The first few times I tried reading the Bible through from start to finish, the place where I ran into trouble was the section on the Tabernacle. I could get through the genealogies in Genesis, which only lasted a chapter or so at most, but the tabernacle account contains six chapters (Exod. 25-31) of building instructions and lists of materials, dimensions, parts of pieces of furniture, and so on. These chapters are followed by the story of the Golden Calf, which lasts about three chapters, and then five more chapters (Exod. 35-40) of descriptions of the building instructions being carried out. This raises the question of why the text places so much emphasis on how the Tabernacle was constructed.
Read more at https://michianacovenant.org/the-tabernacle-god-in-our-midst/
Thursday, August 17, 2017
The world is in turmoil. Last week it looked like the U.S. was on the brink of nuclear war with North Korea. This week the news is buzzing with reports of white supremacists marching and violence that flows from that. If you come across this post a few weeks from now, there will probably be some new disaster in the news that has people worried. There is a lot of genuine evil in the world, and it can get overwhelming.
Two days in a row, my devotions have pointed me to verses that seem particularly relevant to all the nonsense that's happening in the world.* Yesterday was Isaiah 9:6-7 "To us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on His shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of peace. Of the increase of His government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on the throne of David and over His kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will accomplish this.”
Now that you, my readers, all have Handel’s Messiah going through your heads, let me point out the themes that he overlooked. We’re talking about a king who establishes a just, righteous government that is never overthrown and establishes peace. The Hebrew concept of peace is much broader than just a cessation of fighting. It refers to wellbeing, flourishing, a state where all is, generally speaking, well.
Today I read Daniel 7:13-14: “The Son of Man will come with the clouds of heaven. In the presence of the Ancient of Days, He will be given dominion and glory and a kingdom, so that all peoples, nations, and men of every language will worship Him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and His kingdom is one that will never be destroyed.”
This verse isn’t about events that will happen in the future. It’s about Jesus coming into the presence of the Ancient of Days (God the Father) after His ascension to receive authority. Already we see people from all peoples, nations and languages worshipping Him.
Jesus already reigns over our broken world. On a cosmic level, all is well. That doesn’t mean we just sit around and wait for him to act. It means that as we do the work of advancing justice and righteousness, we can be confident that in the end good will triumph.
*The verses were collected by Ken Boa in his book A Journal of Sacred Readings, which I highly recommend.
Monday, February 20, 2017
Sunday, January 29, 2017
A song for David, the choirmaster. To “Dives and Lazarus.”*
Sing praises to the Three in One, the God of harmony,
Who makes the universe ring out in varied unity
Join with the music of the stars, the earth, the sea, the air,
For everywhere that beauty shines, His handiwork is there.
Sing praises to our saving Lord who led us through the sea
When waves of sin and hatred raged in dark cacophony.
We sing to Him who split the waves and led us on dry land,
And feeds us in this wilderness with manna from His hand.
Sing praises to the God of love who died our lives to save,
Who tasted all death’s bitterness, lay cold within the grave.
Who shattered death, burst from the tomb. No pow’r could hold him there.
We shout with joy, “He is alive!” The glad news we declare.
Sing praises to the Lamb who rules the universe in might.
Who will return, restore His world, set all creation right.
Though flesh may fail and life may flee and death may close our eyes,
He will breathe life into dead bones; our song again shall rise.
* David Spicer, the choir director at the church I grew up in, passed away last week. He was a genius, the musical equivalent of the architect of a Gothic cathedral in Europe. He crafted the accompaniments of every hymn he played to convey the message of the lyrics. On many Sundays he improvised incredible, intricate medleys of every hymn and anthem we sang during the service, often using these as an introduction to the Doxology. He conducted choirs with professionally trained singers but also children’s choirs. In addition to teaching me music theory and singing techniques, he encouraged me in my faith profoundly. He was also the first person to ask me to write a hymn. He asked for words that could be sung to a tune called “Dives and Lazarus.” I wrote a hymn to that tune then, and he praised the result so much that I just kept writing hymns. Even after I had moved away, he often asked me if I was still writing them. I can think of no better way to honor Mr. Spicer than to write a hymn in his memory to the first and only specific tune he requested lyrics for.
Thursday, November 24, 2016
This year, like many others, I feel tempted to skip over Thanksgiving and go right to Advent. Not Christmas, Advent. The time of waiting for Christmas, when we sing the only lament most Evangelicals know ("O come, O come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel that mourns in lonely exile here …") and look out from our troubled world to the hope of something better. (Who? Me? Depressive?)
But that’s why I need to give thanks. I need to remember that there is good in the world I’m in right now. My ultimate hope is in the future, but that’s not the only hope. And God has already given me many tremendous blessings.
This year in particular, I have much to be grateful for. I was accepted into a PhD program, so I know what I’ll be doing for the next five years or so. In the words of Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof, I get to “discuss the ancient books with the learned men seven hours every day.” It’s a cool job and one that I really enjoy when I stop to think about it. This also means I get five more years with the wonderful community I’ve grown so fond of over the last two years. I’m thankful for my great friends here and the spectacular, generous hospitality I’ve received from them. I also have a contract on a really cute house 2 miles from campus. I’m so thankful that things have worked out so well for me.
And then there are all the universal blessings, things I’ve enjoyed for most of my life. My incredible family, old friends who I can still stay in touch with through the marvels of modern technology (even when they’re on the other side of the world), heat and air conditioning, modern medical care, the beauty of the natural world and so much more. God has been really good to us.
This year has also been hard for me in one major way. My beloved grandmother passed away in February. Now it feels like there is a hole in the world, a place where she should be but isn’t. I can turn in a moment from smiling at a compliment someone gave me to feeling deep sorrow when I realize that the compliment was on a piece of jewelry I inherited from her. And yet, this, too, is something to be grateful for. I’m grateful that my grandmother was such a sweet, generous woman. I’m thankful for all the things she taught me, for the good memories I have and that I was able to spend so many years with her. I’m also thankful that I was able to see her and say goodbye a month or so before she died. I miss her, but I’m glad for the time I had with her and that she is now no longer suffering but rejoicing before the throne of her beloved Savior.
And this leads me to the last and greatest reason why I give thanks. During my devotions this morning I read Colossians 3:1-4:
If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.
I’m thankful that Christ died for me, that I died with him, and now I, like him, have been raised up and received new life. None of the troubles of this world can touch me because the source of my life is beyond this world. I have the hope of sharing in His glory when He returns.
So now, as I wait for that time, I will try to give thanks, to rejoice, to enjoy all the good things God has given me while holding them loosely, knowing that my true treasure is in Christ.
Monday, September 26, 2016
Monday, August 22, 2016
As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust. – Psalm 103:13-14
Three months ago, the summer stretched in front of me, weeks and weeks with no fixed schedule where I could devote myself to everything I wanted to get done. I planned to learn German read both fiction and nonfiction, whip my mom’s garden into shape, reconnect with old friends, write a large part of a novel, compose several blog, practice my flute regularly and shop for a house. I wish I was exaggerating. Classes start tomorrow, and not all of that got done. Not even close. My summer is just like life in general: so much to do, so little time.
If someone walked up to you and said, “You are dust,” you’d probably be very confused and a little offended. If they explained that in the Bible, comparing people to dust is a way of emphasizing mortality, you’d be less confused, but probably still offended. Our culture does everything it can to forget about death. We encourage our kids to reach for the stars and promise that if they work hard they can be anything they want to be. We spend hours exercising and go on all kinds of diets so that we look young and attractive. Even our meat comes in pristine shrink-wrapped packages with all the icky organs removed, so it doesn’t remind us of the animals it came from.
It’s tempting to think that reminding people of their mortality – or any limit – is unkind. People want to be encouraged, to have people build up their self-esteem. But actually, recognizing our limitations is far kinder than denying them.
Psalm 103 associates God’s compassion for humanity with His remembering that they are dust. Often, we are least compassionate when we forget human limits. It’s easy to get impatient when you think someone should be able to do something for you, but they don’t. And if you’re in a position of authority, expecting people to do more than they’re capable of can make their lives miserable. New professors, for example, are infamous for giving unreasonable amounts of work because they don’t know what students can handle.
The same goes for my attitude toward myself. Too often, I forget that I am dust. When I think about everything I tried and failed to do this summer, frustration and discouragement threaten to overwhelm me. There are so many good things to do, and one lifetime is far too short to get them done. But I don’t have to do everything. I am dust, and creatures of dust need time to rest. And God knows I am dust. He will not be disappointed that I can’t do everything. He knows my weakness and has compassion. Paradoxically, God extends compassion and mercy precisely because He knows we are dust. He loves us not because we can do so much but because we need His love so desperately.
Friend, when (not if) people fall short of your expectations, remember that they are dust. And when (not if) you disappoint yourself, remember that you are dust. And rejoice that God also remembers we are dust, forgives our sins and comforts us in our weaknesses.