She told me that as soon as I was done with college, I would find myself with a surplus of time and a degree of freedom that was before unthinkable. With this time, she shared, I might find myself reading more books, finding more adventures, and sitting alone with more of my thoughts. She’s said that she learned more in the three months since she graduated college than she ever did taking classes.

In the three days and six hours since I graduated college, I have begun my journey down a similar road.

What follows might be considered the first really burdensome lesson upon which I have been dwelling.

Last week, I asked Deb how I might try to pray for a situation whose desired outcome is unclear. On one hand, I might pray for something to happen. On the other hand, of course, I might also have cause to pray for the same thing to not happen. And sometimes, it’s just not clear which way to pray.

“So, do we just pray that God’s will be done?” I asked with a hint of confused desperation.

I don’t exactly recall the words she chose in response to my inquiry. What I do recall is her discouraging me from such a prayer. She said something about it reducing God to a puppet-animator God.

“But isn’t that how Jesus taught us how to pray?”

I pondered this question in silence, sitting on the couch in her office.

A puppet-God?

Now, almost a week later, I am still preoccupied with the question of how we pray for (and about) the things toward which we harbor uncertainty.

In the past I have prayed for abundant clarity. Dear God, I might begin, please make it abundantly clear what you would have me do here.

Abundantly clear; that there be no room for doubt or uncertainty; that God show me with decisive certainty what I am to do; that God do the work of discernment for me.

What am I praying for when I ask God to make something abundantly clear?

On one hand, as a former high school teacher of mine answered on my Facebook page, I am in this prayer asking for “Clarity and/or discernment. And/or for direction.”

And that’s completely true.

But I’m also asking for something more. I’m asking that God do the work for me.

Aren’t I?

I could, of course, do what our forefathers and foremothers have done through the ages–pray and fast and wait on the Lord’s voice. I could wait and wait and wait for that point at which I might begin to discern God’s will for me.

Or I could pray that God make the next steps abundantly clear. This sure would save a lot of work, wouldn’t it?

What am I praying for when I ask God to make something abundantly clear?

I’m praying that God give me a pass; that I not need to perform any legitimate effort of discernment on my own.

My sense is that to pray for abundant clarity might reduce God to the puppet figure that Deb told me about on the couch.

Considering these points, how do we go about praying? For what do we pray? Why does a simple prayer for discernment seem so… inadequate?

(Am I completely off base here?)

Sometimes questions arise that we have a hard time immediately dismissing.

My dear friend has told me before how there are certain unsettling questions that she literally feels. There are issues with which she wrestles that affect her in a very real and physical way. There are questions that build a home inside of us, refusing to leave until we have satisfactorily addressed them.

This is one of them.

What am I praying for when I ask God to make something abundantly clear?

What follows is an excerpt from a course integration paper I wrote for my History & Theology of Christian Worship class this past quarter.  It is valuable if only because it recounts in a very cursory way the larger themes of the course.

We began the quarter considering Rudolf Otto’s Das Heilege—the Idea of the Holy.  We discussed the concept in conjunction with Isaiah chapter 6, and explored the notion that there is something profound about true worship.  If worship is by its nature an act that occurs before the throne of God, then two things happen.  Number one, we are overcome by a sense of unworthiness—this demonstrates the penitent nature of worship.  But that is only half of the story.  Secondly, we are overcome by the reality that, as in Isaiah 6, God demonstrates a desire for union.  This emphasizes the celebratory nature of worship.  Our very first class period together began with the prayer, “God, forbid that we may trifle with you in worship.” This fostered in us the beginnings of understanding that Christian worship is a sacred act, and one that must, paradoxically, be approached with both joy and mirth, and fear and trembling.

From this point, we moved forward to speak of the various languages associated with Christian worship.  From its beginning, our faith tradition has taken seriously the two associated concepts of time and space.  In Christian worship, there is a language of time that reflects the meta-narrative of the Christian story.  In Christian worship there is a language of space that understands deeply the significance of movement and location. This fostered in us the beginnings of understanding that Christian worship is something that takes place in the present situations in which we find ourselves.

As we ventured onward through the quarter, we explored the nature of early Christian practice during the apostolic period and we noted the parallel forms of Christian communication; of spoken word and acted sign.  This fostered in us the beginnings of understanding that Christian worship is something both said and done.

Our next significant block of time was spent discussing sacramentality and the idea that the ordinary is capable of acting as a conduit of the extraordinary.  We recalled the poetry of G. Manly Hopkins, and discussed the sheer multiplicity of creation and the diversity of God.  We came to a point of hope that we develop a vision to be transformed such that everything we see, we see as a conduit of the divine.   We discussed that in addition to the seven or two official sacraments, there are hundreds more, waiting to be discovered, all around us every day. This fostered in us the beginnings of understanding that Christian worship is something that can happen all day, every day, in all things and through all things.

We next asked the question, “How do you stage manage worship such that God gets a voice?”  Perhaps the notion of managing worship borders on crass and offensive to some, but the point is worth considering.  How, as worship leaders, do we negotiate the responsibility of leading God’s people in worship while recognizing that in worship, we are only able to control half of what happens?  It was stated in class, “the temptation as liturgists is to contrive worship that touches people’s souls.”  This is manipulation and clever stage management.  This is almost always a way to guarantee false worship—to evoke deep emotion, but not deep disposition. This fostered in us the beginnings of understanding that Christian worship involves a mysterious dialogue between Divine and human ethos.

Hope as basis for the eschatological character of worship was our next topic.  The idea was explored that it is a future-orientation of the Christian life and Christian worship that gives it great significance.  Worship in a very real and tangible way is full of eschatological yearning—an epiklesis, or calling down of God’s glory.  We acknowledged the parallel dangers of despair and presumption; the first indicating a lack of hope and the second indicating a belief that the future corresponds to our personal wishes. This fostered in us the beginnings of understanding that Christian worship is something that draws us out of and beyond our own selfhood.

We then began to explore in more depth the writings of Alexander Schmemann and Sally Morgenthaler, and we discussed the idea that in worship, gratitude is formed and expressed through ritual actions performed in a community.  We also explored Schmemann’s idea that original sin is a failure to see things the way they are.  From this, it is possible to contend that ministry is helping people see what is plain as a pikestaff. This fostered in us the beginnings of understanding that Christian worship is about catechesis.

In addition to classroom learning, we took the opportunity to visit several churches of different Christian traditions.  In worshipping with those who come from different backgrounds and traditions, we began to discover that there is no “right” way to worship.  Moreover, there is a wealth of tradition and practice that constitutes the rich tapestry of Christian worship. This fostered in us the beginnings of understanding that Christian worship is something that extends far beyond our own experience and spheres of knowledge.

When considering the question of change in one’s understanding of Christian worship, it is hard to determine where even to begin.  There is no question that matters such as those presented above prove formative and foundational to one’s experience of Christian worship.  There is no way to confront such understandings and not come away changed in a significant way.

With these points tendered, there are several themes that seem quite pronounced in this author’s recollective memory.  

First, we spoke at great length about sacramentality.  The notion that there are opportunities all around us, every day, to encounter the Holy is one that should prove awesome, in a literal sense, to any Christian.  A worship planner would do well to consider the fact that much of common sacramentality is a matter of having eyes to see and ears to hear what is happening all around us, every day.

Secondly, we would do well to consider seriously the prayer that began the quarter.  “God, forbid that we may trifle with you in worship.”  It seems evident that in contemporary Christianity in the United States, we are becoming increasingly good at the second of two points—that of celebration.  What we seem to have ever-increasing difficulty in doing is that act which precedes celebration—penetence.  There is something about falling awestruck before the throne and understanding the true nature of fear and trembling that would prove valuable to recapture in our worship.

By simply enrolling in a course on the history and theology of Christian worship, our very disposition as class members is generally more inclined toward theological consideration of the topic.  We are, as a group, probably much more likely to have already thought deeply about the nature of Christian worship.  Whether we are the coordinator of a campus ministry, a member of a touring music ministry, a volunteer or staff member of our local congregation, we are a peculiar group.  Considering this, when we ask ourselves “what has changed?” we might not immediately be able to compile a laundry list of revelations.  If, however, we begin to ask “What has been affirmed?”, we might very well find that the last ten weeks were among the most fruitful of our college career. 

Christian worship is by its nature mysterious and awesome, and beyond explicit definition.  But Christian worship is also something familiar, something knowable, and, God willing, something that we may hope, over time, will become increasingly natural in the most literal sense of the statement.

WHY NOT A MINISTER?

There is a small square of blue paper that sits above my desk.  It’s a piece of paper that I have looked at every day for the last three years.  Measuring three inches square, it has the scrawl of a seventh-grade boy.  “why not a minister?” it reads.  As a matter of fact, it’s a simple question.  As a matter of practice, however, the question is loaded with much significance.

“Why not a minister?” the paper reads, as if taunting me.

“Well that’s easy,” I remember responding when the question was first posed.  Prepared with a pile of silver-bullet responses, I attempted to systematically shoot down the inquiry.  If you ask anybody who knows me well, of course, you’ll learn that I’m a terrible shot.  As a result, this seventh-grader’s prophetic curiosity forced me to confront the fact that when all of my excuses have been made, there is still one question I cannot satisfactorily answer.

“Why not a minister?”

A new and very dear friend of mine has begun encouraging me to live into a life of questions and not be needlessly preoccupied with a search for answers.  “Don’t search for the answers…because you would not be able to live them,” she urges me, sitting atop a pile of rocks at the banks of the Puget Sound.  “And the point is, to live everything,” she continues, reclining in her rocky seat.  “Live the questions now.  Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

She raises points that I can’t systematically dismantle.  My silver bullets are no good here.  It is now, in the face of these questions, that it seems right to consider the experience of those who have gone before us.

CALL NARRATIVES

There are those who feel a call to ministry and jump headlong into the nearest M.Div program without a moment of hesitation.  Then, there are others.  People like me.  People who doubt their ability to serve as a mouthpiece of God, as a shepherd to sheep, as a leader of a people, as a servant of the Creator of this universe—people who even proactively deny the reality of their calling.  If I have occasion to doubt my faith when I find myself in this second category, I soon find I’m in good company.

It’s common Sunday School material to talk about how God called Moses to stand up to Pharoah with God’s demand, “Let my people go!”  What somehow got glossed over in my own catechesis, though, was the unlikely nature of Moses’ candidacy for this position.  Five times, Moses stood against God’s call, and five times God did not let Moses off the hook.  The last time, using perhaps the last silver bullet in his belt, Moses simply tells Yahweh “Please send someone else to do it” (Ex 4:13).  What does it do to our understanding when we ponder how unreceptive Moses was to God’s call in his life?

Or what about the call of Samuel (1 Sam 3)?  What I had always wondered about in this passage was how the story would have gone if Eli weren’t around that late night.  Surely God can speak to anybody He pleases, but what significance is there in the fact that Samuel needed Eli’s lifetime of experience and wisdom to discern God’s voice?  That Samuel did not recognize God’s voice but Eli did should do several things to our understanding.  Perhaps most importantly, it seems clear that one’s call to ministry sometimes requires the guidance and involvement of another.  After all, considering the second half of this story, we have little reason to believe that Eli was a perfect minister of the Lord.  Even so, and with judgment approaching, Eli’s experience of God is an essential part of this narrative. What does it do to our understanding when we ponder the role of the wisdom and experience of our elders in discerning God’s call in our lives?

The story of Jeremiah offers yet a third significant insight into the nature of a call to ministry.  In Jeremiah’s first chapter we find an account of the word of the Lord coming directly to the prophet, saying “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations” (Jer 1:4-5).  Of course, Jeremiah’s role in the redemptive history of God’s people is without question. So what does it do to our understanding when we ponder the fact that maybe, just maybe, God does have some plan for our lives?

VOCATION THROUGH THE AGES

It is an interesting proposition to consider vocation through the ages.  From the very first monastic and ascetic communities in the first centuries after Christ to the present day notion of vocation as something much more broad, there has existed for millennia an understanding that there is something distinctive about a Christian’s work in this world.  At the most fundamental level, every person will simply seek a job that pays the bills.  But a Christian will face an additional consideration.  “In what way is my work in the world helping or hindering the development of the Kingdom of God here on earth?”  For a Christian, this is a question of paramount importance.

Perhaps the most liberating shift in the idea of vocation came about as a result of the reformation.  No longer was it legitimate for a protestant to think that a vocation in the church proper was any more holy than seeking a vocation as a cobbler or a tailor.  Indeed, as we began to discover in the years of the reformation and following, it must be possible to serve God fully no matter where it was that he planted an individual, for the alternative no longer made much sense. All of this leads us to even more questions.  What does it do to our understanding when we ponder the reality that no matter where we find ourselves, we are always in a position to work toward the establishment of the kingdom of God here on earth?

NATHANAEL HENRY BERENDS THROUGH THE AGES

And so now, we take a turn toward introspection.  What has changed?  Bear Berends, my father and role model, is fond of saying “God’s grace is something we can only really understand in hindsight.”  I’d be inclined to agree with the old man.  

In the spirit of hindsight, let us go back two years to my application for transfer admission to Seattle Pacific University.  

On 1 April 2007, I concluded my transfer application with one question:

What do I know?  That God is calling me out of my selfish pursuits in marketing and television (something made more difficult by the accolades, awards, and honors that I have been blessed to receive by doing so).  

My two years in Boston have not been without purpose.  As my father says, It’s through hindsight that you really see God’s faithfulness.  I believe that today, more than ever.  I have had two of the best years of my life at Emerson College, without exception.  

Right now, however, I feel a pull on my heart to begin orienting my life more towards God. 

These last two years have been greatly affirming.  It is perhaps even poetic to see that already two years ago I was citing my father’s wisdom.  And isn’t it interesting to consider that there is something radical about the way some things change, and other things never do? 

To summarize the call narratives above, we might be able to say something about the three stories, in order; one didn’t want it, one didn’t hear it, and one couldn’t control it.  While each of these seemed strikingly true at one point or another in my own experience, I am at a point where I can say, all things considered, it is well with my soul. 

FROM PAPER TO LINOLEUM

Last week, on a 3-inch-square scrap of flooring tile, I created something that now lives on my desk. Written in black Sharpie marker on orange dappled linoleum is the question “Why do you do what you do?” Sitting next to one another, these two questions—that which began my remarks, and this that closes them—frame much of my daily reality.  

To look back upon the project of the last four years, and to ponder the reality that every step occurred as if to indicate some larger scheme, I cannot deny the suspicion that there is some bigger plan at work in my life.  My strongest sense is that it is no accident that I write this paper today, and graduate with a theology degree next Sunday.  After all, let us ask our nearest neighborhood police officer.  There’s no such thing as an accident. Surely there’s such a thing as a collision, but there’s no such thing as an accident.

What does it do to our understanding when we ponder the reality that no matter how confused our paths may become, there’s something bigger than our own selves at work here in the world and in our lives?  Our understanding changes, doesn’t it?

What does it do to our understanding to begin to confront the reality that maybe, just maybe, our lives are a means for more than our own simple and selfish gain? Our understanding changes, doesn’t it?

What does it do to our understanding to begin to confront the reality that my life is more than mine, and that yours is more than yours? Our understanding changes, doesn’t it?

And what does it do to our understanding to stand back at the end of the day and acknowledge that we have no good answer to the very simple question, “Why not a minister?”

Our understanding changes, doesn’t it?

NATE BERENDS
8 JUNE 2009

I am interested in recalling a Chapel service that took place in February in which our own Dean, Dr. Doug Strong and Pastor Mark Abbott from First Free spoke together on purity of heart.  They settled on the idea that, at least in the Beatitudinal sense, purity of heart was to want one thing.  Almost a purity of focus, or a singularity of attention.  Pastor Abbott closed his remarks by rephrasing the Beatitude. 

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for it is amazing where they see God.”

This year, in the Office of University Ministries, we’ve been exploring the idea of The Kingdom and The Gospel, and we’ve had an extraordinary time doing so.  Because we as a group seated here today are called to be kingdom builders, it is my hope that we can take the next few moments to explore what that means for us this afternoon.

Of any book on my shelf, G.K. Chesterton’s Orthodoxy is far and away the most read, re-read, highlighted, underlined, bent, tattered, and torn.

At one point in the book, he makes an extraordinary statement that is worth our considering.  He is speaking here about the proper way for a Christian to regard the world:

No one doubts that an ordinary person can get on with this world: but we demand not strength enough to get on with it, but strength enough to get it on. Can we hate it enough to change it, and yet love it enough to think it worth changing? 

Can we look up at its colossal good without once feeling acquiescence? Can we look up at its colossal evil without once feeling despair? 

Can we, in short, be at once not only a pessimist and an optimist, but a fanatical pessimist and a fanatical optimist? Are we enough of a pagan to die for the world, and enough of a Christian to die to it?

Chesterton will go on and explain that perhaps the worst thing that could happen for a Christian is for the colossal good and the colossal evil of the world to simply neutralize one another into what he calls a mild boredom.

A mild boredom, as if we come to a point of saying “Well, you know, it’s not all good, but at least it’s not all bad… Whatever.  It is what it is.”

Chesterton and Pastor Abbott would be horrified at this idea of “it is what it is.”

I’d like to propose an alternative.

Instead of throwing our hands up in resignation that “it is what it is,” perhaps our anthem should instead be this: “it can be what it is not now.”

That is the transformative nature of this kingdom message.

Friends, this is the true nature of Christian hope.  The notion that tomorrow does not need to be like today—that things can be better tomorrow than they are right now.

As kingdom people, we have all seen glimpses of heaven being made visible here on earth.  But as kingdom people we have all also seen glimpses of hell being made visible here too.  And so as we go forth, by the grace of God, we have but one choice.  Will we let the two cancel each other out and give in to this mild boredom, a sort of whateverism, or will we use our training here at Seattle Pacific University and our sightings of the kingdom over the last few years as a foundation to say “I have seen glimpses what is possible, and we are called to something better.”

Glimpses of what is possible…?  

Let’s go back to Pastor Abbott’s paraphrase of Matthew 5:8.

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for it is amazing where they see God.”

If we are able to begin finding God, our creator, in all corners of this created earth, what will that begin to do to the way we see the world around us?

As we step forward from this, our present home, we must not forget what these last few years have been, and we must not loose sight of the bigger story of which we are a part. And it is my prayer, that by the grace of God we not loose hope; that at the end of the day, we might be able to say “it can be what it is not now.”

Because friends, as we think more and more about the world in which we are called to minister, how can we not get excited to consider the idea that “things can be what they are not now?”

I long for intimacy.  As a senior this year, I don’t know if I ever thought of it in these terms, but I had kindof always thought that I’d be married by now—or at least be on the way down that road.  Some people call it the senior scramble—I call it long and tiring.  I can’t really remember how many people I’ve dated—or tried to date—in the last few years.  Every time, though, after a few weeks, it becomes clear that we’re maybe not looking for the same things.  And so the cycle continues.  For whatever reason, the only way I can think about developing intimacy with other people is in the context of marriage.  As one dating failure follows another, I’ve been confronting the possibility that maybe I’ll never get married.  It’s happened to people before me, and it will happen to people after me.  But how is it possible that it could happen to me?

If God doesn’t have marriage as a part of my life, what does he have?  What does that look like? And why does that scare me so much.  I long for intimacy.

Alaska So Far:

+These Jobs Are Everywhere

It came as a relief to me when, on my second day in Alaska, at my orientation seminar the presenter acknowledged that nobody comes up to Alaska for the job.  There are a thousand different reasons why folks head toward America’s last frontier, but these reasons have little to do with a 40hr/week work contract.  There is no job up here that is without its counterpart in the lower 48.  With this reality, I began to understand that there is something very special that draws people to this place.  

In the “outside”—an Alaskan term for the rest of the United States—there are hotels everywhere.  There are restaurants and retail operations throughout the nation at which we could have just as easily applied for employment.  There are scores of National Parks, too—most of them closer to folks’ homes than Denali.  

Nevertheless, we have chosen Alaska.  And it wasn’t because of the Job.

+Why People End Up In Alaska

Since the footings of our nation were laid, people’s pursuit of discovery has always led westward.  It seems, then, only logical to regard Alaska as a culminating point in that journey.  

In my first weeks, I noticed that the introduction processes around here have an extra feature.  In addition to typical elements of introduction found most anywhere, a common question around these parts is “Why Alaska?”  After pondering silently to myself as to why people’s responses seemed so similar, I began to more fully understand why.  A co-worker suggested that the only people who end up in Alaska are those who are running from something, or running to something.  What this is, of course, is simply two ways of referring to the same fundamental act.

People end up in Alaska because they have tried life—in any number of ways—and been left wanting.  People end up in Alaska because they are searching for more. 

Sugarloaf Mountain

+Where Faith Meets Culture

I entered this summer with some degree of reticence with regard to what I expected to be a thriving bar scene.  I arrived to just such a scene, and nearly immediately discovered the bar to be a place of meeting—a place of community.

I have a shirt (which I pilfered from the Office of Admission) that boldly proclaims Seattle Pacific University as a place where Faith Meets Culture.  I wear this shirt less and less these days.

In Alaska, I have confirmed a long-held suspicion that a college campus is not the intersection of faith and culture in nearly the same and significant way that a tavern is.  It is with a pint of Porter that one may begin an honest inquiry into the reality of both Faith and Culture.  This is not something that happens in a classroom of like-minded undergraduates.

To talk of abstinence from the realities of society—of cigarettes and ales—is to say nothing of any intersection of belief and reality.  To talk of how, as Christians, we are to behave responsibly within this reality is to begin talking about how Seattle Pacific University might hope to actually engage a culture to change a world.

Where, then do we find the point at which Faith Meets Culture?  Somewhere between two pints and a dartboard it seems.  There are probably other places, too.

Walking Along a Ridgeline

+Community of One?

Nevertheless, it has been a challenge to live as a person “set apart.”  My nearest ministry team member lives 3 miles away.  Our third team member lives 53 miles away.  And while I have made very significant and meaningful connections with Christian co-workers, this summer has provided an extraordinary lesson in the reality that Christian life is hard without the support of Christian community.  Christian life is prone to failure without the support of Christian community.  I am certain that my empirical side will not soon forget this summer.

Alpenglow

This is something that I am sure I have shared with you before, but I must reiterate it in hopes that these thoughts continue to be meaningful. Much like your thoughts about beauty, I have been captivated by the reality that Joy might be one of the only things in the world that cannot in any way be purchased–only received.

I am sure that I told you about the end of my first summer as a counselor in 2005 at SpringHill when I spent some time trying to ponder the “big picture” of the summer. There I was, ten weeks older and well more than ten weeks wiser, and I was asking the “so what?” question. After a good bit of pondering, I arrived at patience and joy.

I would hate to seem too much of a reductionist, but there’s really nothing about life that is more complicated than those two things, working together… I think.

…and if you knew fully where I am coming from in writing this, you would begin to understand. I will try to explain this momentarily.

As Christians, (and this is only possible through what we may regard as “Christian hope”) we understand that there is something better. There is some purpose that goes beyond us. Perhaps most simply, I must, as a Christian, understand that life is bigger than me. My life is for something more. Yours is too.

We will always find joy in this greater purpose, and if we’re having a hard time with even that, we must be patient enough that we may wait until our eyes are opened to that joy. It’s about patience, and it’s about joy. But, you already know all of this.

So… Where I am coming from…
Work here is terrible. I work with good people, and the work is enjoyable and challenging, but I am one of more than a thousand seasonal employees. I care not to elaborate, but work here is terrible. You’ll need to trust me here.

BUT. I live in Alaska. So it’s worth it. Again, you’ll need to trust me here. It is worth it 100%.

It has been much harder than I currently even realize to be so very far away from so many people with whom I am familiar. Alaska is good, but hard. I don’t think that there’s any bit of me that fully realized what it would be like to make life, if only for a summer, so far North into the unknown. At the end of the day, it’s a character building experience.

But really… The distance has been hard…

I received word yesterday that a guy who was on Chapel Core Staff with me this past year was killed, only 20 years old, in a bicycle accident. He was riding to work and a beer delivery truck didn’t see him… Or that’s how the story went by the time it got to Alaska. In any case, this was news that took me 4 days to hear. That was and continues to be hard.

In a completely unrelated story, there are two women, fellow seasonal employees like myself, who are presently lost, somewhere in Denali National Park. They were reported missing when they didn’t show up for work last week, and now, 5 days after they were reported missing, only 100 of Denali’s more than 9,400 square miles have been searched. The dense foliage and rugged terrain make the search very slow, if not sometimes nearly impossible.

I didn’t know either of these ladies, but their story affirms the reality that, in a moment’s time, life can change. They went out for an overnight backpacking trip, and their lives changed. My buddy Patrick got on his bike to go to work, and his life ended.

So… How do you deal with the reality of loss when there’s not a soul in sight who knows you for who you really are?

That’s the predicament at the present moment.

I have been very distracted, so my minute-to-minute life has not been terribly negative, but when I have opportunities, such as now, to reflect on such things, I begin to feel completely overwhelmed by the reality of loss.

I talked to the girl who led our Chapel Core Staff this last year, and she, very profoundly, admitted that she’s not ready to be okay with Patrick’s passing away. She’s not ready to say that she’s okay with his death. She’s not ready to say that she has found the silver lining in the situation, because, in reality, there may not be one. And I really admire her forthrightness about that.

I have, lately, been trying to figure out the logistics of being angry at God.
I read an article in a Cleveland, Ohio newspaper about Patrick’s death, and in the comments section, people kept talking about how his family’s deep and abiding faith would carry them through. Frankly speaking, that sounds like some bullshit that somebody would only say if they hadn’t ever lost a son, a brother, a close friend. Like my friend Carissa, I’m not okay with dismissing this as a matter of God’s will.

What if this is a result of the fact that the world is being held captive to sin, pain, and destruction?

Certainly I will affirm that God is active in the world today, but until Christ comes again, so is Satan. Satan is alive and well in the world today, and because of that, I am not okay with any condolences that dismiss this issue as a matter of God’s perfect will.

And yet…

Scripture is full of passages in which God asks people, very plainly, “what right do you have to be angry?”

What right do I have? None.

But the world is a broken place, and I’m still trying to figure out how to cope.

What right do I have? None.

But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.

…and it all comes back to patience and joy, doesn’t it?

It’s hard to be really joyful right now. But I have faith that if I am patient, I will soon find joy again.

And that’s a good feeling.

Please find the opportunity to read Job 38 (and 39?). God is God, and we are not. And while that does little to aid in coping with a broken world, at least it does something to affirm that God might, just maybe, possibly know that there’s a bigger plan in the works here. And at the end of the day, it’s not about you. It’s not about me. It’s about something bigger.

Life is bigger than us, and somehow that’s an idea that is a little comforting.

I am reminded of a Max Lucado quote:
If it’s all about you, then it’s all up to you.God loves you enough to say that it’s not about you.

I will look forward to sharing more about Alaska, but now is maybe not a super time for that.

I am very pleased to hear that you are well.

Most fondly,
Nate

4 He will judge between the nations
and will settle disputes for many peoples.
They will beat their swords into plowshares
and their spears into pruning hooks.
Nation will not take up sword against nation,
nor will they train for war anymore.

5 Come, O house of Jacob,
let us walk in the light of the LORD.

Isaiah 2:3-5 (NIV)

Draw your own conclusions on this one (The full essay is here.):

Excerpt:

In the 21st century? Science and technology has to face many difficulties. The planet is full. We will be 10 to 12 billion in 2050. Can we have 10, 12 billion people live in normal life and not deteriorate completely the planet? The natural resources are decreasing, there will be no more oil and coal and gas and no more uranium in a rather short time.

It is often said that science and technology are the remedy. I think we have to say something else. Science and technology are necessary but not sufficient. It is clear that science and technology may as well keep on deteriorating or may be used to improve the situation.

The main thing required is something that is not scientific but emergence of the planetary consciousness, the planetary conscience; a will to stop the deterioration. For this we need a strong political will on a planetary scale.

So I think science is fundamental, we need science, we need technology but more than that we need the real conscious will to say we have to do something to answer the question “Is complexity viable?” No one knows the answer. It depends on what we do, it is our responsibility to do something in order to make the answer “yes.”