“The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.”
~Socrates
It's funny how, when it comes to wisdom, that I live with the notion that the older I get, the more I will somehow have--mostly because I will know a lot more stuff by then. Who would image that the opposite is actually true? That I will not grow in wisdom because of what I know; I will actually grow in wisdom because of the realization of all I don't know. I've actually thought about this a lot recently because it seems that the older I get, the more fragile I feel. I was actually telling some friends about this the other day; and it is not something that feels like a bad thing, but something that feels like the best of things.
I love the dictionary definition of the word fragile: vulnerably delicate. I feel much more vulnerable, and weak, and unsure these days--much more at 53 than I did at 23, or 33, or even 43. And this fragile, vulnerable, unsure place within me is actually doing an incredibly good work. It is opening me up, in such a wonderfully beautiful way, for God to enter in. Because it's not that I'm unsure about God and his character, that's not at all the kind of vulnerability I'm talking about. That kind of unsure would be frightening. But the type of unsure I'm talking about is being unsure about what I really know about Him (or myself for that matter); really know in the Genesis 4:1 Adam knew Eve and they conceived a son sense. It is a deep and intimate type of knowing. And as I become more and more aware of what I do not really know in that way, it opens me up to God's Spirit and God's voice and God's presence in ways that I was simply not open before.
For example, I know that God loves me, but if I am really honest, I don't really know that at all; not compared to the level to which it is really true. He is simply too big, His love too immense and too extravagant for me to truly know it. I can say that I know God loves me, but in reality I have no idea what that really means or how much it is really true. I am only just beginning to scratch the surface of it all; only starting to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge (Ephesians 3:18).
It seems like the biggest obstacle to really knowing something is what we think we already know. When I think I know, I have stopped the conversation, I have stopped seeking, stopped pressing in to all that I don't know. I have arrived; gone as far as I plan to go. My knowing has, in essence, closed the door on really knowing. So often in conversations, or in listening to someone speak, or in reading a book, or even in reading the Scriptures, that voice (which is not the voice of the Spirit) pops up in me saying, "Oh yeah, I already know that." And in an instant I have closed myself off to the possibility of really knowing--knowing more deeply--because of what I think I already know.
I guess the moral of the story is that knowing is a lifetime endeavor, a journey that is never completed this side of heaven. It is a deep well that we can never find the bottom of...and I am so glad! I just hope that the next time I feel fragile (or vulnerably delicate) I will embrace it for the good soil of the Spirit that it is. And when I'm tempted to close the door by thinking I've already got that one down, I will catch myself and realize that I have just missed an opportunity to grow in wisdom. And that I will turn and open the door to the Great Mystery in my unknowing.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Sunday, August 11, 2013
whose house am i building here anyway?
Unless the Lord builds the house,
those who build it labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
the watchman stays awake in vain.It is in vain that you rise up early
and go late to rest,
eating the bread of anxious toil;
for he gives to his beloved sleep.
~Psalm 127:1-2
At times it is easy to convince myself that the work I do, and the ministry I have, is all a part of a deep desire to see God's kingdom grow and God's house be built. And I think, to some degree, that is always true. But at other times, I also become aware of much darker feelings and motives that lurk beneath the surface of my heart and soul. At times it becomes painfully obvious to me that what I am really trying to build is not His Kingdom and His house, but my own: my own kingdom, my own reputation, my own resume, my own sense of value and worth. What I am really trying to do is build a house that will impress and delight all who pass by; leaving them saying, "Wow, that is the most impressive house I have ever seen."
The way I know this is true involves the feelings and voices that live way down in the darkest parts of my being; ones that bubble to the surface uncontrollably from time to time. They show me that something is amiss deep within. Sometimes it bubbles up in the form or criticalness or frustration when I hear a story of someone that is being commended or praised for something they have done really well. Sometimes it bubbles to the surface in feeling threatened or defensive when I see someone far more gifted than I exercising their gifts. It is an incredibly ugly thing to admit, particularly in public. I mean, aren't we supposed to celebrate those things in others? If I was truly about building God's house, I would be glad and grateful rather than insecure and fearful whenever his kingdom and his purposes are being advanced. It's these kinds of things that make me aware that I am actually trying to build my own house rather than His; or, at the very least, trying to build both at the same time. And, as the psalm clearly states, anytime I do that, it is only in vain. I am eating the bread of anxious toil; trying desperately to feed on something that is not food at all, at least not food that is lasting and satisfying. And when I somehow convince myself otherwise--that I must be building some extraordinarily incredible house or accumulating some impressive resume--I will never find true rest (or be given sleep). I will be far too busy toiling vainly.
Only when I come to recognize and to know myself as His Beloved will I ever find the rest my soul most deeply longs for. Only then will I be free enough from my fear and insecurity to be about God's house and God's Kingdom, rather than trying somehow to use Him in order to build my own.
those who build it labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
the watchman stays awake in vain.It is in vain that you rise up early
and go late to rest,
eating the bread of anxious toil;
for he gives to his beloved sleep.
~Psalm 127:1-2
At times it is easy to convince myself that the work I do, and the ministry I have, is all a part of a deep desire to see God's kingdom grow and God's house be built. And I think, to some degree, that is always true. But at other times, I also become aware of much darker feelings and motives that lurk beneath the surface of my heart and soul. At times it becomes painfully obvious to me that what I am really trying to build is not His Kingdom and His house, but my own: my own kingdom, my own reputation, my own resume, my own sense of value and worth. What I am really trying to do is build a house that will impress and delight all who pass by; leaving them saying, "Wow, that is the most impressive house I have ever seen."
The way I know this is true involves the feelings and voices that live way down in the darkest parts of my being; ones that bubble to the surface uncontrollably from time to time. They show me that something is amiss deep within. Sometimes it bubbles up in the form or criticalness or frustration when I hear a story of someone that is being commended or praised for something they have done really well. Sometimes it bubbles to the surface in feeling threatened or defensive when I see someone far more gifted than I exercising their gifts. It is an incredibly ugly thing to admit, particularly in public. I mean, aren't we supposed to celebrate those things in others? If I was truly about building God's house, I would be glad and grateful rather than insecure and fearful whenever his kingdom and his purposes are being advanced. It's these kinds of things that make me aware that I am actually trying to build my own house rather than His; or, at the very least, trying to build both at the same time. And, as the psalm clearly states, anytime I do that, it is only in vain. I am eating the bread of anxious toil; trying desperately to feed on something that is not food at all, at least not food that is lasting and satisfying. And when I somehow convince myself otherwise--that I must be building some extraordinarily incredible house or accumulating some impressive resume--I will never find true rest (or be given sleep). I will be far too busy toiling vainly.
Only when I come to recognize and to know myself as His Beloved will I ever find the rest my soul most deeply longs for. Only then will I be free enough from my fear and insecurity to be about God's house and God's Kingdom, rather than trying somehow to use Him in order to build my own.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
fragile
I feel your love as you hold me to your sacred heart, my beloved Jesus, my God, my Master, but I feel, too, the need I have of your tenderness and your caress because of my infinite weakness.
~Charles de Foucauld
Saturday, July 27, 2013
another story
The rabbis guide their people with stories; ministers usually guide with ideas and theories. We need to become storytellers again, and so to multiply our ministry by calling around us the great witnesses who in different ways offer guidance to doubting hearts.
One of the remarkable qualities of the story is that it creates space. We can dwell in a story, walk around, find our own place. The story confronts but does not oppress; the story inspires but does not manipulate. The story invites us to an encounter, a dialog, a mutual sharing.
A story that guides is a story that opens a door and offers space in which to search and boundaries to help us find what we seek, but it does not tell us what to do or how to do it. The story brings us into touch with the vision and so guides us. Weisel writes, "God made man because he loves stories." As long as we have stories to tell to each other there is hope. (The Living Reminder by Henri J. M. Nouwen)
This theme continues to pop up everywhere. Really good stuff. I had to go back and add it to the post on story from last week. I love Nouwen's language as he describes the value, role, and function of story in the spiritual life. It challenges me not only to be living a good story, but telling a good story as well.
One of the remarkable qualities of the story is that it creates space. We can dwell in a story, walk around, find our own place. The story confronts but does not oppress; the story inspires but does not manipulate. The story invites us to an encounter, a dialog, a mutual sharing.
A story that guides is a story that opens a door and offers space in which to search and boundaries to help us find what we seek, but it does not tell us what to do or how to do it. The story brings us into touch with the vision and so guides us. Weisel writes, "God made man because he loves stories." As long as we have stories to tell to each other there is hope. (The Living Reminder by Henri J. M. Nouwen)
This theme continues to pop up everywhere. Really good stuff. I had to go back and add it to the post on story from last week. I love Nouwen's language as he describes the value, role, and function of story in the spiritual life. It challenges me not only to be living a good story, but telling a good story as well.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
rain
Love to pray. Feel often during the day the need for prayer, and take trouble to pray. Prayer enlarges the heart until it is capable of containing God's gift of himself. Ask and seek, and your heart will grow big enough to receive him and keep him as your own.
~Mother Teresa
In Knoxville this summer it has been a wet one. In fact, the rainfall total for the summer thus far is 20.06 inches. That's a lot of rain! Especially when you compare it to the average for the entire summer of 11.64. In June alone we had 10.26 inches, compared to the average of 4.04. Needless to say, it seems like it's been raining all summer long. The silver lining is that I can count on one hand the number of times I've had to water my garden.
As I shared in the fall, (In This Post), I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed. Last spring when I was building a flower bed in my back yard, I thought through everything in great detail...just about. The one thing I didn't think about was that the location I planted my garden in was no where near any sort of water supply. And last summer was nowhere near like this summer. Last summer we were famine for water rather than feast--we had a bit off a drought you might say. So, last summer I had to carry bucket, after bucket, after bucket, of water to my little flower garden just to keep things even close to being alive.
Well this year is a whole different story, and in that respect I am grateful. It made me think back to the whole idea of prayer again. How some seasons prayer flows so easily, seeming like rain from above, a gift of overflowing abundance. And some seasons prayer is much more difficult, requiring a great deal of effort, and endurance, and perseverance. Teresa of Avila wrote a lot about this centuries ago (again, see This Post).
For most of this summer, my prayer hasn't exactly matched up with this rainy season we've been having here in Knoxville (rain is good in this metaphor:). It has been mundane, scattered, and sporadic, and if the truth be known...work. And that is not a bad thing, it is living a particular season and remaining faithful in spite of the conditions; it just seems like I've been carrying the bucket to the creek a lot to draw water. But in the last few weeks, the skies have opened up, it seems. And the rain has been pouring down from above...or within...I'm not sure which. Possibly it has been both. And I am extraordinarily grateful. So, even though I'd like to have a little less rain in the month of August for recreational purposes, my garden, and my soul, hopes it just keeps on raining.
~Mother Teresa
In Knoxville this summer it has been a wet one. In fact, the rainfall total for the summer thus far is 20.06 inches. That's a lot of rain! Especially when you compare it to the average for the entire summer of 11.64. In June alone we had 10.26 inches, compared to the average of 4.04. Needless to say, it seems like it's been raining all summer long. The silver lining is that I can count on one hand the number of times I've had to water my garden.
As I shared in the fall, (In This Post), I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed. Last spring when I was building a flower bed in my back yard, I thought through everything in great detail...just about. The one thing I didn't think about was that the location I planted my garden in was no where near any sort of water supply. And last summer was nowhere near like this summer. Last summer we were famine for water rather than feast--we had a bit off a drought you might say. So, last summer I had to carry bucket, after bucket, after bucket, of water to my little flower garden just to keep things even close to being alive.
Well this year is a whole different story, and in that respect I am grateful. It made me think back to the whole idea of prayer again. How some seasons prayer flows so easily, seeming like rain from above, a gift of overflowing abundance. And some seasons prayer is much more difficult, requiring a great deal of effort, and endurance, and perseverance. Teresa of Avila wrote a lot about this centuries ago (again, see This Post).
For most of this summer, my prayer hasn't exactly matched up with this rainy season we've been having here in Knoxville (rain is good in this metaphor:). It has been mundane, scattered, and sporadic, and if the truth be known...work. And that is not a bad thing, it is living a particular season and remaining faithful in spite of the conditions; it just seems like I've been carrying the bucket to the creek a lot to draw water. But in the last few weeks, the skies have opened up, it seems. And the rain has been pouring down from above...or within...I'm not sure which. Possibly it has been both. And I am extraordinarily grateful. So, even though I'd like to have a little less rain in the month of August for recreational purposes, my garden, and my soul, hopes it just keeps on raining.
Friday, July 19, 2013
good summer reads
If you are looking for a good summer read, there are still a few weeks left. I've really enjoyed these this summer...
Unwritten by Charles Martin
A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller
Steal Like an Artist by Austin Kleon
I'm reading Help, Thanks, Wow by Anne Lamott right now. Enjoying it so far.
What have you read this summer that you've enjoyed?
Unwritten by Charles Martin
A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller
Steal Like an Artist by Austin Kleon
I'm reading Help, Thanks, Wow by Anne Lamott right now. Enjoying it so far.
What have you read this summer that you've enjoyed?
Thursday, July 11, 2013
more
That little word seems to be cropping up a lot these days; especially in conversations with friends and fellow journeyers. It seems we all live with a nagging sense that there is more: more to God, more to relationships, more to life than we are living or experiencing at the moment. And we all have a deep yearning to know, and to taste, what that more looks (and tastes) like. Of course this is not a new phenomenon, it has been around since the beginning of time. But every now and then it breaks through, or bubbles up, in a new and fresh way that leaves us longing deeply for the life we were created for. The life that echoes the richness and the fullness and the love and the joy of the Trinity itself.
And as we consider this more, it is easy to fall into the trap of thinking that pursuing this elusive state of being involves us somehow needing to do more. In fact, when I think about the words more and God, I immediately start thinking about the fact that God wants more from me. Which is true, but maybe not the deepest longing of God's heart as far as I'm concerned. Or I start to think that maybe God wants more of me. Which is still true, and a little more appealing, but still possibly short of God's real desire for me. What if what God really wants is more for me? When I think of the more that lurks and lives deepest in my heart and soul, that's the more I dream about. Because if I get that more, it seems to me that the rest will fall into place. Could it possibly be true that God's deepest desire is that He wants more for me? If it is, if that's really the deepest longing of His heart, and if I can possibly convince myself to believe it's true, then the more God gets of me and from me will definitely follow suit.
What about you? What's the more you most deeply dream about?
And as we consider this more, it is easy to fall into the trap of thinking that pursuing this elusive state of being involves us somehow needing to do more. In fact, when I think about the words more and God, I immediately start thinking about the fact that God wants more from me. Which is true, but maybe not the deepest longing of God's heart as far as I'm concerned. Or I start to think that maybe God wants more of me. Which is still true, and a little more appealing, but still possibly short of God's real desire for me. What if what God really wants is more for me? When I think of the more that lurks and lives deepest in my heart and soul, that's the more I dream about. Because if I get that more, it seems to me that the rest will fall into place. Could it possibly be true that God's deepest desire is that He wants more for me? If it is, if that's really the deepest longing of His heart, and if I can possibly convince myself to believe it's true, then the more God gets of me and from me will definitely follow suit.
What about you? What's the more you most deeply dream about?
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