Consume me Lord, else I die.

I called myself a runner. I admire the fluidity of the human structure when it functions well, with a toe, heel, breath. Sweat to cool and blood to warm. Muscles taut then lax, and tomorrow's strength worth the pain. I used to be a runner.

My spiritual life was inseparable from my running life. If I ran well, I prayed well. If I was angry, I ran...so that later, I could pray. In running, I had definite limits--so I would work until I saw those limits, until I would nearly pass out, was injured, or plain had nothing left. Reaching my limits did not humble me. It did not destroy me. Seeing my finite nature and weakness made me push harder, run farther, prove that I was not the weakness I saw. If I conquered myself, showed that my effort was nearly killing me, I could present myself to God. (See, God? I am desperate for you. Use me. I am useful.)

I was desperate to be used by God, to be sure. The sincerity was present. But, as most of my peers knew at the time, I struggled with rest. Resting in God, being still and knowing who He is.

I used to be a fighter, too. My opinions were known throughout school. I approved of the person whose words are so crafted that passion was evident. Comebacks and sarcasm were my tools. Who knows how many people I made bleed.

There came a time when tendonitis in my hip flexor became severe enough that I could barely walk. When I began running again, the panic attacks began. I had to learn to pray without running.
As I learned pain from the divorces, deaths, suicides and burdens in this world, I had to learn to speak without adding to the pain. It was not the running that made me desperate for God, it was the resting. In my search for skilled words, it was not wisdom I ultimately sought but compassion. However, a joining in the experiences and pain of another really takes pain to know. It was not the fighting that kept me whole, it was the breaking.

Recently, I told a friend that I was afraid. I have not been accustomed to much fear, and seeing my will and decisions shaped by an emotion that cripples is shaming. She asked me to name the source of my fear, and I blurted out, after having spent over two weeks trying to name it, "I think I am afraid to disappear in Christ."

Wow.

I am afraid of becoming nothing. Hence the running and the fighting.

Quickly and soon, I was set right through words of my pastor, who said that having Christ as our treasure means love for Him drives us, is our motivating force, is what consumes our choices, our lives. My thought, which can only be from our God, was "Consume me Lord, else I die."

Christ, if I do not die in you, I die outside of you. With the first, there is resurrection, with the second, eternal loss.

Consume me, Lord, else I die.

Father

That boy, “Abraham’s son,”

I don’t think was ever rightly called.

                  There is that flame,

that kindling, in the story of

the son-that-should-have-died.

Fate played no part. God himself

came down. There is no surer word.

The covenant could stand

and Isaac die and Abraham knew it.

He spent three days knowing it,

each step a mustard seed

to fell the mountain in his heart.

The knife. Did he shudder as he lifted it,

                  the sinews, muscles tense

Did he calm himself with words as shallow as his breath

                  I’ve done this before

                  a goat, a dove, an ox,

                  my

                  son.

An old sinner,

longing to obey.

And Isaac died to Abraham. In between the knife’s up and stop,

Isaac became a son of God. 

"You cannot love a thing without wanting to fight for it" -G.K. Chesterton

I have been thinking. We are commanded to love our neighbor.
What if I do not love my neighbor?
Well, then. I must choose to love anyway.
I must purposefully,
           intentionally choose actions that will demonstrate love toward my neighbor. Sometimes, this will come at great cost to myself, either in the form of time, money, or pride. If time or money, do not worry. Neither our time nor our money is our own. If it is our pride that will be lost when love is demanded...praise be to our Lord and Savior. "We know our blessings by their cost" (Wendell Berry). To lose one's pride is surely blessing.

But listen. I have heard an excuse, as of late. "How can I love someone I do not love? How can I change what I see or how I see it? I cannot, for I cannot change what I feel." I've heard the excuse, but I've also been reading about virtue and the cultivation of virtuous action. I have been in some of the best educational systems my whole academic career, and yet the idea that courage and love are things to be practiced, not merely bestowed, was shocking. If a person must strive to be courageous, is he less honorable and more in sin than another man? Less honorable because, "well, the fact that he had to work for it means he didn't have it in the first place" and more sinful because, "he is trying to do it on his own! this fool is trying to better himself on his own power!"

Listen. I have heard these things. Some in what I have read. Some in my own heart and mind. The logic does not even follow. Tending to our spirits, tending to our virtues, this is not usurping Christ's rightful place in our lives. His pure blood flowed onto our stained soil in substitute for my lifeblood. I should have died, like Icarus, a fool in my foolishness. But in His death I died, and in His life I live.

His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence,⁴ by which he has granted to us his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may become partakers of the divine nature, having escaped from the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire. ⁵ For this very reason, make every effort to supplement your faith with virtue, and virtue with knowledge, ⁶ and knowledge with self-control, and self-control with steadfastness, and steadfastness with godliness, ⁷ and godliness with brotherly affection, and brotherly affection with love. ⁸ For if these qualities are yours and are increasing, they keep you from being ineffective or unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.

          (2 Peter 1:3-8)

Make every effort, my friends. I think it is probably true, that one cannot love a thing without wanting to fight on that 'thing's behalf. But, perhaps it is more true that one cannot love a thing without needing to fight for that love itself, at times. Put on the new man, as Paul has said in Ephesians 4 and Colossians 3.  Pray for God's intervention to change your heart, while you act in such a way that says you expect your heart to change.

More later. I realize my thoughts are disjointed. 

"Only God with His shovel could dig us out"

I have not written in a long time. And when I refer to writing, I mean the kind that comes like breathing—at times, labored, but mostly as a blessing. I imagine this is the manner in which the artist paints and the runner runs. I imagine this is how we live—at times, with pain, but mostly in blessing.

Between the dreaming and the coming true (Bebo Norman), I think we forget what we signed up for. This forgetfulness can emerge in schooling, a workout program, a friendship, a marriage, or a life. One always begins with an image of the future, a goal, however nebulous, and determination enough to put cheerleaders out of business. From the beginning of these endeavors until their conclusion is a gap we can call life, the valley of the shadow, or even sanctification. The larger and longer the gap, the more we forget. I propose, however, that we do not forget our goals while in this valley of the shadow of sanctification, but rather, we forget the process. We forget what we signed up for—which was, yes, the end, the goal, the objective, but also the painful process of getting to the goal. No wonder we are a confused and at times, joyless, people. We mourn that we do not see God as we used to, but forget that we saw from a mountaintop our destination…and are now in the valley striving toward that end. We grieve to see our sin, and rightly so, but it depresses our souls because at that moment, we have forgotten the grace that brought us thus far. As of late, I have been hearing the moans from this valley, of myself and of others. Just the other day I heard from a mentor:

“Our society is in such a deep mess that only God with His shovel could dig us out.”

Aye, we are in a deep mess. What else does one call a place that roils in anger against a God declared nonexistent each time an earthquake hits? A place whose people are terrified to die, and do not know how to live? What is a mess if not the church who turns away from this dying world and acts as if she, too, denies God? Hm. This world is in quite a “mess,” but you know? In the valley, in the living, in the opacity of existence, I think we often forget that (forgive the seeming irreverence of this statement) God has a shovel, and has dug us out. When, in this mess, we declared God’s Son the chief threat to our existence and sacrificed Him to our desires…we were pulled out from where we had lain, self-buried, dead. Only God and His shovel could dig us out, indeed. Between the dreaming and the coming true lies hope for the future.

Hope for Louisville: Come on. Lose your life...

With four weeks left, I am struggling to remember the reason I am serving in Louisville. Oh, I know the words. I could verbalize the reason—“I am here to serve the homeless and hurting, to share the Good News of Jesus Christ with them…” But where do I run to find passion again? What is my sustenance in the desert? (Even as I type, I am grinning. I know the answer, and am eager to get to it.)

“Come on. Lose your life, just so you can find it” True Love, Phil Wickham

There is a point at which one becomes accustomed to eccentricities, abnormalities, or just plain craziness. One—living with six women in inner city Louisville as an urban missionary. Two—daily disappointments when people whom we serve do not exhibit the growth we thought we saw. Three—the Gospel of our Savior.

Let me explain. I have heard it said that familiarity brings contempt. I am not so sure, for in my own life, I have seen familiarity bring comfort and subtle apathy. Living in community with six women was an absurd reality at first. I knew it would take intentional choice each morning, afternoon, and evening to love one another in where we put our shoes, when we wash our dishes, what we choose to speak to each other, and how we exhort one another to love and good works. You know how it goes—we now know each other, and it is no longer the priority it once was to be intentional about loving others. My shoes can stay where they are. My housemates should be used to it by now.

Familiarity with daily disappointments. In a person completely given to Christ in his or her every action, this would bring patience and long suffering. In me, it brings cynicism and ever-decreasing enthusiasm.

The Gospel. (It is for this I have been waiting, even as I type. Be here with me, and taste and see what has been and what will be.) I can forget the Gospel while remembering it. The miraculous birth, perfect life, atoning death, conquering resurrection, and glorious ascension of our Christ pretty much encompasses the Gospel. Okay, but listen. Why does this drive us?

Have you heard of the Garden? Have you heard how our ancestors rebelled, how we have rebelled? “And I said: ‘Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!’...And one of the seraphim touched my mouth (with a burning coal) and said: ‘Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for.’”(Isaiah 6:5-6)

Have you known this? That we who were once dead in our sins have been made alive to God in Christ? That it was while we were sinners Christ died? There is nothing in ourselves, no cause or room for boasting. What joy this brings! “This I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness” (Lamentations 3:22-23). This is why we serve. This is why we must not fall into comfort with our sin. This is why we press on. The Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, a Good News that takes rebels such as I and allows us to be instruments of grace.

“To the one who's dreams are falling all apart
And all you're left with is a tired and broken heart
I can tell by your eyes you think your on your own
…Have you heard of the One who can calm the raging seas
Give sight to the blind, pull the lame up to their feet
With a love so strong he'll never let you go?”

Safe, Phil Wickham

Growing comfortable with one another in ways that allow our sin leniency is not part of sanctification. It may be easy, but it is not good. Becoming cynical because I am weary of bearing with people is ‘straight up’ sin. And being bored by the Gospel means I have not taken time to remember what God has done and is doing. I remember these things, and four weeks seems not long enough.

Pray, my friends. Because we all need it. And consider donating once again to Hope for Louisville on my behalf. My time here is coming to a close, but I am planning to finish out my social work degree next spring in Louisville. My heart is with this people and this city, and it seems the Lord may allow me to be here awhile. Myself and three other women who have gone through the Hope program are doing the research and financial planning required to begin a women’s shelter within the next couple of years. (Jeff St is a men and women’s day shelter, but only an addiction recovery facility for men).

You can give your tax-deductible gift by mail at the address below or online by visiting my support page at http://www.razoo.com/story/Bri. Or send your contributions made payable to Jefferson Street Baptist Center attn: HOPE, 733 Jefferson Street, Louisville, KY 40202. Please make sure to designate your check towards my support by writing my account fund ID# (HOPE-S10-BH1) on the memo line of the check. Join us!

Everything Sad is Coming Untrue

There is just something about the rain when I am weary. It is as if God is showing that the world, too, is weary. The world, too, has been groaning and the rain is a moment of respite. “Rest,” says God.

“Rest.” And behold My glory in the face of a man who becomes excited at church and says, “I bet you’re surprised to see me here, Bri!”
–
“Rest.” And know that afflictions are for your good and My glory. Even when that heartbreak comes in the form of a homeless man telling you and the team that he is too evil to come to church with you, and that you all are out of his league.
–
“Rest.” Because your pride is being broken and your sin being dealt with, and rejoice.
–
“Rest.” Because it is not your love that your neighbors need, it’s Mine.
–
“Rest.” Because in the words of Jason Gray, “Everything sad is coming untrue.”
–

I will never grow out of my severe enjoyment of the rain. It shows me love. I would say ‘reminds me,’ but no, it shows me. It is quite the miracle, inescapable. We can forget our own wonderful, individual intricacies, in the ‘commonness’ of ourselves, but we cannot forget the rain which comes as if to say, “I, too, am a promise. All will be made new, though for a little while creation groans. Let me show you grace.”
–
Grace has come as I and my team serve in Louisville. It has been difficult and rewarding, there is no question. But God is gracious and faithful, for He is not like us.
–
A longer update is on the way, but for now, this will suffice:
–
The team is bonding and getting along well, even after the shelter (Jeff St.) flooding twice. The second time, the team was up until 1:30 AM mopping and bleaching the floors, which had had sewage wash up onto them.
–
The neighbors with whom we come in contact are opening up to us, even feeding the womens’ team one evening last week.
–
We have had a couple new guys join the addiction recovery program (called Advance Louisville), and we have had seven men graduate from this past 12 week program. And though growth is often so slow, it seems it cannot be measured, we wait. His mercies are new every morning, great is His faithfulness!

Hope for Louisville: Hope Again