Coram Deo: a theology of presence

Again Lent crept up, silent and unassuming.  And rather suddenly, as it is wont to these past few years.  There it is, tucked into the middle of my week, the day before Valentines; and I’m supposed to know exactly which spiritual disciplines will best lead me to what end for the growth and betterment of my soul.       

I wonder if that’s how the desert found Christ.  If He was walking, purposed on being close to the Father after His baptism, looked up and suddenly He was in the desert.  As He intended to be, no doubt; but did He intentionally note the crossing of the line from society to wilderness.  Or was it just something that happened as He considered His Father’s words to Him?

Whatever the case, I prayed yesterday, as I hung red and silver whirly-gigs from my ceiling, and draped all conceivable surfaces with hearts, that the Holy Spirit would lead me into this Lent with insight as to what I ought to do.  For there is much on my mind and heart this Lenten season, not so external as last year, more internal; and I have been seeking means for addressing the shifting in my spirit and I just knew that Lent would pair so well with this pursuit.  And I prayed again, driving through fog and traffic on the way to class on this day of commercialized love; wishing I wasn’t already a day behind in the liturgical calendar, so that it felt like failing to even be asking.       

And in my own head, I came up with a few good and decent ideas:

·         Practice self-care for 40 days – Because I have a tendency to neglect myself in certain ways; and this neglect shows a poor respect for the gift of my physical body, a poor theology of time and of humanness, and, frankly a disrespect for the price Christ paid to free me from sinful behaviors and attitudes concerning an anti-gnostic view of me.  Thus, I had concluded the following would be my means of practice:

o    consume only Paleo food and drink [like the Daniel fast, only with lean meat proteins and omitting grains]

o    engage in physical activity every day

o    nap when I need it

o    get enough water

o    go to bed at a decent hour

o    Give up alcohol*

 

·         Memorize scripture – A good discipline to ground my thoughts and deeds and days in God’s Word; to have it available when I need it; to let the Holy Spirit work through the scriptures directly on my heart.

o    Find 4 sections (not verses, but passages that include the contextual emphasis) of scripture – the trouble I was running into was: which passages?

o    Devote 10 days to the memorization of each passage

o    Write them on my mirror, make flip cards, tuck them into my books for school, etc...so they would be constantly before my eyes and on my mind.

 

·         Give up make-up for 40 days – If you know me, this doesn’t sound like much of a stretch.  But when I wear it, it is representative both my desperate attempts to control a tiny bit of the situation I’m in, and my warped theology of beauty (how I want people to view me and how I am programmed to view myself with and without it).  Even I was surprised to find myself balking at the very idea.  It was a telling few moments of my commute.  

Each of these is a good idea. Thus, I had decided to implement them together, in a holistic self-care Lenten regimen.  I was contemplating the lateness of my Lent’s beginning (Ash Wednesday was yesterday) as I pulled into the parking lot; and having an internal argument as to whether Valentine’s celebrations could count as “non-Lent-ish” since a piece of chocolate cake and a glass of wine were in my plans for this evening.  Shouldn’t I keep my make-up on for the Officer, if this was my last day of it for a month; and who wants to workout on Valentine ’s Day anyway?    

I walked into class, as is so often the case, completely unaware of what God was going to do in that space – just for me. 

Yes, I know how selfish it sounds to say that God did something only for me, in a graduate course full of students and visitors with their lives full of God-needs, too.  But He has done it over and over again—knocked the wind out of me through the prayer of a teacher, or through the wisdom of a professor, or through the insight of a classmate.  Maybe because it’s there, in those rooms, at those times, am I really listening and really believing all of what God says about who He is.  Or maybe it’s because these people, in that place, listen to Him well and bring Him with them in their hearts and their words.  Or maybe it’s just because.    

We’d discussed it before; and will no doubt again.  But today in the professor’s prayer, in my heart, in the talk about what we believe about God and how our lives are lived out of this belief, however well-formed or poorly represented; today, it struck me as exactly what I was hoping for in my Lent.

Coram Deo :

-- carried out before, or in the presence of, God.

{Isaiah 40:9-31}

The professor read the whole of Isaiah 40:9-31 aloud, over us.  I could hear my Father’s voice in my heart; within me, my spirit responded.  As this reality of who God is was pouring over me, I asked the question: is every aspect of my life conducted coram deo; and I knew the answer is not fully and wholly, “yes.”  I am still trying to control so much of it.  Every day.  And there are deep places in me that cry out still for the fullness of the gospel to reach them; like so many petals needing to be peeled away so that light can finally reach the center.

 

So that what was left after this sounding of my spirit was the realization that the practices I had purposed earlier wouldn’t merely do – they were exactly what I needed.

·         If I truly believe that God created me, and has ransomed me for His own, then I need to practice self-care.  It is not a selfish pursuit.  Nor should it wear the trappings of vanity; for the moment I think, “I want to be skinnier/prettier/firmer/etc…” I move from stewardship to sin.  I must care for this physical and temporal body not because it’s the vessel that holds my soul, but because my body is as much me as my heart and mind and spirit.  Each was made by God, with only me in mind.  And each should be cared for because they were made by God – not because I want the world to respond to me in a certain way. {Self-care} 

·         If I truly believe that God inspired humans to write down His words, centuries apart in different context for different audiences using different genres and literary devices, then I need to seek His voice therein.  If I truly believe that somehow, incomprehensible to me, His Spirit and Power are alive in His Word, then oughtn’t I devote time and energy to tucking these into my being – into my mind and heart?  {Memorize Isaiah 40:9-31}

·         If I truly believe that God is the Creator of the universe and time; and that He is the orchestrator of all good things, should I not completely surrender control to Him? {No make-up.  Focusing only on the 24 hour period in which I am presently; and doing what I can in that time and space.}   

·         Finally, an addition: If I truly believe that God is YHWH, then I need a better theology.  Not newer or more “relevant” or more academic.  More holistic, more well-rounded, more thoughtful, more aware.  I will use my course assignments not merely as papers, but as formation exercises.  I will find what theologians say about certain topics (the Doctrine of revelation, of sin, of human being, of creation, of God, etc…), and what the scriptures say; and I will find where I fall.  For out of my theology will come my praxis of life coram deo.  {Research, articulate, and practice Theology on 4 topics}

Of course, these disciplines are just that: mechanisms to keep me mindful of living my entire life as before God.  They will not unlock some secret spirituality within me.  They will not, by virtue of their practice, usher me into a more intimate communion with the Lord.  But, like any training exercise,  they can help me center my mind and focus my heart and bend my spirit to hear God, and daily [even moment to moment] help me to live my life coram deo.           

May this Lenten season find you seeking deeper relationship with God the Father.  May His Holy Spirit guide your weeks ahead.  And may His Son, Jesus Christ once again win your heart with His unquenchable love.

  

 

*A note on Giving up Alcohol – While I do not hold a teetotaler philosophy {this in itself is not a judgment on either side of the debate, merely a personal note}, I find that removing certain substances from time to time a beneficial practice that allows me to focus on mental, spiritual, and physical health.  To do a sounding of my whole person and decided: does this particular element have too great a hold on me (I have done this with alcohol, sugar, and caffeine in the past).  It allows me to find this ingredient’s place in my life and make sure it has not become either a crutch or a screen to something deeper in need of attention. 



Linked with: I Still Hate Pickles for Lent.  Visit Kiki's site, read her words, and be enoucraged by her insightful transparency.  

Trust Issues

Declaration 5:  The new creation that I am TRUSTS.  She will not allow the lies of the enemy to hijack her thinking.  She will believe that her God is at work in her and through her, towards the end that all things will be HIS good for her because of her love for him and her calling to his purpose.

Read: James 1:2-8

Trust.  It shouldn’t be that hard.  The entire cosmos is a monument to God’s faithfulness.  Every breath I draw is a testimony of His enduring love.  Yet trust, the act of giving up my prideful I’ve-got-this or I-know-what’s-best-for-me delusions, is the oldest challenge to weak humanity.  It’s what seduced Eve into the bite that caused creation to crumble.  It’s what led Adam to abdication.  It’s what I struggle with daily.

Now, I have no problem believing God can [and did] literally speak the universe into existence.  Nor do I doubt that the blood of Jesus Christ is the sufficient once-for-all atonement for those who choose to accept it.  And I do not question the presence of the Holy Spirit, the manifestation of His power, and the endowment of His gifts upon believers.  I don’t even wonder if God will act on behalf of other believers.  My struggle is with whether He’s going to act on behalf of me.

That sounds rather double-minded.  To believe in God for others; all the while doubting God for me.  Without treading too far into more exacting theological discussions: it is, but it isn’t.  The double-mindedness to which James, the biological, half-brother of Jesus Christ, refers is not whether God will give me what I ask for if I just believe hard enough.  It is doubting whether or not God will give wisdom to those who ask.  Not human knowledge, not intelligence; but the wisdom of the Psalms (119), the wisdom of Proverbs.  The wisdom that testifies: God is who He says He is, and He will do what He says He’s going to do.  A wisdom that asserts that fear of the Lord and love of the Lord are requirements of those who desire to follow Him.  Wisdom that ultimately leads to surrender.  Because this wisdom brings me to the realization that I am but a mote in His eternal light; momentary and fleeting, helpless and seemingly superfluous.  And as always, in desperate need of Him.               

Thus I can do naught but trust God.  Trust Him when things don’t go the way I want them to, or anticipate them going, or even worst-case-scenario them.  Trust Him when it feels like He is hiding His face from me.  Trust Him with the happy endings, as well as the sad ones.  Trust that when I don’t see it, or when it doesn’t feel like it, or when it drags on and on, God is at work in me and through me [assuming I’m submitting myself to Him].  That He is using my time and circumstances to bring about His perfect will.  That somehow, through even me, He will be glorified. 

I commend to you probably the most difficult passage of Richard Foster’s Prayer of Relinquishment, at least for me—the couplet I’ve come to call the surrender.      

I surrender to you

I could stop there.  I should stop there.  I surrender to God.  I surrender.  Surrender is a forfeit of control, or any attempt thereof; a relinquishment of authority; a voluntary submission to another, in regards to my own person and well-being.  Trusting someone other than myself with my welfare, my life.  No matter the outcome.  No matter the cost.    

I surrender to you

my hopes,

my dreams,

my ambitions.

My.  My.  My.  All mine.  All what I want for me.  Lord, let me want what You want for me. 

Do with them what you will,

when you will,

as you will.

This part is the hardest.  What if You don’t want for me, what I want for me?  What if it takes my whole, entire life for these dreams and hopes to come about; what if I feel like I’ve wasted my time until then?  What if, in the end, it doesn’t turn out how I’ve pictured, how I’ve planned?  Lord, help me to surrender.  My wants, my time, my outcome.  Let me trade them for Yours.

For the sake of Jesus Christ.

I will trust that the Divine Man Messiah who hung upon the cross at Golgotha and the God who allowed His Son to die in my stead, had my best interested at heart.  Both now and forever. 

Amen

 

 

In Response to the anti-Lent

I respectfully submit that I disagree with those who feel that the season of Lent is a hollow, ritualized observance that actually detracts from the “real” Jesus, as evidenced by the debauchery and debasement exhibited by some on Fat Tuesday (aka: Mardi Gras, or Shrove Tuesday).  Or that it is counter to Christ’s purpose, as He stated, “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly” (John 10:10b).

First, I view using the American celebration of Mardi Gras (a la New Orleans’ Bourbon Street) as evidence that Lent is pointless akin to using MTV reality shows to make the point that abstinence is outmoded.  Mardi Gras, particularly in its Americanized form, is the worldly antithesis to the reverence and spiritual fruit that can exist through the observance of Lent (Galatians 5:22, the last fruit of the Spirit listed being “self-control”).        

To the latter, I would like to point out that the passage in which Christ says this (John 10:7-18), is a parable concerning the Good Shepherd, who willingly, and with all authority, lays down His life as a sacrifice for his sheep; only to take it up again, with the same authority, in the victorious conquering of death.  This passage is not an entreaty to seek out fulfillment in life abundant in anything but Christ.  It is an example of the love and authority shown by the Shepherd on behalf of those in His charge, so that the sheep will not later be persuaded to follow grotesque facsimiles of the Incarnate Deity; nor to chase after hollow idols, be they universal or of our own making.     

The Lenten season is intended to symbolize Christ’s sojourn in the desert prior to the beginning of His incarnate ministry.  He fasted and prayed, drawing closer to the Father for 40 days.  Certainly, every believer in every church needs to draw more near to God.  Fasting and prayer are indeed lacking in many congregations, as our daily routines crowd out the movement of the Spirit in our lives and our weekly commitments drown out the voice of God in our hearts, and our frantic busy-ness suffocates the love of Christ from being expressed in our actions.

Instead of the assumed, Pharisee-esque, self-denial often associated with Lent, I instead find great merit in spending a season reflecting solemnly on our individual need for a Savior, and the cost at which we have been redeemed.   For if we cannot personally and in an immediate way, relate to our need for a Savior, do we not tend to diminish His sacrifice?  Instead of Christ dying for my sins, my thoughts become, “Christ died for the sins of the world.”  And while this is an indisputable truth, I have, with one word, removed myself, my sins, my need for Christ’s grace from the equation.  I begin to drift towards thinking I’m okay, because I’m better than “those people” (non-believers, people who don’t come to church like I do, people who don’t attend the Bible studies, retreats, fellowship events I do, people who don’t respond in worship the way I do, etc…).  I start to gauge my relationship with God through my works, my attendance, my personal activities.  And from there, it is a quick descent to the point where I am setting myself up as judge over others.  Thus, I have lost myself among the thistles of self-reliance and am in grave danger of complacency and simply going through the motions.    

To combat this ever-present danger, in the weeks leading up to the holiest day of the year, for certainly if one identifies him/herself as a follower of Christ, the most sacred and set apart of all days is the one on which we, as a body, gather to remember and celebrate the glorious hope that is the bodily resurrection and spiritual triumph over sin and death that is the Risen Christ!  What if, in preparation for that, we examined the rhythms of our lives? What if we took the temperature of our hearts?  And what if we honestly desired to have less of our flesh, and more of Christ in us?  And after that examination, what if we purposed to make some changes; if we cut certain habits that have the propensity to rule us, and replaced them with life giving practices.  Not merely giving up meat, or sweets, or alcohol, or your favorite social networking site, just to show others how holy you are.  But, in submission and humility, asking the Holy Spirit to show you what is keeping you from a deeper relationship with Jesus?  And then entreating the Holy Spirit to empower you to overcome these roadblocks, so that you may enter into a deeper trust of, a great reliance upon, and a closer communion with the triune God.  So that when Easter morning presents itself, your spirit is less fettered than before; and you can come into this celebration lighter, more free, and full of greater rejoicing at the victory of the King of Kings, than if you had wearily frittered away your time in the monotonous distractions in which we are all currently mired. 

Isn’t that the abundant life which Christ references: a life free of fleshly entanglements, a heart unfettered by this world, so that it can love Jesus and those whom He created?  That is my prayer for this Lenten season.  That I may, through the guidance of the Holy Spirit, let go of more of this world, so that I can grasp onto even more of Christ.

I have known the dark; I am now known by the light.

I am no stranger to the dark. Blackness, both metaphorical and physical, has been my casing for longer than I care to remember. It has been with me for over half my life now. However, there is a particular darkness with which I am intimately acquainted. It goes beyond a mere absence of light. It is a palpable entity. It lives, consumes, becomes you. It is as defining as belief itself.

I spent years strangling myself with my own hand; screaming into the vacuous blackness of silence I created. I built my dungeon, stone by stone until there was not air, not light, none but me and my misdeeds. The genius behind this prison was the location. It was my own soul.

On the inside, I was dying; a slow, suffocating suicide. On the outside, I was ~ me. Bouts with external darkness preceded and followed; the ebb and flow of a life plagued with the blackness. Each was but a shadow compared with what lurked deep within me. Loneliness incomprehensible; loathing unimaginable. And fear as close as breath.

Each of these: the years of separation, of reflective hatred, and of being afraid of the loss that would rend my heart from my shriveled soul. The inability to sleep next to the one I love, for so many different reasons. I could not find comfort without; and there was nothing but death within. Each of these I tried to weather on my own. Piteous attempts at self-reliance crumbled into addictions, attempts at piety, and finally the grand facade of, "everything is alright."

Until, quite unexpected, I was sought out by the Light. And this Light does not seep into the dark, gently shying it away. This Light shatters it. It eliminates the blackness; slays the reasons behind it. It burns away any remnants of the prison in which I bound myself. It encircles me so that I am untouchable by any of my former assailants. It transforms my very being so that I stand now, fully enveloped in this Light. It radiates new life; within me It is luminous!

So to say that I am "one of those" is quite right. I am. And so thankful to be! I am a child of Light; as much in that Light as It is in me. I strive to shine brightly amongst the blackness of a fallen world. Because I have more than seen the darkness; I was with the darkness. And having battled the dark on my own, having lost to it over and over again, I can only plead ~ turn around. Let the Light in. It is your only hope. It is my every hope. There is no situation, no internal blackness that is too much. This Light is the truth; and the only Way.

Let the Light in; let It guide you, strengthen you, comfort you. Shine among the stars, though you are brighter by far!