Dialogue's Not Over ~ Nicaea Revisited

Maybe that's not the final word. Maybe God's not done
speaking to humanity.

It's still a developing communication between God and man.
It didn't end at the council of Nicaea.
~ Curt

I like this idea that Curt talks about – this idea that God wasn't done speaking at the council of Nicaea. I like the idea that there is still a developing communication – that the conversation isn't over between man and God.

Firstly, it makes sense. Why would God have 2 testaments written and then leave us hanging for the next few thousand years? It doesn't seem consistent with His character. From the beginning of time, God is with man – speaking and guiding and walking with man. All through the Old Testament, He continues in this walk and this dialogue with us. He walks with Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. He speaks to Abraham, he speaks to Moses. David knows Him intimately and He gives the prophets words to pass along. Then Jesus comes. And you know what? He does the same thing – continues on the dialogue. He speaks to us and heals us and lives in relationship with us. This man who is called the Son of God shows up as human and does the same thing God's been doing with us through the ages all along. And when He dies, the conversation doesn't stop. He comes back and not only appears to us, but speaks with us and dines with us. After He ascends, God continues to speak to the disciples and even sends visions.

Why do we think this stops after Revelations? All through the Bible we keep seeing God get hurt and jealous and pissed off when people won't be a part of this conversation with Him, yet for some reason we think He's done talking. Why would he all-of-the-sudden stop? It doesn't make sense.

There are people who say that God never changes – that He is the same yesterday, today, tomorrow, forever. These same people say that the Bible is the final answer. Well, pick one, because you can't have them both. Either God has changed – He's gotten tired of this conversation or He's given up on us or He just doesn't care anymore – or the Bible isn't the end. Because if the Bible is the end – if God doesn't have anything else He wants to say – then He has changed. He has gone from vocal to mute, from a teacher to an observer.

I think the conversation is still going on. Why wouldn't it be? If we can take Jesus, the One whom God called His Son, and we can string Him up on a cross to die and we can put His lifeless body in a tomb, and that still doesn't have the power to end the dialogue between God and man, how does a group of guys with status voting on Bible book inductees at the council of Nicaea get the final word? I just don't think it's over. I don't think God's said His final words to humanity.

Secondly, this idea that God's not done speaking to humanity awakens my soul. It suggests that God is still there – still working, still walking with us, still telling us His secrets and daring us to live them out. This is a God I can dig. This is a God I can be in love with. I cannot be in love with a God who was something big and beautiful, once upon a time, but who no longer has the time or the patience or the ability to show us His majesty. I cannot be in love with a God who isn't interested in furthering the conversation – who wants to drop it and hand me an ancient puzzle to put together and walk away. What a boring, f@!*ing god! What a cold, disinterested god! I want to love a God who is not content to walk away – who wants to do the puzzle with me and whisper into my ear with His wisdom when I can't quite fit the next piece in. I want a God who is not content to sit back and watch me sort through what He's told everybody else – who realizes that those old love letters are beautiful, but that I am a new love and it's time to give me the stanza He's written for my soul – the stanza that He wrote before time began but has waited patiently for the right moment to read. It is not a stanza that rules the rest of the verse null and void. Rather, it adds to the beauty of the song and the glory of His being.

This is the God I want to love. Does this mean this is God? No. It just means this is what my soul longs for. But I suspect that the deepest desires of our hearts – to know and be known personally, intimately, and uniquely, not from afar – were put there to complement what God is. I think these deepest desires are notched out in us like puzzle pieces, specifically made to fit with the piece that He is. And so it is hard for me to imagine that God has given humanity this one great desire – to know and be known, here in the present – yet is unprepared to fulfill it with all of Himself.

I don't know what this does to my belief in the Bible. Do I believe it? Yes, absolutely. Do I believe it's the end? Not at all. What, exactly, does that mean?

Quote of the Day

Ok, so it seems that I don't actually have a filter for things that go between my brain and my mouth. They just kinda spew out. And sometimes they sound really strange.

So I'm talking to Renee at work today and she's telling me that she doesn't like Fall time because she hates raking leaves. And I'm telling her I don't have any leaves to rake because I have all pine trees. And she's telling me how wonderful pine trees are. And then I say,

"I hate pine trees. I hate pine trees because you can't run barefoot in the yard. They have all those needles and they stab you in the foot and I take it personally."

Seriously, I take pine needle stabs personally? I have a personal vendetta against pine trees because they go out of their way to endanger my well being? Where do I get this stuff?

Currently listening : Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell By Social Distortion Release date: By 11 February, 1992

To All Women Considering Marriage

Last night we grilled out again. Grilling is a common theme in Daniel & Heather's summer enjoyment, so I wouldn't be surprised if you hear many stories about it this coming season. This time it wasn't steaks. This time it was a pork tenderloin and a hamburger, which we agreed that we would share because neither of us particularly wanted either one of them. However, when you're digging through the freezer and all you can find is ¼ lb of ground beef and a pork tenderloin and you look at the calendar and realize it's the day before grocery day, sometimes you just have to go with it. You can't be all that picky. Besides, we had enough meat to feed two people, which is probably better than about ¾ of the world population, so I wasn't feeling too oppressed by our options.

Based on the title of this blog and the content of the last blog, you are probably wondering to yourself, "What did he do now?" I will tell you. Oh, I will tell you.

Firstly, let me point out that I get home earlier than Daniel. Therefore, I start dinner before he arrives. If it's a particularly good day, it might even be finishing up as he gets home. This day was no different. I got home, got the meat out, made an effort at defrosting it, and decided to work on some potatoes to go with it (yes, the famous potatoes, once again). As I am working on this task, I open the cupboard door. What do I find?

Amongst the pasta, chips, coffee, canned fruit, cake mixes, crackers, pudding and jello mixes, and boxed potatoes (not nearly as good as the real thing, by the way) I find a bottle of Dayquil. Now I am no genius, but I grew up on Sesame Street and I just so happened to learn a little song that goes, "One of these things is not like the other ones; One of these things doesn't belong…." Right away this song starts tinging in my head. Seriously, why are the medical supplies in with the potatoes? Then I think back to when I had some sort of throat/chest plague a week and a half ago and I remember the difficulty I had in trying to locate the Dayquil. As I recall, I used it one day and never found it again. Oh, silly me! I didn't look next to the boxed potatoes. What was I thinking?

Daniel comes home from work as I am pondering the fate of my medical supplies and the importance of being able to locate Dayquil during a plague. I say to him, sweetly, "Honey, why is the Dayquil in the cupboard?"

He says, "It was in the kitchen one day". As though that completely explains how it ended up filed under 'P' for potato.

Now the wheels are turning. I am starting to figure it out. My guess is I took the Dayquil into the kitchen to locate some sort of measuring device to ensure that I did not overdose on this semi-potent substance and aggravate the plague even more. I probably then left the Dayquil sitting on the counter in anticipation of using it the next day. However, the next day it was living with the potatoes and I never saw it again. At this point I am starting to get frustrated. Because the Dayquil had gone AWOL, another bottle had to be purchased half way through the plague. But get this: Daniel went out and bought the new bottle because I was curled up in a ball on the sofa coughing my lungs out. Apparently it didn't occur to him as he was shopping for the new one that he had stashed the previous one in the kitchen cabinet.

I turn to him and say (maybe not as sweetly as before), "Honey, we have a medicine cabinet"
Daniel: "I know. This was in the kitchen."
Me: "But you know medicine goes in the medicine cabinet, right?"
Daniel: "But this was in the kitchen."
Me: "But we don't normally store it in the kitchen."
Daniel: "But it was in the kitchen."

Now I am getting really frustrated. Apparently Daniel has entered broken-record mode, and I cannot make any sense of the sentence he keeps repeating. Ok, so the Dayquil was in the kitchen. So what? Is it now a side dish? Would he like me to drizzle it over his pancakes like syrup?

I ask him, "Why didn't you put it in the medicine cabinet?"
Daniel: "Because I didn't get it out. You did. You didn't put it away."
Me: "There wouldn't have been anything to put away if I'd been able to find it. I was using it."
Daniel: "It was in the kitchen."

Oh, so we're back to that again. Apparently anything I am in the process of using now belongs in the kitchen cupboard. Which, in my opinion is overly unfair in this circumstance as I had the plague and was struggling just to eat my popsicles, let alone put away the Dayquil in between doses.

Me: (sweetness is fading fast) "Honey, I really needed this and I couldn't find it. You can't just put things wherever you happen to be standing when you don't want to look at them anymore."
Daniel: "I don't do that."

I resist the urge to fight this point with him, using the purse I found shoved between two board games in the closet last week as a prime example. I don't want to know why he happened to be holding my purse and standing in front of a stack of board games. I don't even want to speculate, so I continue to prepare food. I get the potatoes (the real ones, not the boxed ones) chopped up, I put them in foil, I add the necessary ingredients to make them truly irresistible. I pound the tenderloin flat with the meat-mallet-thingy. I shape the ground beef into a hamburger. Daniel starts the grill and takes the potatoes out. After ten minutes or so it is time to take the meat out, but Daniel hasn't got pants on. Again, I don't want to know why. He just doesn't. I say, "Put some pants on and put the meat on the grill". Does he comply? What do you think? So, as I have pants on, I put the meat on the grill. Ten minutes later he goes outside (with pants) and flips the meat over. Five minutes after that, he collects the meat and potatoes from the grill and brings them inside.

We eat. The meat is serviceable, the potatoes are marvelous.

Now keep in mind, this is what I did: I defrosted the meat, made the hamburger patty, smashed the tenderloin, chopped up the potatoes (probably the most time consuming of my tasks), flavored & seasoned them, and wrapped them up. I put all the food on a plate for Daniel to cook, and put the meat on the grill.

Daniel did this: lit the grill and put the potatoes on. Flipped over the meat once. Brought the meat inside.

As we finish dinner and bring our plates to the sink, Daniel says to me, "I know why you like to grill out so much."
Me: "Why's that?"
Daniel: "Because I do all the cooking."

Do I need to say more?

I love this man. I really do love this man. I am sitting here trying to think happy thoughts and remember all the good things he does…. fixing the bathtub, making me chocolate fondue and watching chick flicks with me on my birthday, mowing the yard, getting Starbucks with me every Sunday….. Some days are just harder than others, I guess.

Tonight I think we should eat dinner out.

Currently reading : David Copperfield (Penguin Classics) By Charles Dickens Release date: By 28 December, 2004

New EP?! Seriously???

Oh, homeless J, of what is this you speak? You say you will release a new EP? You say true? You say this will happen in June? Forgive my doubts, oh symbol Fort Wayne's greatness, for I have been misled before. For, once upon a time, you spoke of releasing an album. I waited for your album and I felt much anticipation. And then I waited for your album and told myself to be patient. And then I waited for your album some more with a growing sense of worry. And then I gave up hope, letting despair consume me until I could accept that no such album would ever come to be and I moved on with my life.

And then, a few months later, I bought your album. You spoke true. And yet, I doubt again. So here I stand, like Thomas, waiting for you to show me the wound in your side, er, I mean the cover of your EP. Shall I continue to doubt? Shall I let despair overcome my heart? Nay! I say, bring it on, June 15th! Bring it on! I shall meet you headfirst, and my doubt shall be overcome, and I shall have a fancy new EP in my hand. And then I shall dance and exclaim my happiness and all shall be well.

Ever had one of those days when all you've actually taken into your body is an apple, a granola bar and water, yet you feel like you're on some sort of stimulant – like maybe a caffeine high, or, I don't know, crack? It's been one of those days.

Currently listening : Three Seconds to Gaze By Homeless J Release date: By 02 May, 2006

The Grill Is On Fire!

So, we cooked steak tonight on the grill. And potatoes, too. Potatoes all chopped up and sealed in aluminum foil with butter and spices. Happiness is mine! But there was a bit of a mishap. I said the words no husband wants to hear tonight.

I said, "Honey, the grill is on fire."
To which Daniel replied, "well, yeah, it's a grill."
Me: "No, honey, the grill is on fire."
Daniel: "Yeah, well how do you think it cooks?"
Me: "No, the grill is ON FIRE!"

At this point Daniel finally decides a look out the window might be warranted. Indeed, flames are shooting up where flames should not be. What does he say?

Not, "OMG, the grill's right next to the garage."
Not, "OMG, the grill's right next to the neighbor's very wooden and therefore very flammable fence."
Not, "OMG, there's a propane tank attached to that."

No, none of the things that are concerning me come out of his mouth. What does he say? You really want to know? He says,

"THE POTATOES ARE GOING TO BURN!"

But really, what is a propane explosion induced garage fire in which both of your vehicles burn to crisps and the neighbor's fence goes up like a candle in comparison to burnt potatoes? Nothing, really. You see where his priorities lie.

This is almost as good as the Great Lifesaver Debate of 2005 (yes, it has earned proper noun status)

Picture us, if you will, in our living room, me with a bag of lifesavers in my lap. Here is what ensues:

Me: (takes lifesaver out of wrapper, pops it in mouth) suck, suck, chomp, chomp, suck, chomp

Daniel: (gives me a sideways glance)

Me: (takes another lifesaver out of wrapper, pops it in mouth) suck, slurp, sticks tongue through hole in lifesaver, suck, chomp, choooommmmp.

Daniel: (another sideways glance. this one is on the verge of being a dirty look)

Me: (takes yet another lifesaver out of wrapper, pops it in mouth) suck, suck, slurp, stick out my tongue and stare at it, suck, suck, slurp, chomp

Now it gets good:

Daniel: (another sideways glance, definately now in the territory of dirty looks)
You eat those like they were candy.

Me: Um, they are candy
Daniel: No, they're not.

This is what I live with, folks. Day in, day out. Lifesavers are not candy. Potatoes should not be burnt. Propane tanks that are attached to fires are not dangerous. Marriage is a whole different ballgame than I'd ever imagined.

Takeaway Story #2 ~ *Poverty Is Not A Family Value*

For more about Takeaway Stories, click here:
http://stainedglassconfessional.blogspot.com/2007/07/whats-your-takeaway.html

So, here goes another Takeaway Story...

Once upon a time, I used to work as a social worker, providing rental subsidies for families living in poverty. My job was to work with people on the waiting list - people waiting for news that they could get help with their rent and establish a stable place of residence with my (and the government's) assistance. So, basically I was working with a lot of people who were homeless or living on the kindness of friends and relatives and needed somewhere to live. After awhile, this kind of work wears on you. You stop caring that people are homeless. It's not that you've forgotten how terrible homelessness can be or that you're a mean, nasty person. It's just that you can't give your heart out to every person that calls you - if you did, you'd end up rocking in the corner repeating ridiculuous phrases or banging your head against a wall. You'd go crazy. Hearts simply can't go out as many places as we'd like them to. If they did, the pieces would be too small to do anything. So you become hard. It sucks, but it happens. You get to keep your heart, and your sanity, but you pay an awful cost. That heart that was so tender gets tougher and tougher just to keep it together until one day you realize that your whole reason for being there - that you were a person who cared and wanted to love people and make a difference - no longer exists. You're not that person anymore. You're just trying to get through the day without anyone screaming at you for too long, and when that is your main goal in life its hard to make much of a difference anywhere.

Anyhow, in my second year at this particular job, on this one particular day I held an intake briefing. Briefings were meetings that 25-35 people would come to and fill out paperwork for their file so I could determine their eligibility for assistance. I would review each needed form with a powerpoint slide while my clients filled in their information on the matching form in front of them. Usually at the end of the briefing a few people would stick around to ask questions and make sure their paperwork was filled out properly. At about every other briefing, someone would have a ridiculuous amount of questions and I would spend another hour working with them. I once gave a briefing in which there was a deaf couple who did not have an interpreter and did not alert me that they couldn't hear a word I was saying until after the meeting. Another time I had a woman come who could not speak English and didn't let me know until afterwards. So when a person sat there, looking like they wanted to ask questions with their forms almost completely blank at the end of a briefing, I usually felt like I wanted to scream, because I know something terrible was coming.

On this particular day, an elderly lady at the back of the room waited until everyone else left to ask me her questions. I went over to her and her forms were completely blank. I felt like screaming. I held my scream in and sat down with her. It didn't take me long to figure out that she couldn't read. She had to ask me what each question was, and then when she filled in her answers, she asked me spell about every third word she wrote. She could write letters - she just couldn't grasp words.

I sat with this woman for a long time - probably over an hour. Time came to leave for lunch and there I sat, spelling street names and reading questions and smiling and hoping I wasn't looking or acting irritated. When we finished with all of her forms, she handed them to me and started gathering up her things. She stopped and looked at me, and then she thanked me. She told me I was a sweet, kind girl, and so patient. She said she was sorry she took up my lunch, but that most people didn't take the time with her that I did, and she appreciated it. She told me that a girl like me would go far in life. And then she gathered up the rest of her things and left.

This is a takeaway story for two reasons. This is the first reason:

When I went back to my desk with all her paperwork, I sat in my chair and I cried like a baby. She said I was sweet. I was not sweet. She said I was kind. I was not kind. She said I was patient. But I was not. This woman told me I was going places in the world because of the kindness I had shown her, and all I could think about was how horrible my heart was - how cold and tired and impatient and worn out and just plain callous my heart was - how all the time she thought I was sweet, I was holding back a scream of frustration. And yet, somehow, I showed her a kindness that stood out to her. I thought of her gathering welfare and talking to caseworkers for food stamps, and I wondered how they had treated her. Not with kindness - no, I'm certain of that - otherwise my little, tired, tarnished bit of humanity would not have been such a treasure to her. I wondered how many times she had been overlooked or put down or treated like a no one - how many caseworkers had thought her stupid and let it show on their faces - how many job applications she couldn't fill out, and how everyday she lived with this. I thought of her age and wondered how easy it must've been to slip through the cracks and never learn to read when she was young. I wondered what had happened - if she had quit school to work and help her family or if there was simply no one who took the time to make sure she knew what she needed to know to get by. I thought of all this and sat at my desk and cried.

This is when I realized how ugly the whole situation it - not humanity, I don't think, but in each of us. I thought we were good. I thought we tried to love and succeeded, and that made us something beautiful. But it turns out, we're not good, even when we try to be. Even at our best, even when we're growing, there is still so much ugliness inside us. And when we love one another and make the world good, it is nothing short of a miracle. This is one of the experiences that taught me that I must look at that ugliness and embrace it and expose it to make it any better. I did not know I was unkind until the old woman told me I was kind - I did not know I was impatient until she thanked me for my patience. But when I saw it and I owned it and I let it tear me apart that this is what I was, something better was born. I still have ugliness in those places, and I have ugliness in other places too. I think of that song by the Exies - how it says we are dirt, we are alone, we are fake, we are afraid, we are liars, and we are ugly - and I feel okay. I feel okay because at least I know it now. At least I know what I am battling with and I have a chance to try to be better.

The second thing that makes this a takeaway for me is this:

This happened when I was a part of Overflo. I think it happened on a Tuesday or a Wednesday and Overflo met on Thursdays, so it was still pretty fresh for me when we met that week. That Thursday night I went to Overflo and poured out my heart. That is how my heart seems to come out... it doesn't trickle and it doesn't flow, it just pours in a torrent that I can't stop. But while I was lamenting and my heart was open and raw, Joe told me that we can't help everyone. This confused me. But as he spoke, it made more sense. He said that sometimes our hearts are moved, not so that we can help someone, but so that our hearts can change.

I think this moment changed things for me. Because I felt like there was finally a point. It was the first time I ever understood why Jesus said that there would always be poor among us. Its not always about the poor. Sometimes its about my heart. Not to say that we shouldn't help the poor. We should do what we can, but as a former social worker, I've come to see that we can only do so much. We do what we do, and even when our hearts are pure and our reach is big, we can't help everyone. We simply can't.

I believe that we grow into more or retreat into less in every choice we make and every action we take. When my heart was open and raw and it was all pouring out and I was crying at my desk like a child, I was growing into more. I was learning to love. Sometimes its hard to love when you can't do something that gets results. I think its actually the hardest love - sitting back and caring until it breaks you when you can't do a damn thing about the way things are. But it is the most selfless love - the love that grows our hearts the most. And sometimes, that's what its about.

P.S. Again, my Currently Reading ROCKS!
"There is no such thing as a happy ending. I never met a single one to equal 'Once upon a
time'. Endings are heartless. Ending is just another word for goodbye."

Currently reading : The Dark Tower (The Dark Tower, Book 7) By Stephen King Release date: By 29 August, 2006