I confess, once more
I repent, once more
For patience, I ask, once more
I desire, once more
I come, once more
I resign, once more
I die, once more
and
In freedom, I bask, once more
2 Corinthians 3:17
Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Monday, March 19, 2012
the hospitality of the gospel
This semester for Western Civilization we are required to attend "Afternoon Conference" once each week outside of class. During this time we discuss a Christian virtue, how it applies to our current lives, and how it applies to the time period we are talking about in class. The other day we were talking about hospitality and we started discussing how it could be a doorway for sharing the gospel. In the midst of the discussion, one of my classmates spoke up with this statement: "Well, hospitality is the gospel."
My first thought was, "Heh, that's a cute cliche." And then I tried to forget it.
But have you ever had those phrases that just seem to get glued to your brain the moment you hear them? Yeah.
I finally sat down with my journal and thought about this the other day.
Hospitality. In what way does hospitality = the gospel?
I think this idea can be connected to some things I've been pondering all semester.
I've been learning about rest. How it can be a state of mind. It can be a choice. It can be a decision to trust. To cast. To lay down one's striving.
The gospel is home for the weary soul.
So how does this relate to hospitality?
Hospitality: the art of making a guest feel at home.
It is the art of making someone forget his identity as the guest. Helping him relax. Giving him permission to act as if he were not a guest, but instead an honored member of the family.
As I watched my nephew enjoy the comforts of our home this week, this came to mind: Both hospitality and the gospel are most fully experienced when the guest/sinner is able to humble himself and become like a child. Adults are too busy trying to repay. Children would never think of it because they understand their inability.
The gospel is all about hospitality. Hospitality offered by a Holy God to homeless sinners. An invitation to become children.
Romans 8:15-16
For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, "Abba, Father." The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children.
My first thought was, "Heh, that's a cute cliche." And then I tried to forget it.
But have you ever had those phrases that just seem to get glued to your brain the moment you hear them? Yeah.
I finally sat down with my journal and thought about this the other day.
Hospitality. In what way does hospitality = the gospel?
I think this idea can be connected to some things I've been pondering all semester.
I've been learning about rest. How it can be a state of mind. It can be a choice. It can be a decision to trust. To cast. To lay down one's striving.
The gospel is home for the weary soul.
So how does this relate to hospitality?
Hospitality: the art of making a guest feel at home.
It is the art of making someone forget his identity as the guest. Helping him relax. Giving him permission to act as if he were not a guest, but instead an honored member of the family.
As I watched my nephew enjoy the comforts of our home this week, this came to mind: Both hospitality and the gospel are most fully experienced when the guest/sinner is able to humble himself and become like a child. Adults are too busy trying to repay. Children would never think of it because they understand their inability.
The gospel is all about hospitality. Hospitality offered by a Holy God to homeless sinners. An invitation to become children.
Romans 8:15-16
For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, "Abba, Father." The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children.
Friday, March 16, 2012
plates
Plastic tables lined the white-walled living room. Antique dishes rested on their surface, along with lamps, paintings, and faded quilts.
"We didn't think this day would come so soon" She said. The end of an era. The end of independence. I could see it in her eyes.
We walked around and admired the items, each with little white price tags attached. She followed us in her grey power chair.
"I served many dinners on these plates," She said as I picked up a piece of china. "It would be a joy to see then go to dear friends like you."
We wrapped them up, ready to carry the memories with us.
I stood there with my arms full, and my thoughts turned inward for a moment. I was suddenly aware of an emotion welling up inside of me. It was something like a longing. An ache. It was not a new feeling.
It was like being in a new environment but smelling a familiar smell. Deja vu of the emotions. I knew I had felt this before.
It was the same emotion I often feel as I walk down the halls of the nursing home.
Its a silent joy. A quiet ache. A desire to give, and carry, and bring life. I like to think that it's a desire born from the gospel, and a desire to bear the gospel. The best way that I can think of to describe it is this: It's a desire to encourage and be the life that others are lacking.
In a way, I think it's a pure and holy desire, but I also think it's a foolish one.
Standing there with my arms full, I realized my complete inability. I wanted to take them all. To carry each of those plates, quilts, lamps - each of those memories - for her. I felt like I had something that she didn't have: time to live.
It makes me wonder how much of my desires to serve are stained with pride. How much of me only wants to give because I believe that I have the thing that others are lacking? When instead I should be giving because I know the One who never lacks, and always gives.
Oh Lord, rid me of myself.
"We didn't think this day would come so soon" She said. The end of an era. The end of independence. I could see it in her eyes.
We walked around and admired the items, each with little white price tags attached. She followed us in her grey power chair.
"I served many dinners on these plates," She said as I picked up a piece of china. "It would be a joy to see then go to dear friends like you."
We wrapped them up, ready to carry the memories with us.
I stood there with my arms full, and my thoughts turned inward for a moment. I was suddenly aware of an emotion welling up inside of me. It was something like a longing. An ache. It was not a new feeling.
It was like being in a new environment but smelling a familiar smell. Deja vu of the emotions. I knew I had felt this before.
It was the same emotion I often feel as I walk down the halls of the nursing home.
Its a silent joy. A quiet ache. A desire to give, and carry, and bring life. I like to think that it's a desire born from the gospel, and a desire to bear the gospel. The best way that I can think of to describe it is this: It's a desire to encourage and be the life that others are lacking.
In a way, I think it's a pure and holy desire, but I also think it's a foolish one.
Standing there with my arms full, I realized my complete inability. I wanted to take them all. To carry each of those plates, quilts, lamps - each of those memories - for her. I felt like I had something that she didn't have: time to live.
It makes me wonder how much of my desires to serve are stained with pride. How much of me only wants to give because I believe that I have the thing that others are lacking? When instead I should be giving because I know the One who never lacks, and always gives.
Oh Lord, rid me of myself.
Monday, March 12, 2012
better
His name appeared on the screens in bold, white letters, standing out from the black background. The setting sun peered through the colorful stain glass windows.
Variations of black attire could be seen in almost every seat. Every row. On every student.
We stood as the team entered, filing down the isle in silence.
We stood as the pianist led us in remembering... Jesus Paid it all.
We sat as person after person shared their stories. Teammates. Teachers. Brother.
Stories of a swimmer. A national champion swimmer. Meeting his Maker just six days after receiving that title.
Ecclesiastes 7:2
It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart.
Variations of black attire could be seen in almost every seat. Every row. On every student.
We stood as the team entered, filing down the isle in silence.
We stood as the pianist led us in remembering... Jesus Paid it all.
We sat as person after person shared their stories. Teammates. Teachers. Brother.
Stories of a swimmer. A national champion swimmer. Meeting his Maker just six days after receiving that title.
Ecclesiastes 7:2
It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Hospitality
Hospitality fills the senses.
The soft couch, the furry dog, the cozy carpet.
The comforting aroma of home-cooked food, the spring air slipping through the front door.
The father-daughter pair giggling over a storybook, the knife pounding out a rhythm on the kitchen counter.
The glass cups, dripping with condensation. The wooden table. The glass plates.
The space.
The silence.
The warmth.
The things you don't know you have until you miss them.
College is a good way to realize these things.
The soft couch, the furry dog, the cozy carpet.
The comforting aroma of home-cooked food, the spring air slipping through the front door.
The father-daughter pair giggling over a storybook, the knife pounding out a rhythm on the kitchen counter.
The glass cups, dripping with condensation. The wooden table. The glass plates.
The space.
The silence.
The warmth.
The things you don't know you have until you miss them.
College is a good way to realize these things.
Monday, March 05, 2012
Realizing
Life is not as black and white as I used to believe.
A lot of very emotional events can take place within one weekend.
Moms are wise.
I can make B's in all my classes and still feel okay about myself.
I really can't wait to be a nurse.
I am a servant, not a slave.
Loving does not always mean pouring.
Anger can be holy. I can weep over the sin of others. I can be broken because of the impact of sin. I can wrestle. And it's okay.
In the morning, there's always more grace.
A lot of very emotional events can take place within one weekend.
Moms are wise.
I can make B's in all my classes and still feel okay about myself.
I really can't wait to be a nurse.
I am a servant, not a slave.
Loving does not always mean pouring.
Anger can be holy. I can weep over the sin of others. I can be broken because of the impact of sin. I can wrestle. And it's okay.
In the morning, there's always more grace.
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