate of the tabernacle fence demonstrates the desire for the presence of God.  As our little sparrow flits from perch to perch in the courtyard, he can't help but notice that there is one place that only a handful of people go to.  When they enter, they wear ornate dress and carry blood stained items in their hands. It is a place he is intimate with, but very few men can enter.  For our little sparrow, it is the shadow of the almighty, the tender place beneath His wing, a refuge from the storms, the Fowler, and pestilence.  It is the holy place.  

One of the pleasures of growing old, is that while life seems to move in a frenetic dash toward the exit at stage left, there are these marvelous moments of extended clarity.  These moments can be held in breathtaking moments of contemplation and meditation. One of these moments happened for me recently as I thought of my grandson Brendan playing in our tub.  I'd long forgotten the pleasures of a large bathtub filled to scuba diving depth.  Along the ledge of the tub were swimming goggles, buckets, floaties, and other necessities for swimming in the tub.  Just a small amount of bubble bath, takes it up to another level.  At my age, taking a shower or bath has a distinct purpose; to get clean.  Having fun in the tub. . . . lets just say I'm not as small as Brendan.  He gets on the edge of the tub and with a quick thrust of his legs, slides down the slope of the tub into the water.  The splash of water bathes the floor and the walls (all tiled of course.)  This goes on for at least an hour, until his grandmother tells him it's enough.  He is animated as she towels his shivering little body and he dances on his toes in joy.  In one unrehearsed moment, he pecks her on the cheek.  "I love you, grandma Bragg."  he says.  "Can I sleep in the waterbed with you and grandpa tonight?"

What do you think the answer was?   

One thing I think happens to us in our Christian walk, is that we forget what it is like to take a bath in the Lord. We forget about our silly spiritual swimming goggles, our joy at sliding down the slope of his presence and feeling the joy of His love splashing all over everyone and everything. We forget the moments when all we wanted to do, was kiss His lovely face and ask if we could sleep with Him.  Too quickly, we forget the thrill of diving into the safety of his love and the warmth of his Spirit as he dries us off from our experience with him. Our failures, filthiness, mistakes, or just plain fun, begin to make us pull away.  The innocence that is the hallmark of intimacy is exchanged for the shame of occasional visits.  

The sparrow can't help but notice it either.  The Lord has never refused to feed him, has never pushed him away from His presence.  Mankind picks people to go in to the Holy Place who on the surface appear to have it all together.  The tender embrace of intimacy is exchanged for the rights and rituals of cleansing.  The cross and its work become the focus of their religious existence instead of staying in the tub of his presence. It's no wonder our services are relegated to simple formulas that leave us clean, cold, and longing.  We run the water of the Spirit by singing two or three hymns or choruses.  Of course, we can make the water as hot or cold as we want, until someone complains. We don't want to run the water too deep, that would be a waste of . . .time. Then we pull out the soap of the word, lather up and let the man of God pronounce his inspection of our lives.  Yes, we could grow sinful potatoes in our ears, get the crud from under our fingernails, and wipe the poop off our rear ends.  Now, we dry off with our Spiritual towel, knowing there is one thing we would really love to do if we had the time;  jump back in and splash around awhile.  Instead, we head off toward our Sunday meal, make excuses to ourselves for not having fun, and then take a nap to dull the pain of knowing there was more fun to be had in the presence of God.  

As we grow older, our two man spiritual tub is replaced with a more economical model, or we simply take showers.

Enough said.