My Profession

Lord, this is my prayer,

To live a life surrendered to Christ.  A life whose reference is Christ – all moving toward him and all moving out from him.

To live in the present, in celebration of the good that you created, but also in full recognition of my own sinfulness.

To know that the Christ I follow was crucified.

To know that Christ is present with me here and now, in my earthly life, in my earthly body.

To step into the life of the oppressed and not fear the death of self that comes with that step.

To find community that is grounded in Christ and that prepares all in that community for engagement with the world through disciplines of prayer, song, Scripture, silence, confession, and celebration.

To have the strength to look in the mirror and ask not what my thoughts are or what my talk is, but what my life is.

To have the courage to obey your call on my life even when it contradicts my own longings and desires, and even when it seems contrary to reason or my own ethics.

Though I may not know your will for every circumstance I face, to act boldly and rely on the assurance of your mercy and grace.

To develop a liturgy of desire for the Christ-centered life, a liturgy that rejects the desires that the world calls me to, like consumerism and promotion of self over others.

To have the courage to make decisions from inside of pain and suffering and not just from a place of security.

To always hold my reason in obedience to Jesus Christ, the crucified and resurrected.

To believe your demonstration through Christ that you are utterly for humanity, utterly for me.

To view my life through the lens of Christ instead of viewing Christ through the lens of me.

Not to fear going into the world with the gospel because I know that Christ has already gone before me.

To see Christ hidden in the oppressed, the sick, the imprisoned, the hated, the illegal immigrant, the hungry, the unloved.

To love with action, to love when it is hard, to love the one who irritates me, imprisons me, slanders me, and mistreats me, to love in the way that frees, instead of controls.

To see Christ between me and any other.

To know that the way your grace works is not to sweep me up and pull me out of the world and into a far-away place called heaven, but rather, to meet me here and restore, as if never broken, the parts of me that I would call forever damaged and silenced by my own sin and the sins of others.

To rely solely and completely on the righteousness of Christ.

To ask not “what does this have to do with me,” but instead, “what does this have to do with Christ?”

To ask not “who is this person to me,” but instead, “who is this person to Christ?”

To be available to you.

To live a life that is yours alone.

In the name of Jesus,
Amen.

Dot-Dot-Dot

Being committed to Christ is the re-orientation of an entire life.  It is not a Sunday commitment, a retirement plan, a hobby, or a part of a whole.  It is the whole.  It is everything.  There are deep parts of us that love the idea of such a makeover.  We get a sense of real rest.  Indeed, God planted this desire in us.  But, the idea of giving our entire life to anything is pretty scary and unfamiliar.  A life that is not devoted to me, but to someone else is about as foreign as would be rolling out a red carpet and a special entrance to board the least-sophisticated, lowest-mile, three-carry-on-bag travelers onto an airplane first.  Unheard of.  I mean, unless it’s opposite day.   

Jesus once encountered a man who, without being asked, said: “I will follow you Lord; but first let me go back and say goodby to my family.”  In response, Jesus said: “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.”  (Luke 10:61-62)  Many of us, when presented with the Gospel would say, and have said,  “I will follow you Lord.”  It is quite easy to say.  We often then say, though, “but first let me . . .”  I know this “dot-dot-dot” very well.  I bet you do too.

I will follow you Lord, but first let me … see a clear sign that what your word says is true, that your promises will hold up.  Let me know that if I buy what you’re selling, it won’t, in the end, be for naught.  

I will follow you Lord, but first let me … grasp fully how the whole thing works.  There are so many books out there, I don’t know where to start.  The Bible is really thick and I don’t understand so much of it.  I want to understand every detail first so I can defend my decision if asked.

I will follow you Lord, but first let me … know that my friends and family will not think I’m weird, and will still accept me.  I want to be liked and admired and if I commit my life to you, I’m afraid I will lose friends.  My family won’t understand.  The people I’m trying to impress may find me less impressive.  

I will follow you Lord, but first let me … visualize what my life will look like if I do.  What are you really asking of me?  I know your Word says I must live like you did (1 John 2:6), but the way you lived seems a little uncomfortable to me.  You had no home.  Your people rejected you.  You were spit upon, crowned with thorns, beaten and laughed at.  Your path was constantly interrupted by those who lived unworthy lives, did bad things, and suffered from disgusting diseases.  You were nailed to a cross and killed.  I have plans, Lord.  This would get in the way, I think. 

I will follow you Lord, but first let me … explain to you that I’ve got things under control.  My finances are in order, my health is good, my family is thriving, I’m moving up in my job, and my golf game has really come a long way.  

 I will follow you Lord, but first let me … tell you that I can’t abide any more rules and instructions to follow.  Each year at work, I get an employee handbook and although for the most part these are pretty easy to follow, I have to remember and follow them.  There are speed limits, tax requirements, bills to pay.  If you add on another set of rules, I just don’t think I can do it.  I know the Ten Commandments and I have failed them over and over and over and over.  And I have tried really hard, but I keep getting tripped up, often by the same ones and there seems to be no end to the resulting frustration.

I will follow you Lord, but first let me … help you to understand that I can’t get ahead in this world if I am not fully devoted to getting ahead right now.  I know you said you were here and experienced the world, but I think it was different for you.  After all, you are God, and it just had to have been a little different.  I am climbing a ladder, you see, and there are people just at my heels.  If I stop, they will surpass me and I won’t get the promotion or the raise or the praise or the offer to speak.  Without those things, I will be nothing.

I will follow you Lord, but first let me … get a few things straightened out, you know, clean myself up a bit.  I still do some sinful things.  I’m just on the verge of overcoming them, I just need a little more time.  

I will follow you Lord and let me confess to you that

I see what you’ve done in my life, the times when there is just no other explanation for my deliverance but you; I look at my children and know that there is something more here than the effort I’m putting in.

I don’t know how it all works, but you have shown me enough for me to believe, and in fact, sometimes when I’m alone, I can actually feel you inside me.

Sometimes living just for me feels a little narrow and I get tired of myself and all the consuming and doing.  When I do things for others, it actually feels pretty good.

I’m a little tired of trying to keep up and often look for a place to be alone and sit still, you know, to just be.  The things I'm seeking happiness in don't seem like they're helping.  I just want more and more of them.

On the outside, there is much comfort, but to be honest, there is restlessness in me and some uncertainty about what this has all been about.

I’m not so sure I’m in control.  I look around and see things fall apart in other people’s lives and know that I’m next.  I know that my finances, as safe as I may try to keep them, are subject to things I just don’t control.  And recently, a friend was diagnosed with breast cancer.  But she was really successful and healthy.  My family has had some disputes lately and things are a little rocky when certain issues are raised.

I think I need some help.  I keep sinning and can’t seem to stop no matter how hard I try.  I think I might need some help to get it all straightened out.  And I have done some things that I would give anything to let go of and be forgiven of because they have become so heavy. 

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”  (Matt 11:28-30)

No more dot-dot-dot.  

Surrender Is Stronger

Today while I was driving home, the song Undone, by FFH came on the radio.  The chorus includes this line: "Come undone, surrender is stronger."  This line has been ringing in my mind ever since.  Surrender is stronger.  Surrender is stronger.  Surrender means to yield to the possession or power of another.  It means to submit, to relinquish, to give up, to abandon.  What could surrender be stronger than?  Holding?  Fighting?  Conquering?  No, this can't be.  Holding is strong.  Fighting is stronger.  Conquering is stronger still.       

God's Word is full of direction to us to submit to Him and to submit to others: "in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight" (Proverbs 3:6); "Submit yourselves, then, to God" (James 4:7); "Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it.  How much more should we submit to the Father of spirits and live!" (Hebrews 12:9); "Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ" (Ephesians 5:21).  And, Jesus' words: "He who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for My sake will find it.” (Matthew 10:34)  What do these words mean?  What does it mean to submit or surrender all of my ways to God?  How do I submit to God?  

In considering these questions, a chapter in a book that I read in 1999 came to mind.  1999.  I am amazed and perplexed as to how this happened.  Ok, not really, only God.  But come on, I read anywhere between twenty and thirty-five fiction books a year.  I read this book twelve years ago -- 240 books ago.  Maybe more. 

Anyway, the book is White Noise, by Don DeLillo.  Makes my top five of all time list for sure.  Chapter 16.  Just to give you an idea, this book has 40 chapters.  So, chapter 16 is not at a memorable spot.  It starts this way:  


"This was the day Wilder started crying at two in the afternoon.  At six he was still crying, sitting on the kitchen floor and looking through the oven window, and we ate dinner quickly, moving around him or stepping over him to reach the stove and refrigerator."  Wilder is a young boy in the book and the entire chapter is about just what the topic sentence says -- the day Wilder cried (for more than seven hours in a row).  The narrator describes how he and his wife exchanged "drained and supplicating" looks.  The mother spoke to Wilder "soothingly", "hefted and caressed him, checked his teeth, [gave] him a bath, examined him, tickled him, fed him, tried to get him to crawl into his vinyl play tunnel."  The narrator describes the crying as a "rhythmic", "measured statement of short urgent pulses."  He says: "At times it seemed he would break off into a whimper, an animal complaint, irregular and exhausted, but the rhythm held, the heightened beat, the washed pink sorrow in his face."  


Any parent knows how painful and frustrating this experience has to be.  You cannot figure out what is wrong.  You have tried everything and nothing works.  The narrator and his wife take their son to the doctor.  He has no solution.  Nothing physically is wrong.  And after the doctor's visit, the crying "changed in pitch and quality.  The rhythmic urgency had given way to a sustained, inarticulate and mournful sound.  He was keening now.  These were expressions of Mideastern lament, of anguish so accessible that it rushes to overwhelm whatever immediately caused it.  There was something permanent and soul-struck in this crying.  It was a sound of inbred desolation."  The parents are at the end of their patience, on the brink of meltdown.  They have no idea what is wrong and they don't know what to do to make it stop.  Yet, making it stop is all they can think about.  


Then something remarkable happens.  The father sits with Wilder on his lap in the car.  "I held him upright with a hand under each arm.  As the crying continued, a curious shift developed in my thinking.  I found that I did not necessarily wish him to stop.  It might not be so terrible, I thought, to have to sit and listen to this a while longer.  We looked at each other . . . the inconsolable crying went on.  I let it wash over me, like rain in sheets.  I entered it, in a sense.  I let it fall and tumble across my face and chest.  I began to think he had disappeared inside the wailing noise and if I could join him in his lost and suspended place we might together perform some reckless wonder of intelligibility.  I let it break across my body . . . I entered it, fell into it, letting it enfold and cover me."  Then, the crying stopped "suddenly, without a change in tone and intensity."  


The crying was over and afterwards, "[i]t was as though he'd just returned from a period of wandering in some remote and holy place, in sand barrens or snowy ranges -- a place where things are said, sights are seen, distances reached which we in our ordinary toil can only regard with the mingled reverence and wonder we hold in reserve for feats of the most sublime and difficult dimensions."  


This is one of the most beautiful chapters in all of literature.  And in re-reading it, it strikes me just as it did the first time around, in a deep part of my soul.  The reason it does and the reason I believe God brought it to my mind today is that it is the most concrete description of surrender that I know.  When the father finally submitted to the crying, stopped trying to fix the situation or control it, and instead entered into it, let it crash over him, he was free.  And what he saw in the moments of surrender was holy, wondrous, and sublime, things he could not have experienced but for the letting go, but for the surrender.  While he tried to control, hold, conquer and fight, he felt nothing but fear, anxiety, impatience, aggravation and unease.          

If I am feeling fear, anxiety, impatience, aggravation, or unease about something, I have not submitted it.  I have not surrendered it.  I am still holding on tight and I cannot be free.  If I let go, there I will find the peace of God, which transcends all understanding.  (Phil. 4:7)


Surrender is stronger.