Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Christmas Card 2006

Its no wonder that they could not understand
This Messiah in a manger
, this God-become-man;
Undiminished deity here in our skin
So human without
, yet so holy within.

Don’t dismiss the divine for the way it appears;
May God open our eyes
, and unstop our ears.
Let us not be so lulled by the common and plain

That we miss the majestic hidden in the mundane.


Obey, Know and Love

I was reading a daily devotional this morning, and it was written from Jesus' point of view. One of the things He said (according to the book), is along the lines of "When you pray about My will, don't ask for the strength to obey it. Instead, pray to know Me and to love Me, and then you will delight in My will."

I really thought about that, and I think it is so true. If I truly know Jesus, that will without a doubt cause me to love Him, and doing whatever He asks of me will be my delight. As each of these increases (knowing Him more, loving Him more), my will has got to become less and less important, and the joy of serving Him grow stronger and stronger.

It's the same with worship. If I pray to see Jesus, really see Him, I can only respond with worship, for He is truly beautiful and good and loving and wise and powerful. I don't pray for the Holy Spirit to make me a worshiper, but rather that He would open my eyes to see Jesus.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

New Identity

I was reading in Colossians this morning, about how God has taken away the written code, with its rules and regulations, and done away with it, nailing it to the cross. And it made me think . . .

There's a movie out now about a guy who is raised from birth to be an assassin. He doesn't even have a name, just a number. So I thought about someone like that, who has killed dozens of people, and for all intents and purposes has no conscience or remorse - killing is just his job and he's very good at it. So he gets caught, is brought to trial, and because of the numerous witnesses and overwhelming evidence he is convicted. All that's left is the sentencing. Of course, he gets the death penalty (and who cares about cruel and unusual punishment? The guy's a monster.)

After the sentence is handed down, the judge comes down from the bench, walks over to the killer and embraces him. The convict is already cuffed and shackled, but the judge wraps his arms around him and the guy is nearly lost inside the judge's black robe. But somehow, when the two come apart, the judge is wearing the orange jumpsuit and the handcuffs and shackles, and the assassin is wearing the black robes. The killer is confused, but the judge looks him in the eye and something passes between them before he is led away to death row.

The killer goes back to the judge's chambers, removes the robe, picks up the car keys and leaves. He goes to a nice house in the suburbs and assumes the life of a respectable citizen. What good fortune! He doesn't really understand what happened, and he keeps thinking someone is going to catch on. But after a day or two he starts to relax. It's hard, since he's never been a respectable citizen before, and he's a little lost. Still, he tries his best, as he knows how his story could have ended.

Since the judge (the real judge) has waived all rights to any appeals, his execution is carried out quickly. But the weird thing is, he shows up at his old house, knocks on the door and is face-to-face with the convicted killer. The killer thinks it's all over and prepares to go back to prison, but no, the judge isn't going to turn him in. Everyone thinks he's dead anyway, and good riddance. But the judge shows the convict how to use the lawn mower and trim the bushes. He goes with him shopping and shows him how to pick the best produce. Since the judge had speaking engagements and social obligations, he coaches the convict on what to say and how to act in those situations. The convict finds an entire network of friends and relationships that he had never experienced before. Sometimes, when he was driving or standing in the checkout line, he'd get exasperated with someone or annoyed and would start to slip into his old habit of anger and force. But the judge would lay his hand on his arm, and the convict would remember that he was no longer that person. Once in a while someone would look at him closely, as if they recognized that he was not the judge, but then they would relax and the suspicion passed.

As time went on, the killer wasn't just acting the part of the judge; it became who he was. He never completely forgot his past, but it was like another lifetime, a distant memory that became harder and harder to recall. There was always the remembrance that this life wasn't really his life; but one that belonged to someone else. He was just the recipient of extraordinary mercy and grace.

I hope that I learn to live this life as if it is not my own. Along with the benefits and blessings of belonging to Christ, there are also responsibilities to live up to the standard He has set for me. It is up to me to choose which life to live, His or mine. And His is definitely better.

Thursday, November 08, 2007

Profanity

I think that I shall never see
Wise men who use profanity.
Those who merely curse or swear
Show no wit, or style, or flair;
Whose phrases all are rather crude,
Are dull and childish, and also rude.
Those who think vulgarity
Similar to hilarity,
Reveal a mind both weak and small,
With no deep thought involved at all.
So if you choose to spit and spew
In language that is rather "blue,"
The rest of us will all be knowing
Your lack of smarts indeed is showing.

Super Power

Flesh

Arch-enemy of my spirit
Nemesis of my soul
Dark super-villain bent on my destruction

Faster than my resolve
More powerful than my self-control
Able to break tall promises with a single temptation

Who will save me from this body of death?


Eternal Champion
Hero of my heart
Rescuer of the redeemed
Light of the world

Bend my will until it is intertwined with yours
Break the hold of earthly desires on my affections
Lift my head, that I may see your salvation

Defeat my enemies within and without

Biff! Slam! Ka-pow!

Graceland

I don’t get grace. I mean, I am a grateful recipient of it, but I don’t “get” grace. And I don’t mean that I can’t understand how or why God extends grace to us; I realize it is beyond my comprehension and I’m okay with that.
What I don’t “get” about grace is: how do you live in grace? Once you receive forgiveness, how do you go on without either vowing to try harder the next time, or throwing up your hands and giving up, admitting your sin nature is too strong for you, and just living like a sinner until the guilt and conviction push you to repentance again? How do you find the balance, if there is one, between righteousness and real life?
It seems I am in constant struggle with my self-tendencies, repenting yet never getting victory over them completely. It doesn’t seem right that I should just give in; how can I be a reflection of a holy God when I can’t even be consistent about cleaning my house or balancing my checkbook? Let alone purify my thought life.
Grace is God’s gift to us—His goodness and favor extended without any relation to merit, of which we have none. But isn’t it cheapened when we live in sin, enjoying His benefits while living for ourselves?
Here’s an illustration of what I mean: It’s like Jesus goes to the back alleys and bars and hands out invitations to this big party at his house. He hands them out at the Laundromat and to work crews doing community service picking up trash along the interstate. He knocks on doors in the trailer park, giving them to grumpy fat chain smokers who are annoyed that He interrupted General Hospital. He gives some to derelicts on park benches, who are too paranoid because of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder to pick up the envelope. Hookers are a little puzzled at this guy who gives them something without asking for anything in return. He slides one across the counter at the fast-food place, toward the catatonic teenager with piercings and poor customer service skills. He probably drops off a few at corporate headquarters, country clubs and government offices, too.
Anyway, although it seems random, these invitations are all personally addressed specifically to each individual. They give all the usual information: date, time, address. They also give very specific instructions on how to dress and what to bring. According to the invitation, a limousine will pick each person up at an appropriate time to ensure a timely arrival.
So the big day comes and we screw it all up. We miss the limo because we’re dumpster diving or watching Judge Judy or waiting to add fabric softener to the rinse cycle. We’re forgetful procrastinators who are too self-absorbed to adequately plan and prepare. Our good clothes are at the cleaners and we’re too broke to buy what we’re supposed to bring. But hey, a free meal is a free meal, and it’s nice to see how the other half lives, so we go anyway. We show up late, dirty, empty-handed and in our underwear.
Jesus, ever the gracious host, meets us at the door with a warm smile, politely not mentioning our tardiness, appearance, or the fact that dinner is getting colder by the minute. He embraces us, squeezing us so tight we’re left breathless, as if each of us were a long lost friend. He instructs us to go into the guest bedroom, where we can freshen up and put on the clothes laid out on the bed (as if He knew we would be underdressed).
After a quick shower in a luxurious marble bathroom, we arrive in our new clothes at the dinner table. The other guests look a little freshly-scrubbed themselves, with awkward smiles and shy eyes. During dinner, Jesus engages us all with colorful stories and conversation, all the time drawing us in with questions and genuine interest. Some, no all of the guests need a little work on our table manners and etiquette, but Jesus acts like He doesn’t notice.
After a scrumptious dessert, we are encouraged to roam around the house and grounds, which are spacious and beautiful. On the terrace at the back of the house, lanterns are hung, but they don’t interfere with the brightness of the stars. We mingle and get to know each other, marveling at it all, the place, the food, our Host, and just the good fortune of being invited. We compliment each other on our clothes, even though we all know that we showed up in a ratty slip or torn boxers.
Okay, so far so good. I know God has lavishly blessed us and forgiven us, but how do you go on from there? How do you not return the suit to the closet and slip out into the night (after thanking the Host, of course, or mentally promising to send a note)?
I mean, every party comes to an end and then you return to real life. That’s what makes parties special events. It would be exhausting to have a party that never ends, like New Year’s Eve without a midnight. After a while everyone gets bored, or drunk, or irritable, and then falls asleep. End of party. Nothing left but the icky feeling in your mouth the next morning and confetti in your hair.
But what if this party wasn’t like that? What if Jesus said to stay, and we slept in the guest rooms on silk sheets and awoke to waffles for breakfast? What if our party clothes were exchanged for nice comfortable jeans and a polo shirt and sneakers? What if . . . we never left?
What if, day by day our table manners improved and we learned how to play croquet and prune the rose bushes and the food was always good and we discovered that all the other people were interesting and good and funny, even though they disagreed with us sometimes? Is it possible that over time our memories and longing for Oprah and Starbucks and People magazine would fade as we became more accustomed to this new way of living? Would our old identities dim, so that we are no longer addressed by our former nicknames, like Lefty or Stinky or Flo or “Ready Betty” (or worse), and started living up to the names Jesus calls us, like Beloved and Beautiful and Bride. What if, each night we dumped our sweaty soiled clothes in the hamper and awoke to find them clean and pressed on the chair? What if, when Jesus asked us to do something, we considered it an opportunity to repay His kindness, and did it out of love instead of as an act of obedient service or grudging duty?
Is that what living under grace would be like?
If so, I’m going to Graceland to see the King.

Sunday

It's Sunday.
The day of the week when You rose from the dead.

Resurrect Yourself in my life.
Roll the stone of my cold, hard heart away
And reveal Yourself in all Your power
In all Your goodness
In all Your joy

Let me hear You speak my name, like Mary did,
And I will know that You live!

Circle Up

Circle up, circle up around the throne,
Old and young, saints of every history
Great and small, angels all, and seraphim,
Grab a hand, twirl a dance,
Circle up and worship Him
Grab a hand, twirl a dance,
Circle up and worship Him.
--Chris Rice

How awesome it will be to see "saints of every history" dancing like children around the throne of God! Former drug dealers twirling with Sunday School teachers; alcoholics and prostitutes clapping and rejoicing alongside "church ladies" and deacons. What a source of joy to our Father! How He must long for the day when His family is complete and home! We can only look forward to a misty notion of what we can imagine that day will be like, but God . . . God already knows every detail--the reaction of each person, the expressions on each face, the music, the menu for the wedding feast--how much more is His delight in seeing come to pass this event that has been centuries in the making!

Won't it be an amazing, joyful time of praise and wonder when we finally see one another as God has seen us all along--as He created us to be. Without the wounds, weights and warping that we received while living in this fallen world and wrestling with our own sin nature. The shy and the shamed will both be free enough to dance around the throne. We will be light of heart and light of foot as we rejoice before the source of our salvation, redemption, restoration, healing, wisdom, adoption and wholeness. No one will sit out this dance; there will be no wallflowers. No steps to learn, just a spontaneous reaction to being at last in the presence of Him who loves us so completely and passionately and without reservation.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Fireflies

Do you wonder?
Do you know?
Where do all the fireflies go?

After summer,
Could it be
They become the autumn leaves?
Lovely colors
Drifting down,
To lie at last upon the ground?

When winter winds
Start to blow
Do they become the flakes of snow?
Dancing, flying
On the wind,
To lie upon the ground again?

In the springtime,
Do they grow
As daffodils all in a row?
Sunny faces
Shining bright
'Til their return to fiery flight?

Here's what I think
Fireflies do
After summertime is through:

When cool nights come
They will fly
To find a place up in the sky
And many twinkling,
Starry lights
Are fireflies waiting for summer nights.

(c) JF 2002


Sonrise

From the rising of the sun, to its going down, the Lord'’s name is to be praised.
Psalm 113:3

Worldwide, the sun is always rising.
Somewhere, Your praise has just begun.
Let me unite with those whose praise
Starts with the rising of the sun.

-February, 2001 Richton Park train station

Tissues and Twigs

I’m oft in need of tissues
As I contemplate my issues
And the slings and arrows cast upon my soul.
Verbal sticks and stones CAN hurt me
And the pain - it does alert me
That all’s not well in part, nor in the whole.
Still the hurts on heart and mind
Caused by those who are unkind
Do not keep me from the path that I must take.
Mere twigs and rocks may scar,
And sharp words and jabs may jar,
But mere tolerance won’t be the move I make.
For there is a greater need
Than a “live and let live” creed,
And it’s hard to give to those who show no merit.
But I’m called to greater gifts
By the One whose calling lifts
Me toward a mercy He gave me, and I must share it.

Prodigal

I'm here

unwashed
unprepared
undeserving

but I'm here.


Lord,
No pre-packaged prayers,
No attempt at beautiful words,
No eloquent praise.

Just simply me,
Showing up on Your doorstep,
Timidly reaching to ring the bell.

No angelic fanfare,
No glorious vision,
No thunderbolts.

Just simply You,
Opening the door,
Embracing me in Your love and grace.


I’m here

at home

at peace

at last.


(c) JF 2002

Did God create sin?

If God created everything, did He create sin, and if so, why does He punish us for sinning?

God didn't create sin any more than parents created tooth decay. They know it is an inevitable consequence of life, and train their children to avoid it; brushing, flossing, etc.

Likewise, God knew that having the power of free will without the guidance of His wisdom would lead to the inevitable consequence of selfish, sinful living.

Amazing Grace

Lord,
How amazing that You,
Who designated the shape of every tree's leaf
And the color of every flower's petal,
Who composed the melody of each bird's song
And calibrated the chirp of each cricket
To Whom the Milky Way is but a swirl in Your coffee cup,

It is amazing that You
Lavish Your love on me
And delight over me with singing

4/13/06

Knowledge of Good and Evil

I lie here in my warm bed, sandwiched between my two big dogs, enjoying my flannel sheets on this cold February morning, and I wonder . . .

How many people are hunkered in their cars trying to keep warm because they don't have the money to pay the rent? How many families are huddled around space heaters because their heat has been turned off?

At this moment, all around the world, how many people are lying on cots or cold stone floors in prisons or refugee camps? How many are in fear of despotic governments? How many are ravaged by disease and malnutrition?

How many animals are shivering and starving because they've been abandoned by their owners? How many pets will be euthanized today because someone doesn't believe in spaying or neutering? How many species will be nearer extinction due to man's exploitation?

Stay with me - How many spouses are plotting their escape from bad marriages? How many are breaking their vows of fidelity? How many parents are contemplating a wayward child, and wondering where they went wrong? How many single people are lying awake, aching with loneliness? How many couples are mourning the loss of a child, or the emptiness of a womb? Right now, how many children are in orphanages or foster care, wondering if anyone will ever love them? How many elderly languish in nursing homes with no one to visit them? How many people, at this very moment, are just going through the motions of life, but not really living?

This day, how many homes are being robbed? How many paychecks are being gambled away? How many women are being abused, beaten, raped? At this moment, how many children are being molested? How many young people, right now, around the world, are being sold into prostitution? How many babies are being aborted? At this instant, how many lives are being snuffed out by violence? How many people will never see the sun rise again, because of racism, prejudice, terrorism and war?

And I am glad that I don't know. Relieved that there is no survey or research firm that can tally up those numbers. It is too much for me to bear. The weight of the pain, longing, horror and sin of the world is too much to contemplate. It is overwhelming. I thank God for my sheltered existence; sometimes I already feel like I know too much.

Yet God knows. He knows the exact number of each of these things at any moment of any day. More than that, He knows the times and places, and even more importantly, He knows the names and faces. God is not a statistician. There are no faceless masses with Him. How do You bear it, God? You gave us dominion over the world, and what have we done with it?

You didn't want us to know. You wanted to protect us, to shelter us. "Don't eat of the tree," You said. But we couldn't stand the not knowing. Who'd have thought that eating some fruit would open such a Pandora's box?

2/14/06

Birth Defect

Near-sighted,
seeing only
my needs
my pain
my perspective.

Far-sighted,
seeing only
their shortcomings
their stupidity
their sin.


I was born blind.

Unseen, invisible God,
You alone can heal these eyes of mine.
Cause these scales to fall away.

Let me see
my self
my sin
my salvation
through Your eyes.

Remove the blinders of self and superiority
that hide my true condition.

Destroy the cataracts of bitterness and pride
that distort my vision of others.

Filter my view of their brokenness
through Your lenses of grace and mercy.


Be magnified until You are all I see

20/20

What a Lovely Home!

While walking along a street next to a creek, I was thanking the Lord for nature's beauty and the diversity of His creation. "How lovely is Your dwelling place," I prayed.

I heard the Lord say (not audibly), "And where do I dwell?" After a moment's thought, I realized He lives in my heart.

"Oh, no, Lord. My heart is not lovely! It is hard and selfish and stubborn, and mean, and wicked." He said, "Don't consider things as they once were, or even as you perceive them to be now. Don't diminish the work I have done and am doing even now. I am redeeming, restoring, renewing your heart, and much has already been accomplished. If I call your heart 'lovely,' that is sufficient for you."

Optical Delusion?

I know God is right here, and yet I don't have an experience of that.

Like one of those optical illusion puzzles where you stare at the thing; bring it close or move it farther; scrunch up your eyes; look "through" the page--but you can't see the image. Others say, "But it's right there! See the eyes, and the mouth . . ." but to no avail. You finally just act like you see it to get it over with.

This season, too, will pass. "Smell the Color Nine" and all that.

Center and Circumference

"Not God at the margins; not God as an option; not God on the weekends. God at center and circumference."
--Eugene Peterson, The Message (Introduction to Genesis)

Yes, Lord, be the center, the hub of my world. Be the gravitational force that keeps me orbiting around You like planets in a solar system. May I constantly be aware that You are my source of life; without You my world is cold and barren.

Be the circumference, the outer edges of my experience. Like centrifugal force, keep pushing me; out of my comfort zone, past my own limitations, stretched beyond my preconceived notions of my life. Keep me from being insulated in my little nest, and push me to spread my wings, getting a more heavenly perspective.

Mountain Climbing

"I lift up my eyes to the hills . . ."

Tall, rugged, steep hills. Hard to climb. How will I ever get to the top, or over it to the other side? I can't do it. Especially at this altitude, with the thinner air. I have no experience with ropes and rock climbing. I just can't do it on my own.

"Where does my help come from?"

Maybe I need to do some research--read a book, go online, even take a course: Hill Climbing 101. It's kind of hard to learn something like that out of a book, though; hands-on experience is best. I could hire a guide or go on one of those "adventure" vacations. Those are expensive. And what if the mountain we climb is nothing like the one I need to get over? I need someone with the knowledge and experience to get over this mountain.

"My help comes from the Lord, maker of heaven and earth."

Well, God knows this mountain. He knows every rock and contour of its face. He knows how many leaves or needles are on every tree. Better than that, He knows the strength of each ledge, and whether it can bear my weight. He knows the length of my fingers and the capacity of my lungs; He knows which route up the hill is right for me. He knows where the hidden springs are to quench my thirst. The lair of the cougar and bear are not hidden from Him, so He can show me safe passage. And He knows what's on the other side.


Oh, God, I am intimidated and apprehensive about this mountain. Help me not to detour around it and take the easier way. Help me not to just set up camp here in the valley and miss any of what You have for me. It is going to take some time, and there will be bruises and blisters. When I am tired and sore, remind me to enjoy the view and take note of how far I've come. Sustain me through the times when it gets monotonous and I feel like I'm not making any progress. Remind me to rest from time to time, and to trust in Your schedule.

You have made this mountain. If this is where You are leading me, then there is no place else I'd rather be.

Sunrise Serenade

Listen,
Crickets are singing Your praises
Stars are reflecting Your glory
For what fiery sphere
Or distant planet
Can find its light apart from You?
The gentle breezes bring Your caresses
The dew of Your mercy
Refreshes
Renews
Restores
The shape of each cloud
Separates from the darkness
As all of creation
Proclaims Your beauty.

Majestic Morningstar,
Lifting the scepter of the sunrise
To welcome me into Your presence.

(c) Jennifer Fischer 2007

Music from and for millenia

While listening to praise music, I thought about how many good songs there are. Whatever your mood or circumstances, there is a song to reflect where you are, from exuberant, joyful praise to sorrowful laments to doctrinal reminders of God's promises; from orchestral anthems to simple children's songs. I wonder if we'll sing them all in heaven, every song declaring God's faithfulness from Eden to eternity; every melody of His mercy and goodness; every psalm of thanksgiving; every refrain of His glory.

I envision first-century Christians teaching 21st-century believers their simple songs explaining the gospel of Christ. King David and Isaiah instructing us on the tunes to those wonderful words from the Old Testament. Those from the Reformation sharing their hymns with folks from the persecuted church in Asia. Believers that in their earthly life could only whisper songs in darkness while hiding from enemies of the cross will burst forth, singing and shouting choruses at the top of their voices. African villagers teaching their rhythmic dances to Puritans and the Amish.

Can you imagine the delight of our heavenly Father as He receives the praises of the ages from all His children? As He recalls the origins of these songs of worship, the times they were taught around campfires and in caves and fields and cathedrals, passed down by pastors and singers and mothers and Sunday school teachers. The individuals who found expression of their heart's cry in those words; the harmonies that were developed around the family piano. The lyrics meticulously saved by monks in monasteries as well as changing over time as they are passed from generation to generation, adapting to the culture, local dialects and musical skill, influenced by the move of the Spirit on those who sang.

Millions upon millions of songs expressing our praise, along with the songs of the angels. Heaven must be filled with music.