Remembering the Cross ~ 1

People used to talk a lot about revisionist history.  I don't know.  Maybe they still talk about that, and I just don't hear them because I am locked away in the ivory towers of academia.  Incidentally, this is sarcasm because I only wish I could wander among those towers.

At any rate, the current thought is that we tell our histories the way we want to remember them.  This is not a matter of changing the story, but of stressing the parts of the story that we think are most important.  We can't tell everything, and by choosing those parts of the story, we leave out other parts, changing the way the story looks and sounds.   

Whenever we start stressing the parts that got left out and leaving out the parts that used to be told, historians get accused of revising history.  The truth is, it's all history.  We just see it from different perspectives.  

Another thing about telling histories, the parts that don't get told frequently get forgotten.  

I took a class in public memory a few semesters ago.  The idea is that entities in power, whether they are kings, elected public officials, or advertisers, use the way we remember things as a way of strengthening authority.  It sounds manipulative, and I suppose it is.  However, I'm not interested in getting bogged down in discussions of American or any other kind of history.  

At the same time I took the class, I read the first five books of the Bible.  I had never noticed it before, but the writers stress telling stories and the way we to tell stories and and the importance of remembering stories.

The rainbow is all about remembering, and God tells Noah that the rainbow is a sign of the everlasting covenant between Him and all living creatures that never again will he destroy the earth with a flood.

Keeping the Sabbath is an exercise in remembering that God is holy, the he is the creator and we are the created.  

The Hebrews wore tassels so that they would remember all the commands of the Lord and not chase after other Gods.

God tells Moses to remind the people to tell and retell the story of Egypt and slavery and how God rescued them so that they will remember.  That is the reason for the Passover Feast.  Remembering.  

I read this in amazement, thinking once again that there is nothing new under the sun and that God knew all about public memory before academics started discussing it.  

This idea of remembering intrigues me because I think we all have a little bit of amnesia.  We tend to forget things, especially things that aren't in front of us all the time.  That's one of the reasons I keep a journal.  I want to remember the things I've prayed for or I may not realize God has answered.  I want to remember the times I've heard God's voice because otherwise I'll doubt what I heard.  I want to remember the times I have felt God's love because sometimes I don't sense his presence at all.  

On the night of the Last Supper, which he and his disciples would have called the Passover Feast, Jesus breaks bread and gives a piece of each of the men gathered around the table.  He tells them, "This is my body, broken for you.  Do this in remembrance of me."  He passes around a cup of red wine and continues, "This is my blood.  As long as you drink, do this in remembrance of me."  

Why does he say this?  Because if they don't continue the practice, they will forget certain parts.  Christians around the world embraced this practice.  Why?  So they would remember.

That's why every year we celebrate Passion Week, with Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and then Easter.  Historically, these days were a way of telling the story of Jesus.  So we wouldn't forget.

We tell the parts of the story that we think are most important.  The writers of the Gospels spend more space writing about the last week of Jesus life than the other thirty-three years.  Paul tells the Corinthians, "I want to remind you of the gospel, which I preached to you. . . . For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Peter, and then to the Twelve."   

This is the week leading up to the cross.  And so we remember. 

We remember because this is the part of the story the Gospel writers and Paul thought were most important, and we continue that tradition.  

We remember because this part of the story has transformative power in our lives.  

We remember because if we don't remember, we will forget.  

Are you really there, God, or are you a figment of my imagination?

It's kind of scary to admit it, but every now and then I wonder if God is real.  I wonder if the conversations I have with him are really conversations with myself.  Some people say that's what is happening.  For those people, God and the universe and awareness of what is happening around us are pretty much the same thing.

I believe in a God who is all-powerful, who is sovereign, who sets the rules for life.  He can do that because, after all, he created the world.  It's hard to believe that this omnipotent God can love me or even know who I am.  I mean, why would he?  I'm kind of messed up.

But then there's Jesus who is the exact image of the God.  If we've "seen" Jesus, we've seen God.  He does all kinds of amazing things, heals the blind, removes leprosy, casts out demons. Not once in the Gospels do we see Jesus refusing to heal someone.

And that makes it kind of difficult today when we ask and ask for healing or for God's intervention in a difficult situation, but it doesn't appear that God's going to do anything.

It's kind of weird to stand to the side, to be ill, and to watch other people healed.  Or to watch other people's lives being blessed by unexpected checks in the mailbox, happy marriages, children, grandchildren, whatever.  Why doesn't God answer everyone's prayers?

That's part of what makes me question whether or not God is there.  I mean, part of me always knows he is, part of me might be annoyed with him, and part of me just wonders.  It's normal to walk through these kinds of doubts, I think.  As we walk through these doubts, God strengthens our faith and helps us know him better.

One of my favorite authors, Frank Viola, addresses these kinds of questions in his blog titled, "The Forgotten Beatitude,"  in which he quotes Matthew 11:6, when Jesus says, "Blessed is the person who is not offended by me."

If you've ever wondered what God's doing, check this out.
Viola closes by quoting Romans 11, "Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments, and His ways past finding out!” (Rom. 11:33)."

Virus. Blah.

Wednesday has become my favorite day of the week.  My commute is an hour both ways, I teach for an hour, and then I'm done with work at 8:00 a.m.  I come home and grade or comment on papers.  Sometimes I plan lessons.  Sometimes I read.  Wednesdays are lovely.  Most of the time.

Yesterday I felt a cold coming on, and today it has arrived.  I feel well, blah.  My head hurts.  My throat hurts.  I'm cold.  I don't want to do anything, certainly not comment on 26 papers about the scientific consensus on climate change.

I thought perhaps writing would motivate me in some way, but I can think of nothing interesting to say other than some days are like this.  For all of us.

I think I will make another cup of chamomile tea and hope the Nyquil kicks in.  

The Spiritual Inventory

The Men's Ministry team asked Duane to speak at a breakfast on Saturday morning, and they gave him a topic: Spiritual Inventory.   He told me this at breakfast on Wednesday morning, and so we started brainstorming together as we waited for our eggs.

Most of the time, when we hear the phrase "spiritual inventory," we think of a check-off list.  How many times did you do your devotions last week?  How much time do you spend in prayer? Did you go to a Life Group this last week?  Did you attend church?  How many chapters of the Bible did you read?  Have you shared your faith this week?  

I Googled spiritual inventory and found a couple of tests you can take online.  Of course there would be check-off lists of online tests that you can take to assess your spiritual health.  

Prayertoday.org asks, "Have you memorized scripture verses by heart (at least 30)?" "Can you list the Ten Commandments by heart in order?"  "Do you know all the books of the Bible in order?"  "Can you defend creation and your faith before an atheist or agnostic?"

Hmmm.  I know a lot of people who can name all the books of the Bible in order, but don't have a meaningful relationship with Jesus.  And so on.  

Navigators had a test too, and it's a little more holistic, but all in all, it's still about counting.  These are multiple choice questions, and I am biased against those.  "Mostly true" or "completely true" mean different things to different people.

That's why I prefer short answer questions.  And I prefer qualitative rather than quantitative questions.  In other words, I think counting the number of chapters I read or how many times I invite people to church is pretty meaningless.  As someone who has read many chapters, memorized numerous Scriptures, and probably missed fewer than ten weekend church services in more than fifty years, I can honestly say that numbers and counting do not provide a realistic assessment of spiritual health.  

Both Duane and I come from church backgrounds.  We know how to game the system.  We've logged more hours in ministry than most people I know, and we're about as dedicated to church stuff as you can get.  Dedicated to church stuff also does not provide a realistic assessment of spiritual health. 

With these things in mind, Duane and I started brainstorming.  

Right now I'm reading I Am a Follower by Leonard Sweet, a book on what it means to follow Christ.  He suggests that following Christ doesn't mean that we're just supposed to imitate Jesus.  Instead, we are supposed to "live life with the Spirit of Christ in us, with all the magic and miracle made possible by Jesus' own crucifixion and resurrection" (182).  

In other words, Christ lives in us.  Our lives are not our own.  And any spiritual inventory must evaluate how well we are the "living, breathing, walking-around presence of Jesus in the world today" (182).  This includes "humility, a willingness to learn and be taught by others" with a "sense of our need for others through an attitude of mutuality and reciprocity" (182).  

He offers three questions to wrestle with when we consider our incarnation--and thus our spiritual health:

1. Who am I?
2. Where am I?
3. Where am I going?

Okay, these aren't really short-answer questions, but they do require some serious thought.  And the answers to these questions do tell us a lot about our spiritual health.

I would offer a fourth question:  Who is God?  They way we view God also tells us a lot about our spiritual life.  

Hopefully, I'll begin exploring some of these questions over the next few days.  Hopefully.  I have about 50 student essays to read plus my taxes and a FAFSA form to complete this week.  My life is fun.  

I gave up writing last summer.

I gave up writing last summer.  

I don't mean that I actually stopped writing, but only that I stopped a certain type of writing.  I stopped blogging and writing about things I care about, things I'm learning, things I want to talk about.  I stopped in order to finish writing my thesis.  To maintain a little bit of sanity, I started journaling again.  Journaling is a little bit like blogging, but I have more incomplete random thoughts and even incomplete sentences because no one else will read my journal.  Until I die.  (I harbor fantasies of someone reading my journal and discovering my brilliance after I am gone.)  

I took a brief trip to Palm Springs after finishing my thesis and started writing again.  I planned to polish up some of the better entries and hopefully submit them to publishers.  It felt good to create word pictures and images.  It felt really good to explore and share my ideas and thoughts.  I had no teaching jobs lined up, and so this seemed like a good plan.  It was my only plan.

I left Palm Springs on a Wednesday and immediately got two classes.  That turned into five plus and internship, and I also signed up for a linguistics class.  I stopped writing again.  I stopped a lot of other things again too, like hanging out with friends and reading.  Sometimes I felt like I was going crazy.  

This semester is a little more sane, and so I'm trying to figure how to be myself again.  I'm reading four challenging books and several blogs, bouncing around between the book of Mark, favorite Psalms, and Colossians.  I'm still journaling.  I'm trying to see friends, although that's sporadic.  And I think about writing, themes to discuss and ideas to toss around.

Now it's time to write. 

Strength to the Weary - Isaiah 40

I have a stack of more than 300 papers that need reviewed.

That's what happens if you assign a lot of homework to give students practice writing and if you have more than 140 students and if you don't have time to look at their work for two days because you filled up your grading time by meeting with students or attending or related meetings or appointments.

Or you spend the weekend reading rough drafts.

I woke up last night and I felt like I was drowning, like I couldn't breathe.  I thought about today, going into Grossmont for my internship from 9:00 to 2:30 and then racing over to State to meet with the department head about him observing my classroom when I don't have solid lesson plans for tomorrow and then going down to IT to learn how to use plagiarism software and then meeting with additional students and then going to worship practice.

When would I EVER have a chance to read those papers?

I sent an email to my Grossmont mentor and took this morning off.  I hate seeming irresponsible.  I take my commitments very seriously.

I haven't gotten much done.  I needed to catch up on student emails and wanted to spend some time praying. I need spiritual and emotional refreshing.  And physical rest.

In the background, I could hear my daughter Caitlin playing her guitar, singing, and worshiping.  Her door was closed, and I wished I could hear her better from my room.

She came in a little later and asked if I would listen to a song she might lead at college group.  I listened for technical things, like she asked, and then the lyrics sunk in.

You are the everlasting God.  You will not sleep - you won't grow weary.
You're the defender of the weak.  You comfort those in need.
You lift us up on wings like eagles.

After she left I turned to Isaiah 40, the inspiration for the lyrics.

Obviously I have some important scheduling issues I need to deal with.  I need to make some tough choices that I should have made last August.

I don't blame God for my anxiety.  I think it--and my incredibly ridiculous schedule--stem from lack of trust, but that is another discussion.

The thing is, because of God's grace, I can still rest in these promises.

The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the heavens and the earth.  He will not grow tired or weary.  His understanding no one can fathom. 

He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. 

Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.  They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not faint.  

After we discussed the pros and cons of singing this at college group this evening, I thanked her for singing this particular song because it ministered to me uniquely and reminded me of God's greatness.  I told her I was going to read the passage from Isaiah.  She asked if she could pray for me and she did.

Today I am grateful for songs that remind me of God's greatness and his power to minister to me when I am weak.  I am grateful for Caitlin, who sings to me and prays for me when she knows I'm struggling.

And I'm grateful for God's promises.

On with the remainder of my day.
I'm praying I can remain in a place of rest even as I begin marking papers and getting ready for this afternoon and tomorrow.

I am not superwoman

I haven't written forever.  I just don't have time.  At first I missed it, but lately I don't even think about writing.  Monday and Wednesday I teach at State from 9-3:15.  I get there at 8:00 and leave at 5:00.  On Friday I only have to be there until noon.  Except every other Friday there's an internship class that goes from 12:30 to about 4:00.  On Tuesday, I'm at Grossmont until noon, sitting in an ESL class, interacting with students.  I get home, grade a few papers, and then head over to State for my linguistics class.  On Thursday, I'm at Grossmont until 2:30 and then I can catch up on grading.  And on Saturdays, well that's pretty much all grading.

It's okay.  I love it.  I love every piece of it.  I don't get tired of it, and I smile all the time.  Or at least most of the time.

Last Thursday morning, I opened an email from the co-head of the English department at Mesa College, and he asked if I could teach a developmental class at UCSD on Monday and Wednesday evenings from 6-8.  (Technically, none of the major universities offer developmental classes.  In fact, they do, but those classes are taught by faculty from community colleges.)

This is a great opportunity, and after talking it over with Duane, we decided it's in our best interest to go ahead and say yes.  Since that time, I've been taking care of paperwork, building curriculum, etc.  You have to jump through a lot of hoops to get hired at community colleges--TB tests, finger printing, many, many papers, etc.  I suppose it's like this at any job.  At any rate, I did all of this at Grossmont, but there was no huge rush as they weren't offering me a job.  They just need it on file.

As a result of administrative details, I haven't had much time for lesson planning or grading.  And now I'm behind.  Plus, I still have more administrative details to take care of this afternoon--a trip to get fingerprinted and then a few more papers to sign.  So I was putting all of my stuff in the car, and I put my laptop bag behind the trunk and remembered I had two more books to put into the car.

Um-hmmm.  I forgot the bag.  I felt a clunk when I backed out of the garage.  Got out, looked around for what I hit.  Nothing  I got back in and started backing out again.  Now I knew there was something wrong.  I got out and started looking at the tires.  None of them were flat.

At this point, an angel (in the form of a neighbor I don't know) yelled that my suitcase was under the car.  Sure enough.  There was my laptop bag, wedged in the undercarriage of my car.  I wondered about the state of my laptop, but oddly enough I didn't freak.  My neighbor suggested that I pull forward slowly and see if the bag unwedged.  Under her direction, I did so.  The bag was free.  Bent in odd directions and covered with sludge, but free.

Immediately I checked the laptop.  The laptop was undamaged.  I hugged my neighbor.  I am rejoicing.

I am grateful that my laptop works.
I am grateful that Duane insisted I buy a good quality laptop bag.
I am grateful that my neighbor saw what happened.  I don't think I ever would have looked under the car.
I am grateful for all the opportunities God has given me.

I decided to take the morning off and grade papers.  I could have made it to class, but I am not superwoman. I am not.  I can't do everything.  I think I can, but I can't.