Death as a Way of Life

Impending death greatly concentrates the mind. The priorities get real sharp real fast. All kinds of things suddenly don't matter at all - and some things are more important than life itself.

Jesus' whole life was lived in the shadow of his death. We get hints of it every once in a while as we see the look in his eyes as he nears Jerusalem, or as he talks about the Kingdom of God, or as he gazes into sightless eyes, or as he speaks into open tombs. The look is that of a man who knows where he came from and where he is going. It is an uncommon look.

He had a single, simple focus. His life was concentrated by death. If his life seems somehow more vibrant and richer than those around him, perhaps that is why. Theirs were lived in varying shades of gray, his in the brilliant spectrum of every color of the rainbow. It is one of the reasons why people, even those who eventually turned away, were attracted to him in the first place. He was fully alive. And those near him seemed somehow to share in that life.

You only get to be that way - fully alive - by gazing steadily into your own tomb. By living with death as a way of life.

That defining gaze allowed him to embrace lepers; to play freely with children and others who could do him no good; say what needed to be said without fear; to let some people define themselves as his enemies; to risk ridicule and rejection. He not only marched to the beat of a different drummer, he had a whole new marching band playing out his life! He lived to please no one but his Father in Heaven.

And what is more, he invites us to do the same. He invites us to come and die with Him. To die daily. And having died, to really fully live. Those who have embraced their death have nothing left to lose. And are free to live - flamboyantly, vibrantly, completely - until the death they have embraced, embraces them - and ever after.

The Lord's Prayer (A Lenten Meditation - Part Six)

"And lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil."

We have given the fullness of our lives over to Him, and consider the realities of what that might mean. We watch as Jesus is led by the Spirit out into the Wilderness to be tempted and wonder if that might not just as easily happen to us. As disturbing a prospect as that is, we must let the prayer say what it says. Jesus is teaching us to pray that the Father not lead us into temptation.

We are praying for a change in our nature - for it is to our nature that temptation appeals. Our own desires pull us toward satisfaction at whatever cost - unless they are disciplined, mortified, controlled. So we pray that we not enter fully into what we still are, but be lead to what we might yet become. The way there is often through the wilderness.

And yet again, we want to be spared entry into - engagement with - temptation. We will be tempted, but pray that we not enter in. The pull will be there. So we ask for strength, courage, strategy, to resist.

What kind of Father is this to Whom this prayer need be prayed? But here, we see. He is the kind of Father for whom this prayer is His will. He does not will that we be brought into temptation. So we pray according to His will. At least as we are able to understand it. But His will is sometimes other than what we can understand. We are in this, as in all things, at His mercy. This is a prayer for that mercy. At some level, it is simply that we not be tempted beyond our ability to stand. At another level, it is that we be continually strengthened and fortified that we be able to increasingly stand.

At the core of it all is the request that evil not have the final word - that we be delivered from it. Inside and out, evil is real. It has entity status. It has a name. We do not want the Evil One to triumph over us. That will require deliverance. Fortunately, we pray to One who has the power to deliver. And who has shown Himself willing to deliver. We ask - before, in the midst, and in the final analysis, "deliver us from evil."

Transitionality

I have lately found myself answering questions about how I am with seasonality. “I’m in a busy season just now.” Or, “It’s a season of chaos but it’ll settle down in a bit.”

It got me to thinking. If you get enough of those seasons together in a row, it won’t be long before you have a whole year! And then, two... And, before you know it, a lifetime of seasons will have passed by without ever once being anything but a season, without ever once getting anywhere, without ever once a “when” or a “then” arriving. I am left to wonder if there really is anything after this current season but another season. In other words, there is no “when” or “then,” just now. And now, is transitional and will always be. It leads me to a theory of transitionality.

It is this: life is nothing but transitional. Therefore, the greater your expectation of arrival, the lower your capacity for transition, and thus, the lower your capacity for life – as it is, or as it will be.

The reason seems to me simple. We are built to be the Image of God – but can not hold still long enough in that identity without having to tinker with it. Our tinkering dislodged us from the core of our identity and sent us carooming off distant objects in longing search for ourselves at home, which inevitably leads to repeated disappointment because we will never be at home until we are finally ourselves, at home.

As it turns out, we are built to be where we are. And we would rather be anywhere but there. So, off we go again, thinking we are just around the next corner. But we are not.

We have lost our lease, having proved unsuitable tenants for the paradise we were built for – but we go on and on and on thinking that, if we can just get through this season, we will finally be able to settle down. Only to find we are in yet another season.

Transitionality.

Nothing for it but to seek to be where we are, by the grace of God. Which is the only way we can ever be where we are. And is our home.

The Lord's Prayer (A Lenten Meditation - Part Five)

"Forgive us our debts,

as we also have forgiven our debtors."

This is not first the prayer of the stranger, the one outside of the family, but is the prayer of the children. Our first forgiveness, the one that enables us to find our place at the table is not conditioned upon anything but asking and receiving. But having been forgiven such massive debt, we now have a reciprocal obligation to forgive those who are in debt to us. Forgiving is what forgiven people do.

To forgive is to offer to others the grace that has been offered to us. To have received grace without moving toward becoming grace-full is oxymoronic. We forgive out of the forgiveness we have received - to not forgive indicates that we have yet to receive forgiveness. Having been adopted into the family and given the privilege whereby we can call God, "Our Father," pushes us to learn to act like our adoptive Father - to take on the family resemblance. This is at the core of being witness - this is what those outside the family see when they look in. "Look - they love one another." Forgiveness is a mark of love. To not forgive is to miss the part of love that does not keep a record of wrongs suffered.

When we forgive, we are part of the answer to our prayer that God's will might be done. God's will is to forgive. If we do not forgive, we contradict our own longings that His will be done; we get in the way of our own prayer. To forgive is to put ourselves in the river of mercy that flows from the throne of grace.

Forgiveness is not about settling debts. It is not about balancing the books. It is not about assigning blame or guilt. It is not about making someone pay. It is not about making things fair. It is about making things right. It is about restoring relationship if at all possible. It is about what God is about.

Sometimes, forgiveness is the only way forward. The past is so tangled with shame and accusation and guilt and blame that death is the only way to untangle all the knots. Forgiveness is a way of dying. At least, if we forgive in Jesus Name. He has taught us how to forgive.

The Lord's Prayer (A Lenten Meditation - Part Four)

"Give us this day our daily bread."

Only God really knows what our needs for each day are. And so we turn to Him. And we ask. We ask as children, having been taught that He is our Father. And we ask expecting, having learned that He is our Heavenly Father, whose Name is hallowed. And we ask, not simply for ourselves, but that all His children would have their needed bread. Today. Tomorrow, we will ask again.

How deep is the mystery of this asking. Unarguably, God knows our needs. Unarguably, He desires to meet our needs, for He is that kind of God. And still, we are taught to pray for daily bread. Perhaps it is more a relationship we are being taught into than a necessity for existence. Or, perhaps, relationship with Him is necessary for our existence. For bread goes far beyond what we need to eat. Bread is life.

Bread pushes us to consider what our daily lives require. Truthfully, unless they are much too small, daily bread is often the least of our needs. We are pushed to think. How much life do I need for today? How much life from above, from the Kingdom of the heavens, do I require for this days living? So many days, the answer is little. Or none. My daily life is completely self-contained. It is so narrowly and shallowly lived that no external resources are needed.

What would happen if we had to live up to our daily bread? If we had to completely consume all the resources given us for the day? Would we even know how to live so fully that each day is complete consumed, creating a deep demand for tomorrow's bread when it comes? Or do we try and hoard some of today's life, just in case tomorrow's bread runs short? Perhaps we even long for the bread of tomorrow, today. But no. Sufficient unto the day is the bread thereof.

And so, we ask. We ask from the whole of our being, for the wholeness of our being. We ask of One who is able to make bread out of nothing. And has. "Give us what we need for today."