Dispatches from the Asylum

     "For therefore we both labor and suffer reproach, because we trust in the living God, who is the Savior of all men, especially of those who believe." I Timothy 4:10

     Lewis once called the world "enemy occupied territory." Such a term greatly resonated with his then World War II weary audience. Perhaps a term for the world that would greatly resonate with our current generation is an asylum, and the inmates are running it. The mind of the majority of mankind is gripped in the dumbing and numbing dark of the Devil; their eyes are blind and their hearts veiled. They are the ones bound in the cave, making substance out of shadows, and those of us who try to tell them of the sun will suffer shame and pain; but tell them we must.

     It would help our efforts if we remembered this insanity afflicted upon men by the god of this world. They are indeed the blind men groping at the elephant, mistaking its parts for various wholes. The Man of Galilee has not yet put the mud to their eyes that, when once washed off, allows them to see the elephant in the room. To them, God is indeed trapped in an impenetrable black box: His presence, purpose, and nature are unknown and unknowable. They have not grasped (or do not wish to grasp) the knowledge of His communication and visitation amongst us, that He is there and He is not silent. We who have heard him are not the special keepers of secret knowledge. We are merely the men and women who once were blind, but now we see; we were mad, but now we are sane. All we want is to spread the sanity around.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2009

The Two Fates

     "That ye may be blameless and pure, the sons of God, without fault, in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom ye shine as lights in the world [alt: as stars in the universe]." Philippians 2:15

     We are stars shed from the blood of the sun, the sparks of a greater flame that is infinite and glorious, sending us flying upward into the pitch black sky of night. We are in constant rebellion against the dark: we will not conform to its shades and secret sins. Like a new caretaker purchases a rotting old building and begins by replacing a bulb in a dark alleyway: the roaches flee and the caretaker begins his repairs. So we too, having been purchased by God through His blood and pain and having our old deformities set right, we shine in the dark places as our master sets to fix the whole.

     God did not call people to merely escape from Hell; He has called us to bear the fruits of His fire. Read Galatians 5:22-23. There are the fruits of the Spirit; there is the result of being one with the consuming fire. If you have not these things, then you are still a dead ember lying lifeless on the ash heap of the world. A fire is coming for you and your kind, but you will not survive it.

     Hence are our two fates: to burn or to burn. To be filled up by the fiery Spirit of God like an overfilled cup or to be drowned in an infinite ocean of His fiery wrath. To the burning Love or the burning Wrath you must flee. The choice is yours; the results are eternal.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2009

The God of Everyday

"Behold, as the eyes of the servants look unto the hand of their masters, and as the eyes of the maiden look unto their mistress, so our eyes wait upon the Lord our God, until He has mercy upon us." Ps. 123:2

There is an art to waiting in the Christian life that we modern Christians have yet to even acquire, much less master. Paradoxically, waiting is the most intense trial of faith precisely because it is not intense. Of course, times of jubilation are not as difficult, but neither are storms of troubles. At least in a storm, something is happening that you can lock your energies and attention onto. The void is filled with chaos, but at least it is filled. In the waiting, however, there is nothing so momentous as jubilation or troubles. Just as it is in the scabbard that the sword is most likely to rust, so too it is in the waiting that our faith can rust. It is easier to slip out of trusting reliance on God when we feel like we don't need Him right now. In the good times, we know that we need Him because it is He who brings the good because He is the good. Likewise, in the bad times, we know that we need Him because only He can save us. Thus, it is in the times of stillness and silence, where there is neither a positive nor negative fever-pitch, that we can forget Him and lean to our own understanding.
Do not get confused. "Stillness and silence" does not mean "boring," or even "normal". For the Christian, there are no "normal" days as the world defines "normal"; all days are miraculous, and that is the key. In the midst of the still and silent days, God is still with us, and He continually interacts in our lives; "small graces" is how one songwriter described it. It is the continually presence of God in our lives, both in big and small graces, that defines the "art" of waiting for the Christian, i.e., to discern God's presence in every moment, not just the times of jubilation or trouble. It is the concept of mythic eyes: see God everywhere, everyday. This is not an empirical eisegesis, i.e., reading God into everything; rather, it is an empirical exegesis, i.e., discerning God's actual presence everyday, because He is with us everyday. He does not take a holiday. He is not merely involved in our great joys and sorrows, moments of triumph as well as crisis and failure; He is also involved in the minor minutia of our lives as well.
Think of it this way: In human relationships (esp. marriage), there are times of joy and sorrow, and strong relationships are built upon those moments. However, far more prevalent than the times of exultation and tragedy are the days "in between," the days when life is simply lived at a steady pace. It is those days that form the bulk of our lives, and thus those days that will build the bulk of the relationship. Any relationship that can remain through times of joy and sorrow but cannot maintain itself in the "in between" is doomed to failure. It is the same with us and God. God does not want us on the good and bad days; He wants us everyday, and we have to learn to likewise want Him as well.
In the movie Shenandoah, a boy name Sam wanted to marry Mr. Anderson's daughter. Anderson (played by Jimmy Stewart) asked him two questions. The first was, "Do you love her?" When Sam said yes, Anderson's response was, "Well, Sam, that's not good enough." He then asked his second question: "Do you like her?" When Sam said that he did, Anderson concludes with, "If you don't like her, then those nights can get cold!" Within the context of this scene, perhaps you will understand my next statement: God not only "loves" us; He also "likes" us. He is our God, our good Heavenly Father and holy Lord and Savior, everyday. It is in the waiting that we can most learn that truth, just as in a marriage it is in the days "in between" that we learn just how much someone really loves us, and how much we really love them.

-Jon Vowell

Minor Minutia

"I was glad when they said unto me, 'Let us go into the house of the Lord. Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem....' Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.... Because of the house of the Lord our God, I will seek thy good." Ps. 122:1-2, 6a, 9

The reason that Jerusalem was given such high status by the Jews was because it was the home of the Temple, i.e., the dwelling place of God. Peace was prayed for not for Jerusalem's sake, but rather because of the Temple ("Because of the house of the Lord our God"). By itself, the city was (and is) nothing; just another temporary home of man.
Many, however, still mistakenly pray for peace in Jerusalem because they think that it is the city that is important. It is not. What is important is God, and Him dwelling amongst man. To confuse the cynosure here is similar to what the Israelites did with the ark (I Sam. 4:3): they deemed the ark itself as important rather than the God who the ark represented.
We continue such mistakes today. Though there are plenty of things worth fighting for, we more often than not fight and nit-pick with much candor about minor minutia (frivolous things like denominational jingoism and established lists of approved and disapproved Bible translations, musical preferences, and hair styles). Meanwhile, important things (like God) get lost in the shuffle, and we fall from being the light of the world into just another religion; for the world does not need or rules or opinions. They need God, which means that they need Jesus, the only way back to God (John 14:6).

-Jon Vowell

When We Leave the Temple Behind

"I will lift up my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth." Ps. 121:1-2 (WEB)

This psalm, though written before the Exile, was a favorite of the exiles. As they were taken from their homes, they would quite literally "lift up [their] eyes to the hills," i.e., to Jerusalem and the Temple. As the will of God was further accomplished, all that was familiar and known was removed. Only God was left. Sometimes, many times, that is the way that it should be.
I have observed that many (including myself) view faith as going further and further into a bright and open place, with everything becoming clearer and clearer. Now, however, I think that such a view is mistake. A much more accurate (i.e., biblical) view is to say that faith is travelling deeper and deeper into darkness, a "deep but dazzling darkness," as Vaughan put it. Rather than a bright and open place, it is more like descending into the cave of a great mountain, with the daylight fading behind us the deeper that we go in. Spiritually speaking, a heavy dimness falls thicker and thicker over everything expect for one, i.e., God as He has revealed Himself to us. This seems to be the lesson about faith taught in Job: the greater the faith, the thicker the perplexity. The deeper that we go, the closer that we get, the more and more all other lamps go out. God Himself is shrouded in clouds and darkness (Ps. 97:2). All that we have is the light that He sows for us (Ps. 97:11), burning coals dropped like bread crumbs, each one urging us to move forward. Those lights are His word, His revelation to us, and thus even though He oft times hidden, He is never far. When we leave the Temple behind (which I believe is the proper definition of faith), we take God with us, for He is with us.
What I have discovered in my own life is that the life of faith means having God "clear the field," so to speak: all things familiar and certain, any chance for us to categorize, plan, and be confident of tomorrow, is utterly removed. In an immediate sense, things become more unknowable and uncertain, until the only thing left that we know for sure is God. All other people and circumstances have become shadows. That is what the life of faith is: certainty about God, uncertainty about everything else. God has revealed to us that He is holy (Is. 6:3), and that He has called us to holiness (I Pet. 1:15-16), and that He will accomplish that goal (Phil. 1:6). What he has not revealed is exactly how that will unfold in our individual lives, and it is on that point that we grow frustrated. We grow weary with waiting, and fall into two deadly snares. One is where we begin to place confidence in ourselves: "Perhaps I must do something." Such a confidence is always cursed.
The other snare is where we believe that the darkness is a result of our own stupidity and failure: "If only I was a stronger Christian things would be clearer!" Clarity belongs to those who are afraid of the dark, i.e., children. Those who have been grown up by the Lord are old enough to descend into His darkness, into a deeper trust in Him, which means a deeper knowledge of and love for Him. Faith is not our meager service to God whereby we earn enough brownie points to play with the grown ups in the burning sunlight. Rather, faith is the process (the "journey") by which we are drawn closer and closer to our destination, i.e., God Himself. We are drawn closer when we trust Him, but trust means nothing if everything is clear and sunny. Trust means that a shadow has been placed over everything. Not just any shadow, however, but the shadow of the Almighty; for it is only in that shadow that we find the secret place of God (Ps. 91:1). Leave your "temple" behind, and do not grow weary with the waiting, but rather go deeper still into the dark with your Father, Lover, and Friend.

-Jon Vowell

"That also is a mystery..."

"So there was a division among the people because of Him." John 7:43

John 7:2 through 10:21 chronicles the events surrounding Jesus' visit to the temple at Jerusalem during the Feast of Tabernacles. Many notable events occur, containing several reoccurring themes. John 7:43, however, captures one of the most interesting themes, a theme whose implications are highly important.
It is an error to claim that Jesus was an enigma to only one group of people. The truth of the Gospels (esp. John) is that Jesus was an enigma to everyone. Of course, the Pharisees did not get Him, but neither did His family, or His disciples, or the Jews, or the Gentiles, or the woman caught in adultery, or the man born blind. From the highest rungs of political and religious power, to the lowest dregs of societal outcasts, the theme was the same: Jesus astounded and confounded; and all the while (esp. John 7:2-10:21), Jesus continued to hammer another theme essential to the former: (1) I am of God; (2) anyone who is of God gets me; (3) if you don't get me, then you are not of God. Even that bit of logic escaped them (John 8).
Perhaps these two intrinsically linked themes (Jesus' enigma caused by being from God) is what Paul was trying to express by the whole "conform/transform" dichotomy (Rom. 12:2). Jesus seemed to express the same thing in John 15:19: "If ye were of the world, the world would love its own; but because ye are not of the world (because I have chosen you out of the world), therefore the world hateth you." The author of Hebrews shares the same sentiment with their image of "strangers and pilgrims on the earth" (Heb. 11:13-14), and John adds his own voice when he said, "We are of God: he that knoweth God heareth us; he that is not of God heareth us not" (I John 4:6a). There seems to be an assumption in Scripture that those who are "of God" through Christ are necessarily a strange bird to everyone else. Some Rubicon has been crossed. Our relation to the world and its people has changed, and it will not and cannot be the same ever again; for we are no longer of this world (John 17:16).
Hence comes the frustrating tension of the "in the world but not of it" scenario, and the battles lines over this issue are drawn deep. Factions vary, but most can be safely grouped into two camps. One camp (we shall call them "Relevantists") claims (quite truthfully) that people are weary of an impersonal and sloganeering Christianity, detached from their lives and concerns; the truths of God must matter to them (who they are and where they are) before they will accept them. This particular camp condemns their opponents of being too aloof and "hands-off". Their favorite words of commendation are "real," "relevant," and "authentic"; their favorite words of condemnation are "Pharisaical," "fake," and "disingenuous". Meanwhile, the other camp (we shall call them "Sanctificationists") claims (again, quite truthfully) that we are clearly called to "be holy" as God "is holy," and to be bound up in the trappings and garb of the world will corrupt us and subsequently ruin our evangelism; the world needs and seeks holiness, and if we do not emit holiness then we have nothing to offer them. This particular camp condemns their opponents of being too down-and-dirty and "hands-on". Their favorite words of commendation are "godliness," "holiness," and "holy"; their favorite words of condemnation are "worldly," "fleshly," and "carnal".
Both sides equally claim that their way is the "Christ-like" way and that the other's way will (and is) sabotage and destroy the Christian mission. The rest of us are caught in the middle of these two trends, pulled by each side's truths and repelled by their errors. We do feel the necessity of relevance and honesty, yet feel that our Relevantist brothers and sisters are a bit too comfortable with the world. Likewise, we do feel the necessity of holiness and separation, yet feel that our Sanctificationist brothers and sisters are a bit too disconnected with the world. Thus, the frustrating tension continues without a resolution.
Oh, and guess what? Jesus does not help us on this point. He is still confounding, especially since both Relevantists and Sanctificationists quote Him to prove (and quite clearly prove) their respective cases! Jesus ate with sinners; He also met with Nicodemus. He argued against the unbelief of the Pharisees and the common folk, and thus committed Himself to no one. He told the woman at the well, a Samaritan and enemy, strange thoughts and astounding knowledge; and she believed, and He welcomed her. Yet this same Jesus told a rich young ruler, a man eager and ready to follow Him, strange thoughts and astounding knowledge; but the man went away, and Jesus did not go after Him. His enemies were divided over Him, but so where His own disciples. The self-righteous could not understand Him, but neither did the broken and downcast. Neither Relevantists and Sanctificationists nor any other group can claim Jesus as solely theirs. It is as if He belongs to no one but Himself. He is untouchable, as if the understood arrangement is "He does not belong to you; you belong to Him."
It seems to me (an admittedly unlearned man of faith and the Faith) that all of the movements and groups that try to make Jesus their "example" (a better word would be "mascot") are merely committing the unintentionally yet rather serious error of trying to completely rationalize and categorize what is inherently mysterious. The life of a Christian is the life of Christ, and the life of Christ is the life of God; and the life of God--that triune dance, that sovereign power so great that it can allow for free agents and yet cause no injury to its omnipotence, that love and wrath burning and boiling to their uttermost side by side, that immutable yet jealous zeal, the life of God--is inherently mysterious. It is with that life that we are made one in Christ (John 17:20-23). Why, then, do we act like we should make sense?
Madeleine L'Engle quoted some Cardinal (I forget his name) as saying that we are to live in such a way that our lives would make no sense if there was no God. I think that about perfectly sums it up. Jesus frustrated the logic and sensibilities of everyone, and the end result was either (1) they collapsed with their logic, or (2) their logic collapsed and they could finally see the truth (Matt. 21:42-44). Are we not called to be made into the same image? We are the living mysteries: we touch and yet are untouchable; so very real and yet so unreal. We frustrate and confound, yet none can turn away. Something within us burns with a fervent heat and living light, something that equally appalls and attracts. That something is not our charm and honesty, our righteousness and godliness; it is the life of the living God, surging through us like electricity through a conduit. At least, that is how it should be. For now, most of us (if not all of us) are tangled up in our own misconceptions and subsequent inconsistencies and inadequacies, faithfully missing the point and the mark. Yet God's grace fills up the crack of our imperfects, and makes (and is making) us what we ought to be. That also is a mystery, a great and beautiful one; let us leave it at that.

-Jon Vowell

Holy Life, Holy War

"I will behave myself wisely in a perfect way. O when wilt Thou come unto me? I will walk within my house with a perfect heart. I will set no wicked thing before mine eyes. I hate the work of them that turn aside; it shall not cleave to me." Ps. 101:2-3

"Ye that love the Lord, hate evil...." Ps. 97:10a

"Abhor that which is evil; cleave to that which is good." Rom. 12:9b

The "holy life" (as some call it) is simple on paper but difficult in practice. On paper, we are to love and cleave to the good, while we are to hate and reject the bad. In practice, however, this simple formula is always a war. Of course, before salvation, the struggle was impossible to win thanks to the inward law of sin and death (Rom.7:18-25); after salvation, the Spirit of God sets us free from that law (Rom. 8:1-2): Sin still has its pull, but we no longer have to obey it.
It is that continual and ever-present "pull," however, that drives us insane. Though set free from necessary sinfulness, we still find ourselves fighting against a lingering deadness of the body (Rom. 8:10), i.e., the appetites*. Fortunately, such a fight is ours for the winning in the moment because of Christ (Rom. 8:11) and God (Phil. 2:13). Whereas once our mind agreed with God (Rom. 7:25) but our spirit was dead and therefore could not enforce the mind's desire upon the appetites (i.e., the flesh), now we have (through Christ's atonement) the Spirit of God, who quickens our bodies (Rom. 8:10-11) and enables us to be holy as He is holy (I Peter 1:16).
There is a reason Christ described salvation as a new birth (John 3:3): it is not mere forgiveness only, but also a re-creation (II Cor. 5:17). A new life has been born in us (I Cor. 6:19), a life that can live the life of God (for it is the life of God), the only life worthy of Heaven. Our meriting eternal life and communion with God is based upon the work, life, power, and presence of someone other than ourselves. That is the key distinction between Christianity and the religions of the world: complete and utter dependence on the divine. We cannot save ourselves; only God can.

-Jon Vowell

*I say "appetites" for two reasons: (1) So as to avoid any hint of Gnosticism. I do not believe that the physical body is evil because it is physical. I believe that the physical body is fallen, and thus subject to the corruption of Sin and Death. When that corruption is removed, the body will remain: glorified, yet still physical. (2) So as to explain the "pull" of Sin. This has been a troublesome spot for me. If the "old man" and "the flesh" (which I take to be the same thing) are removed by Christ (Rom. 6:6; 8:1, 9), what then within me is drawn by Sin's "pull"? If I am free from the old life and its corruptions, what then is the motive power in me to sin? I take Rom. 8:10-11 to signify that there is still a part of us that is dead, i.e., the body. Since the mind already agreed with God (Rom. 7:25) and our spirit is now the Spirit of God, "the body" cannot be our mind or spirit. Therefore, it must be the physical body with its fallen appetites. This is what I take it to mean until a smarter head than I corrects me.

Life and Death: Death-Casters

"Thou answered them, O Lord our God; Thou wast a God that forgavest them, though Thou took vengence on their evil deeds." Ps. 99:8

There are two things that we must remember about Sin: (1) in Christ, we are set free from the ultimate condemnation of Sin (Rom. 8:1-2); and (2) the consequence of Sin is still death (Rom. 5:12; 6:23), and that death will be meted out. If we expect otherwise, then we understand neither God and Sin, nor the holiness of the one and the deathliness of the other.
Being forgiven in Christ, His blood continually cleanses us (I John 1:7), and thus no Sin can be laid to our account anymore. However, as free-agents, we can choose to yield to the Holy Spirit or not (Rom. 6:12-13), and thus we retain the power to unleash the effects of Sin (and Holiness). We can be conduits of Death as well as Life. Perhaps if we saw our sinful choices as death-casting, we would take it more seriously. We do not make "mistakes" or "fopahs"; we spread death like a cancer, like a plague, spewing its corruption from our hands, our mouths, our eyes. In addition, perhaps we could also understand God's holiness (and our calling) better: to purge out the darkness, not spread it around.

-Jon Vowell

Two Realities of the Christian Life (plus a Third)

"The floods have lifted up, O Lord, the floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift up their waves. The Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many waters, yea, than the mighty waves of the sea." Ps. 93:3-4

Herein are two realities of a Christian's life: the trials and tribulations of the world and the faithfulness and goodness of God.
That troubles are here equated to "floods" is apropos. We often feel inundated by the cares of life, a seemingly endless stream of discouraging distractions. From the sorrows common to all men (disease, death, etc.) to our own particular heartaches and pains, they are always like a flood: overwhelming and relentless. Scripture nowhere promises that in this life we will have a lack of troubles.
It is good to know, therefore, that God "is mightier" than all the troubles of life, and equally apropos image; for when we are in the midst of struggles, nothing seems "mightier" than it. Thus, it is like music to our ears to hear that our God has clothed Himself with a strength that is mightier that all the waves of sorrow and care (vs. 1).
"Thy throne is established of old; Thou art from everlasting. [...] Holiness adorns Thine house, O Lord, forever" (vs. 2, 5). Herein is a third and final reality, a truth that we all gladly hand our hats on: troubles. though overwhelming and relentless, are also temporal; only one thing is eternal, and that it our God and all that He is (i.e., His holiness). The valley of the shadow of death is a real yet temporary thing; it is goodness and mercy that shall follow you "all the days" of your life (Ps. 23).

-Jon Vowell

Our Dwelling Place

"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide in the shadow of the Almighty. [...] Because thou hast made the Lord...thy dwelling place, there shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling." Ps. 91:1, 9-10

These thoughts are not fanciful idealism; they are solid, practical truths of life. It is true that your physical dwelling, possessions, and relationships may be touched by evil and plague; your own body may be as well. Such is the way of the world. However, when God is your true dwelling place, nothing can ultimately touch, for God, His character and His promises, are sure and secure. The soul that is "hide with Christ in God" (Col. 3:3) may be beset by many troubles, but they will never be shaken. This is not prosperity gospel; Job 13:15 and Romans 8:37 encapsulate these truths more than the tenets of prosperity dogma. The one who has made God their dwelling place has become fundamentally unconquerable, and evil and plague can never truly touch them again, though the body they may kill.
"Because he hath set his love upon Me, therefore I will deliver him.... I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him..." (vs. 14-15). Deliverance necessarily implies that one is in the midst of something, and it is a hard truth that much of human life means being "in the midst" of things. Nevertheless, the one who has made God their dwelling, their love, their one and only desire, will find deliverance, whether it by a miracle in the moment or death that gives way to victory. Like the Lord, the Christian is to put no stock in the people and things of this world, for we know that they are fallen and fragile, and will fail (John 2:23-25). Instead, our hope is in the eternal God who is and neither falls nor fails, and whoever dwells in Him shall never be moved (Ps. 15).

-Jon Vowell

Real Presence

"...my heart and flesh crieth out for the living God." Ps. 84:2b

The main ignorance both inside and outside the church is that Christianity is about dead principles rather than a living person. Apparently, we are all about rite and ritual and ceremony with empty prayers and readings rather than communion with a living, personal being who is there. In addition, our churches are merely buildings of stone and wood rather than the house of the Holy One. Even holiness itself is nothing more than dead piety rather than an active principle emanating from a living and present presence that dwells within us. We must set this ignorance straight: Christianity is no more about dead formalism or stringent legalism than Christ Himself was; rather, Christianity is about actual fellowship with the living God who is there.
Perhaps the world can be excused for this ignorance, for how are they to know unless we tell them? Thus, we are the more guilty ones. Our lives, our deeds as well as our words, reveal nothing living or present, nothing active or personal. If we are not dead formalists orlegalists (or both), then we are at least pasty-faced moralists, our lives no different from the average pagan or heathen. Christianity, however, is not about dead religion; it is about the living God who walks with us and dwells within us. That reality should be reflective of a difference in our lives, a difference that cannot be simply explained away as mere religion and/or morality. To be "Christ-like" means that, like Christ, people must not know what to do with us because they have been in the presence of the living God, whether they knew it or not.

-Jon Vowell

Give me God (or, A Catharsis)

"Truly my soul waiteth upon God; from Him cometh my salvation. [...] Surely men of low degree are vanity, and men of high degree are a lie. To be weighed in the balance, they are altogether lighter than a breath. [...] God hath spoken once; twice have I heard this, that power belongeth to God." Ps. 62: 1, 9, 11

"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." II Corinthians 4:18

It's easy to get caught up in temporary things. Besides the fact that they are what is "seen" (and thus more readily relatable), there is also nothing inherently wrong with them. The only time that they go wrong is when they are given precedent over what is eternal, and yet we do this all the time. The whole of the truly modern age (right up to our current choking fog of the post-modern swamp) can be quite accurately defined as a time of treating temporal things as fundamental and necessary while treating eternal things as superficial and trivial. "Please," we cry, "don't bother troubling us about our souls or whatnot. Just wake us up when the latest cultural/political/ideological fad or fashion rides by so we can jump on its bandwagon." To paraphrase Lewis, we are far too easily amused and distracted.
Christians don't escape from this problem either. The whole of Modern Christendom can be quite succinctly described as one long, horrendous fashion show, with every single item being a mere retread of what the world had already paraded out with much better ability last year. As the blood-bought children of God, we are the unworthy (and therefore humbled) recipients of the deep, eternal truths of God, and yet we keep traipsing across the world's stage like a pathetic johnny-come-lately to every secular and worldly stage show under the sun. We are supposed to be leading all men unto Christ and into the fear of the Lord, and yet the best that we do today is to teach everyone how to be moral, amiable apathetics courtesy of our Christian knock-off versions of self-help guides and practical advice columns.
What's even worse is that we're not only mimicking the world concretely, but also abstractly, taking its philosophies and ideologies and merging them with Christianity in a most unholy union. As sudden as a winter evening, "faith" now equals "doubt," and all the rich teachings and history of the Christian Faith are summarily declared stupid. Faith itself becomes wholly subjective, having been violently cut from all objectivity, until it means absolutely nothing precisely because it means anything. On all counts, we look and sound and feel so much like the world and all of its vacuous and counterfeit pleasures and promises that we render the gospel and all of God's truth utterly impotent. The world assumes a priori that we have nothing to say that they haven't already heard before and better from the mouths of their own prophets and preachers.
I don't want to be well-adjusted. I don't want to know how to balance my checkbook or work the stock market. I don't want to be amiable or moral or decent. I don't want to "just get along." I don't want psychotherapy, anti-depressants, or self-help tips from people as fallen as myself. I don't want a "dialogue" or "conversation." I don't want to be represented. I don't want another agenda, fashion, or fad. I don't want to be where truth is not allowed to "colonize the space." I don't want to hear your subjective opinions or experiences. I don't want me subjectivity to be cut from that which is objectively real and true. I will tell you what I want. I will tell you what the world really wants, what it has always wanted, and what Christianity has always had to give to it. I want to know if there is a God, and if He can be known, if He can know me, and how. I want to know if repentance and forgiveness are real and capable of doing away with real sin and real guilt, that grace is truly greater than all my sin. I want truth to not only "colonize the space" but also colonize all of me, filling me up like blood and air and water and food. I want abundant life and life everlasting. I want to be consumed by the fire of the God who is there. I want to love God like a man loves a woman, to be enraptured and intoxicated by Him always, to want to protect Him from His enemies and myself. I want that which is solid and real, timeless and eternal, something that has sustained those before me and will sustain those after me. Give me God and all that He is or else I will perish, and that without remedy.
All these things and more are offered as unflinching and unapologetic objective truths and realities by the Christian Faith to all people regardless of their experiences or circumstances. Is that the message that the world hears, though? Is that what the Church even hears? I'm afraid not. The Faith begun by the Incarnate God of the universe has been made by its followers into an impotent side-show act. May the Lord have mercy on us all.

-Jon Vowell

In the Midst

"A Contemplation of David, when he fled from Saul in the cave: Be merciful unto me, O God, be merciful unto me, for my soul trusteth in Thee; yea, in the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be over past." Ps. 57: Title, 1

Sometimes true safety doesn't look much like safety. In all honesty, the "safety" that God promises looks very much like danger. I'm sure David would have felt very safe in a fortified camp surrounded by armed men. Instead, he is scurrying alone in the the dark of a cave with Saul and his men hot on his heels, and it is in that damp and dark emptiness that he is "in the shadow of [God's] wings."
To be truly "safe" means to be with God; all other circumstances and considerations are secondary and thus immaterial. It is amazing how close to the breaking point that God will stress that truth. It is a fascinating paradox that the safest moments are the ones that seem to be the most dangerous. Look at the book of Revelation: things go from bad to worse, and it is at the absolute uttermost of breaking despair that Christ returns and wins the day. Look at the gospels: how many times were the disciples in utter panic before Jesus put all at ease? Often the people of God are in the very midst of slavery, banishment, exile, furnaces, prisons, persecutions, etc., when God brings them forth shining like a golden star. There is a threat buried within the promise of Isaiah 43:2, a threat that God's presence is contingent upon our being in the middle of fires and floods.
And why should such things not be? If God were to keep us safe in the midst of calm and peaceful times and things, what is the good of that? It would be just as if there were no God at all. If, however, we are kept safe in the midst of the chaotic tempest, with its cold waters threatening yet unable to drown us, then we have reason to glorify God. It is precisely when things are at their worst that God is nearest; it is exactly when we are weakest that God is strongest. That is the meaning behind the "weak/strong" paradox of the Christian faith, and we would do well to remember it when the more common darker skies of approaching storms cloud our horizons.

-Jon Vowell

Now and Forever

"What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee. [...] For Thou hast delivered my soul from death; wilt not Thou deliver my feet from falling, that I may walk before God in the light of the living?" Ps. 56:3, 13

It is called the life of faith for a reason. Salvation is a unique and extraordinary moment, but what about all the moments afterwards? You trust that Christ will stand with you at the judgment seat; do you trust that He is standing with you while you seat in your seat right now? You believe that God has delivered your soul from death; do you believe that He will deliver your feet from falling? You believed on the Lord Jesus Christ and have been saved (Acts 16:31); do you now believe that He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it (Phil. 1:6)? If we are honest with ourselves, we would say that we very much believe the formers and very much doubt the latters on a day-to-day basis.
We are subjective beings. We experience circumstances and people in ways that (in some sense) are unique unto ourselves. However, that does not mean that our subjectivity is always right; more often than not, it is flat-out wrong. We often respond to situations in ways that are contradictory to what is real: we doubt when we should believe, we worry when we should trust, we hate when we should love, love when we should hate, grieve when we should be joyful, sing when we should mourn, etc. God has revealed to us what is real, and our subjective selves must be bound to His objective revelations, so that we may not be tossed about by our unreliable human emotions and wisdom.

-Jon Vowell

Living Truth

"Behold, Thou desirest truth in the inward parts, and in the hidden part Thou shalt make me to know wisdom." Ps. 51:6

"If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us." I John 1:8

For God, truth is ultimately about the soul and not the head. Mere knowledge of the truth and the ability to give it lip service is not enough; the truth must be a part of our very being, our very person. If we have utter head knowledge, but it has not ingrained itself into our hearts, so that that which was once abstract concepts now become concrete realities in our lives, we deceive ourselves. We think because we can spout the truth that the truth is with us, but the opposite is true; in our heads, on our lips, but absent from our hearts and lives.
There is nothing wrong with head knowledge per se. Truth must start in your head before it can get to your heart; it must be comprehensible before it can be real. That being said, God is no more interested in spiritual scholars than He is spiritual simpletons. What He wants are spiritual people, those whose very lives reflect their awareness of and participation in a deeper reality, viz., the reality of God. The truth must get to your head, but it must not stay there. It is not meant for itself. It is meant to guide you to the One who is Truth. Well-meaning fools say, "Follow your heart." Your heart can only lead properly when the truth is in it, truth given by God: "In the hidden parts Thou shalt make me to know wisdom."

-Jon Vowell

Legacy

"Beautiful in elevation...is mount Zion...the city of the great King. [...] Walk about Zion, and go round about her; count the towers thereof. Mark ye well her bulwarks, consider her palaces, that ye may tell it to the generation following. For this God is our God for ever and ever; He will be our guide even unto death." Ps. 48:2, 12-14

Mount Zion was where the temple was located, a building with far more significance than being a mere museum piece of Judaism. It represented two very important realities. The first was the spiritual legacy of the Jews. From the first tabernacle in the wilderness to the subsequent temples that were destroyed and rebuilt, the Jewish house of worship stood as a sure testimony to God's dealings in Israel's history. The second reality that the temple represented was the presence of God. God was not a mere past memory but a living fact of the present. The temple reminded the Jews not only that Heaven had touched earth, but also that it still touched earth; and those were the two things that they were to pass on to "the generation following."
We do a lousy job of passing on our spiritual legacy. Sometimes we divorce the immediate presence of God from the facts of church/Christian history and tradition, and our faith becomes cold and academic, with the scriptures becoming a mere textbook of knowledge. More often, however, we divorce the facts of history and tradition from the immediate presence, and our faith becomes hollow and weak, void of grounding and depth, and the scriptures a fluid subjectivity handbook for our own private eisegesis. We are to give to our children the richest heritage possible, teaching them the things of yesterday to enrich their own experiences today.

-Jon Vowell

"...how frail I am..."

"Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is; that I may know how frail I am. [...] And now, Lord, what wait I for? My hope is in Thee." Ps. 39: 4, 7

"I am the vine, ye are the branches...without me, ye can do nothing." John 15:5

Our dependence on God will be the great struggle of our lives. Even in the child of God, who is born of the Spirit, there is the capacity to set yourself squarely in the center of your life and circumstances, thrusting the burden of them all on your own feeble shoulders. Whether this is done out of pride or ignorance, the results are the same: we fall, we fail, and we lose control. It is a bitter reminder of our own inadequacies outside of God.
We would do well to remember our own frailty. God does (Ps. 103:13-14), and we should follow His example. This does not mean that you are to become a perpetual pity-party, going on and on about your weaknesses as though you were a martyr for the cause. Accounting for our frailty is to lead us away from ourselves (and our weaknesses) and towards God (and His strength). "I am weak, but Thou art strong," says the song, and that is to be the progression of our thoughts: the acknowledgment of our weakness should immediately turn into an acknowledgment of God's strength and our dependence on Him. If we turn our thoughts back on ourselves, we defeat the acknowledgment's purpose and find ourselves right back where we started, i.e., thinking that the whole show is all about us.

-Jon Vowell

The Life of Faith (and not Daisies or Dread)

"Forsake me not, O Lord; O my God, be not far from me. Make haste to help me, O Lord my salvation." Ps. 38:21-2

"Let him who walks in the dark, who has no light, trust in the name of the Lord and rely on his God." Is. 50:10 (NIV)

Darkness and despair can be a part of a Christian's life. If you disagree, then you have never read the scriptures. Though most of the troubles that came upon God's people were a result of their sin and rebellion, many others were merely a result of God's providence, His sovereign preference that they walk through the flood, through the fire, through the dark. Being a child of God does not mean sunshine and roses, nor does it even mean darkness and despair. The life of a Christian is one where you simply acknowledge (whether it be rain or shine) that you are in the hands of God, a fact that no external circumstances can change or affect.

In forgetting the reality of darkness in the Christian life, we forget the most vital thing: trusting God. In the overly optimistic view of life, we lose the understanding that God's ways are indeed mysterious and incomprehensible at the moment. However, in the overly pessimistic view of life, we can forget that God's proven goodness gives us grounds to trust Him. In the end, we should be preaching neither a life of daisies nor of dread; we should be preaching the life of faith, i.e., of trusting God; of acknowledging His sovereignty, His holiness, and His love in our lives.

-Jon Vowell

Another Paradox

"Let the Lord be magnified, who hath pleasure in the prosperity of His servant." Ps. 35:27b

"If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me." Luke 9:23

"...to die is gain." Phil. 1:21

It is common is Christianity today to not connect sacrifice with the goodness of God. Actually, I dare say that we do not connect it to God at all. We are quite certain that it merely involves us: our misery, our suffering, our loss. Thus, sacrifice today is degraded to an occasion for self-pity, which is just another term for pride. Such an outcome is a result of a lack of faith, viz., a lack of accounting for God in the midst of circumstances. If we add Him into the equation and reconcile our thinking with the fact that we "deny" all in order to gain God, then pride is ruled out as sacrifice becomes another occasion to give Him glory. Sacrifice is commanded, not so that we can lose, but so we can gain.
No one teaches this anymore, even in the truest of churches. Sacrifice comes off like some sort of caveat, a disclaimer pointing you to the fine-print that lets you know the deal is too good to be true. Conversely, Christ made sacrifice the focal point of His identity, viz., the loss of all for the will of the Father. In Christ, God suffered loss (Phil. 2:6-7) so that He may gain us (Eph. 2:14-17), and glory was found in such an act (Phil. 2:9-11). Likewise, we too are called to godliness, to God-likeness, to Christ-likeness. We are called to lay down our miserable, broken lives so that we may be made in the image of Christ (II Cor. 3:18), the very image of God. We are called to lose so that we might gain God, and all that He is.

-Jon Vowell

Who We Are

"Thou shalt no more be named 'Forsaken,' neither shall thy land any more be called 'Desolate'; but thou shalt be called 'My Delight,' and thy land 'Betrothed.' For the Lord delighteth in thee, and thy land shall be married.

"And they shall call [you], 'The holy people,' 'The redeemed of the Lord'; and thou shalt be called 'Sought out,' 'A city not forsaken.'" Isaiah 62:4, 12

Part of living sanely in an insane world is to have a proper perspective of yourself, and the children of God would do well to remember who they are and Whose they are. I dare say we see ourselves as slave and servant (and rightly so, for God is our Lord and Master), but do we see ourselves as lover and friend (which are equally right, for He is our Beloved and Father and Friend)? The main focus of Christian psychology is a proper perspective of the self: first as a lost sinner, and then as the redeemed children of God; formally the forsaken desolate, and now the delight and betrothed of God. We who were not a people, and had no name, are now called "Christian," little Christ, of Christ and therefore of God, belonging to God as His most valued and treasured possession, i.e., His Son. It is our new name, our new identity, and we should wear them gladly.

It's time that Christians started living by the proper names. Some have the service part down right, but they have no concept of God's delight, and thus their service is cold and wearying. Others have the delight part down well and good, but have lost the idea of service, and consequently are useless hedonists. The love of God revealed in Christ constrains us in every way: the thoughts that we think, the words that we speak, the things that we do, all needs to glorify the God Who calls us His children, His servants, His delight, and His beloved. Until we see and continually see who we are, we will never be what we should be.

"You call me as Your own,

To know You and be known..."

(Mercy Me)

-Jon Vowell