Will Be Now...

One trend amongst Christians which I have had my doubts about, is the intense obsession with finding out what your "calling" is. While I agree it is good that we search for what we should be doing, and where we will fit best in the greater whole of God's Kingdom, it seems we are missing the trees for the forest.

God certainly calls us to higher and purer things, and He calls us to bring His Kingdom to this earth, but it was no one less than Christ also told us that "...the kingdom of Heaven is within you..."

So why this chasing after ethereal tomorrows? Why this obsession with what we might be? Why this focus on finding out what we should be doing with our lives?

As you might be able to tell, this group of questions could take up an entire book of social psychology. Perhaps I could offer my thoughts.

We need to see that God is here, and is present in our lives. Not only will He be with us, He is with us. The psalmist puts it pretty bluntly,

If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me...

Not exactly a half-hearted assertion.

As a person much acquainted with worry, I know I'm not quite immune to this by any means. I would like to know just as much as the next man what I should do with my life. But I'm not going to get that from God just by asking. And besides, is that the point?

Maybe the point is really that God is here with us, and leads us by the hand. And that is much more comforting than any self actualization book in my opinion. God is our very present help in a time of trouble. He takes us by the hand, and leads us towards the promised land.

Now I Shall Show You The Most Excellent Way...

Beyond what St. Paul says about what love is, I believe there is a very good reason why he says it is the greatest of the three virtues.

I can clearly remember one day I got back an exam. Not only did I have the dubious honour of having the lowest grade out of all the class, but I also had the singular distinction of getting the only zero. I was literally at the bottom of the heap. I was all alone, and could not quite figure out how I had got there.

I will not say that I was overly distraught, but I would say that I had fallen into a hole, and suddenly discovered that I did not have any climbing equipment on me. Not even rope.

But I wasn't left there.

"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things"

I got two calls that day, from friends. And the outpouring of love and encouragement gave me pause, and perspective.

This is why love is the greatest.

Unlike hope and faith, love does its work in the now, in our present darkness so to speak. It is the virtue that is with us always. Love is present, and love is powerful.

Hope is wanting things to get better. Faith is believing that someone can make things better. Love is making things better. That is why it is the most excellent way.

Breathing out and breathing in...

One of the most imaginative ways of describing the Christian life, which I heard from my college fellowship pastor, was the image of "breathing out, and breathing in". It is certainly an interesting way of describing how we are supposed to live, and lends itself to vividly describing our actions. We breathe God in, learning how we are supposed to live, and we breathe out His love and care on others. You can even extend the analogy by noting that you can't breathe out all the time, there must be both for either to work.

But clever analogies aside, it really got me thinking again, not for the first time, about where God has placed me, and what I should be doing with myself.

Is the harsh academic atmosphere of Berkeley really the best place to do either?

At first blush, Berkeley doesn't seem a very good place to breathe in. People cite the extremely liberal, "progressive" atmosphere, that cultivates a culture of questioning most any traditional belief. If you did not question at least some aspect of your life before you came to Berkeley, then you will once you come to Berkeley.

But maybe this is exactly the sort of place to breathe in. A place where extraneous, spurious elements of a personality may be stripped away. A refining of character if you will.

And this is exactly what God wishes to do to us. Refine us till we are pure as pure gold. To shine with a purity of character that shows the work of the Maker.

But we must breathe in this refining fire, and let it work within us to God's purposes. Berkeley's challenging atmosphere, when breathed in, and with God at work, will refine our characters to have more of God's heart.

Berkeley's challenging atmosphere will show us what true, Godly love is, when we are confronted with people who do not agree with our upbringing. It will show us what true, Godly love is when we are placed in a broken friends life, who is also our roommate.

So breathe in, really deeply, the refining atmosphere of Berkeley, and let God work.

The Medicine of the Familiar...

Being a student is certainly a stressful vocation, though some would argue with both the stressful and vocation part. But I would counter that, a) I can't think of a better word than "vocation" when describing what I do with my life, when it doesn't happen to be called a job and, b) when one is a student at UC Berkeley, I would certainly say that stressful is a very applicable word to any student found there.

And Heaven help us when the stress comes. It comes almost from the beginning. The saying goes that you start out behind at Cal, which could also be true for other schools. I have yet to hear, but I assume that it is not that unique to Cal, given the other unique qualities of Berkeley of course.

And of course when the stress do come, we all handle it in different ways. It is one of the more curious phenomena that I have ever experienced. One of the most common events is the delayed onset of sickness. The body drives itself, perfectly healthy and sound, all through finals, and when all is done, simply crashes. Sickness arrives with a vengeance.

But what to do about the stress?! And the calamitous after effects?!

It seems that our most sure solace can be had in the familiar tasks, objects, and actions that we have always done. That book that you read in childhood, that soft raggedy stuffed animal, making muffins, fixing a cup of tea, wearing that old worn plaid shirt.

What is it about familiar old things? What do they have?

Perhaps it is like the Skin Horse said in The Velveteen Rabbit, that these things have become "real". That favorite piece of clothing, because you used it, wore it, loved it even, became real. As the Skin Horse says,

"You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

So maybe we should listen to the words of the Skin Horse on this one. But making something "Real" doesn't merely happen to toys. We love clothes, simple activities, and other people, to name but a few things. And with this love we make all of them "Real", and when we need comfort and recovery the most, we can go back to these "Real" things, and truly recuperate. So find your velveteen rabbit, and hug it close.

The Gift of Blindness...

To be honest, human beings start out pretty blind to most things. We start with clean slates, our minds empty of conceptions about our actual situation.  If we grew up in the Church, then we have a dim conception, from a very early age, that we somehow have things mostly right, and from here on out, it's just finishing work.

And perhaps when we look at ourselves, we might even agree with this statement. We don't really murder people, commit adultery, steal office supplies, or drink just a little too much wine on the weekends. We are fine upstanding, decent people.

We are not swayed from this view very much by our families and churches. They perhaps even take this illusion a little bit farther. As it says in the good book, "…we have died to the flesh…" and thus aren't bound by those pesky fleshly, carnal desires. We have died to the world, and all that which it holds onto us by. We see the situation for what it is. No more, no less.

And we grow up.

We grow older.

And it begins. With frightening rapidity.

We thought we saw clearly. We saw that we were dead to all these earthly, fleshly desires. At least we thought we could see.

But we grow up.

We grow older.

And we begin to see.

We aren't dead to earthly, fleshly desires. And we find this out in small and big ways. If we're lucky, small ways. But, truth be known, for some of us it takes a rather large brick wall to bring us to our senses. We will not admit that we are merely human, and can't walk on water, unless we are thrown in the deep end, bound and gagged. To truly find out that you are human, and carnal at that, is an immensely humbling experience.

We begin to see what a burden we bear.

Now perhaps all through this you have been asking yourself, or perhaps berating God, "why didn't you tell me earlier? I could handle it!".

Maybe we couldn't.

Would you want to be told you had lost before the starting gun had gone off?

Would you want to know that you are broken, even before you knew what wholeness was?

Would you want to know that you would wreak havoc for someone, before you even had the desire to help?

I suppose my point is this. We needed to be blind. We needed to not see our burden, so that we could actually start walking, no, LEARN how to walk. We would have given up before we could even do something about it, if we had seen our burden. And right now, I suspect that even I myself cannot see my entire burden. And to tell the truth, it feels heavy even right now.

As I grow older, I am, by the grace of God, becoming less blind. I see more and more of the burden I carry. I don't think I would carry on if I knew it were bigger and heavier than this. I might not have hope. Or even believe that God has already triumphed over all my burdens.

So for now, I am thankful for blindness. Thankful that I can only see a small portion of my burden. Thankful that God has conquered it all, even the parts I can't see yet.