The mass of the Rocky mountain range pulled the sun down toward the horizon on a late summer afternoon. Heavy drapes kept the sun's heat and light at bay. The room was dark and I don't know why my five-year-old bare feet weren't outside playing with the neighbor kids. Perhaps I was being punished-there are some things for which a lack of memory is a relief. Then I spied it. A single ray of light came through a tiny hole in the obscuring material. In the dark, the ray was invisible but for tiny dancing motes of dust. (My mother will be mortified should she learn that there was dust in her house.) I was fascinated. They hung in the air, suspended, motionless until some unseen force moved them. Without knowing it, I had rediscovered Brownian motion-many years too late to have it called "Parkersonian" motion. Years later I bought an old tank prism. From my Physics books I knew that light would split into its component colors when shone through a prism. It cost $3.50 from the Edmund Scientific Catalog. I took it into a dark room and shone a ray of sunlight through it. On the opposite wall a burst of color spread itself across the wall. I'd never seen such intense red, green, blue. Colors to dazzle the eye; colors to hurt the eye; colors to hypnotize. Still later, when my children were small, there was a total solar eclipse. We prepared by putting a pin hole in the bottom of a Quaker's oatmeal cardboard box-you know, the round ones. We planned to point the pinhole in the bottom of the carton toward the sun and place a piece of white paper near the open top end. This would project an image onto the paper through the pinhole. Playing with it, we noticed that looking at the pinhole, you could see nothing on the other side. Closer to the hole, a dim pinpoint of something could be seen. At eyelash distance, a whole new world opened up. One could see nearly as much as you could with a normal field of vision. Unfortunately, it was cloudy that day, so it got dark for an hour and then we had dawn again, but no sunlight and no image of a solar eclipse to hang in memory's halls. The church is like that. We live in a dark world, with the powers of the air at work all around us. The Church is the hole. Small, too small to see anything through. But a glimmer of light shows through from the Other Side. This narrow beam of Otherness shines in stark contrast to the darkness through which it passes. If the environment is clean, nothing shows. When a mote of "dust" comes into the light, the Light immediately reveals the mote for what it is. It shows the Brownian motion of the action of the prince of the power of the air. The light is white-a combination of all those who make it up, but the prism of examination reveals that the light is made up of individual gradations of color-the differences of each of us shine with the intensity of the original Son-light, but with different wave lengths and different attributes. Another prism, oriented opposite to the first, would recombine the variation back into the original white. So we, being many and diverse, are one in the pure whiteness of light that is Jesus, in His Body. The hole in the fabric of space/time, perhaps eaten on purpose by that Moth Who created all things and can makes holes wherever He wants-the hole is Us. Transparent, consisting of nothing at all but an opening to let the realm of non-space/time show through, we are a pin-hole view of that other non-place and non-time. The closer one approaches, the more of the other realm appears, until at eyelash range, a wonder of light and color and texture appears; the realm of true reality. May it be that we, the Church, will fulfill our ultimate purpose; to be a hole through which Light shines through and through which others can catch just a glimpse of That and Who lies beyond. 2008Pinhole View

The Power of forgiveness

Nelson Mandela’s funeral will begin in a few hours. Without a doubt, few individuals have touched so many lives for the better. The 20th Century had its Hitlers and Stalins each of which impacted the world around him in a transforming way. Many others have changed society for the better: Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King Jr. and Mahatma Ghandi, for example. But for actual change within society, none compares to Nelson Mandela. He stands head and shoulders above all others for accomplishing an impossible task. Others who have influenced their society or the world for the better made significant inroads into the selfishness and evil of this world. They inspired, they moved to tears and action. They made us think that, perhaps, we could live in a better world. He joins their ranks, but supersedes them. Madiba forgave. This is his legacy; this is the inheritance he passes down to every South African and to all the world. Forgiveness. He lived the word. Yes, he was a pragmatist, using whatever means to accomplish his goals. He embraced violence, for example for a time. Imprisonment burned all the hatred from him and made him realize the power of forgiveness. Mark Twain says, “forgiveness is the scent of a violet shed on the heal that has crushed it.” Mandela exuded that scent and won over his persecutors and jailers. I do not know that he was explicitly Christian, but he lived the Christ life in a way that few others have. And the world stands up and takes note. This one lone South African political prisoner exhibits, no, he lived-forgiveness. “Father, forgive them…” Jesus cried out as they drove cruel spikes through his wrists. Between the Christ and Nelson Mandela, great forgivers are rare. By some wondrous miracle is it possible for us to seize this moment, this window into the other World and hang on to it? If so, how? How would we be different? Would radical Islam give up its vendettas? Would Israel make peace with Palestinians? Would china release it prisoners? Would we release ours? Could we find it in our corporation hearts to treat those who make and sell for us as human beings and not just cogs in a an endlessly-turning gear? Can we, the exploited of the world, find it in our hearts to forgive our exploiters? Can we, individuals all, find that place within ourselves to forgive the cheating spouse, the wounding bitter tongue, the thief of our retirement funds? These are big shoes into which to fit our very small feet. Let’s not shrink the shoes this time; let’s grow into and walk in them. 12/9/13

Resting Work

eWhy we need to sleep is a question puzzling medical science. They see no absolute need of it, physiologically. Could it be that sleep is imposed on us to limit our time to develop evil or could it be to teach us a lesson? Genesis 1 says that evening and morning were the first, second day Etc. day. Why evening first? Why rest before work? Maybe this is just the lesson He wants us to learn. Though physically we cannot save up rest, He is asking us to not work before we work. In spiritual terms, we can either rest from our work or rest for our work. The first, resting from work, means we have accomplished something and are resting from it. Physically, this makes sense. We work hard and are tired, so we rest. Spiritually, just the opposite is true. God wants us to rest first, recognizing that it is not us that does the preparation for the work, but Him. The ability to work comes from Him. Just so, the sequence of salvation is: rest first, work second. Believe and obey, is the sequence. First come and know me, rest from your burden of sin and self-works, then go work for me in the power of that rest. Rest on the accomplished work of Jesus, then go forth in the power of the Spirit to carry out His mission through us. As Boehnhoffer says, “No one can truly believe who does not obey; no one can truly obey who does not believe.” The two are inextricably intertwined, but belief must precede works or works are just that, works. Belief turns work into a joyous response to the love He has shown us in Christ Jesus. Belief makes works into a response to salvation rather than a means to salvation. Belief does not excuse from obeying or this would be cheap grace, but belief does take the drudgery of earning or working my own salvation. So, in our daily cycle of days, rest precedes work, night before day, so we can see this spiritual truth. Spiritual rest precedes spiritual work; accepting Jesus as our savior precedes our ability to work for Him. For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them. Ephesians 2:8-10 12/12/11

In Praise of Maggots

Note: Please do not read this just before or after a good meal. Maggots are the larval stage of a certain fly. They, like the adult stage, feed on formerly living material. When I was 16, I left my San Diego home on a quest. I didn't know what I was looking for exactly or why I was going; I only knew I had to leave and go. My going had none of the romance and adventure of many of my generation-fleeing to odd corners of the world to experience life and find oneself. I made a very safe journey from an Adventist hospital environment to an Adventist boarding school just south of Forest Grove here in Oregon. I'm not quite sure, either, why I chose Laurel wood academy (since defunct, though I don't think my attending had anything to do with that.) In this school, everyone had to work four hours per weekday no matter whether you were rich or poor. I was poor so there was no question. Because I came as a junior, all the good, clean jobs were taken. The only job available was working on the farm. We had a working dairy, wheat fields, vegetable gardens, orchards (you've never lived until you've eaten an apple sugared with dew just as the sun peaks over a fir-crested hill.). My first task, in the heat of late August 1961 was to clean out the feed lot around where the cows ate. To put this in perspective, I was a city boy. My mother grew up on a farm, but her farm stories were cleaned and deodorized; not a scent of chicken or cow or horse manure in a single one of her stories. We held our noses on the road to a park which led by a pig sty. In short, I was a city slicker; the object of derision among the kids who grew up on farms. Being the oldest and having a driver's license, I was expected to drive the tractor which pulled the honey wagon (for "honey" read "manure"). It worked great when I drove forward. When in reverse, my complete incompetence glared like a searchlight on a moonless night. Humiliation was my daily fodder; Jeers and jests my greeting every morning. These experienced fourteen-year-olds knew far more than the protected city slicker in other areas as well: They knew how to swear, to smoke and the facts of life. I felt a complete idiot in those things that these "youngsters" knew so much about. Oh, and one more thing-they knew how to cuss. But among all the things that this outsider had the most trouble adjusting to, the very worst, the one that nearly broke me, that which caused the most torment and misery was not smell or task or incompetence or ignorance but flies. I hated these things that fed on offal and then landed on me and infected me (so I felt) with all the bacteria of a cow's bowel. Coming from a medical home and environment where cleanliness leaning toward antisepticism, I could barely face my day. It seemed like I breathed them, ate them and dreamed them. The Egyptians had nothing on me; I would've cried out for a Moses if I'd have thought of it. I still don't like them. But a new respect has dawned. First a brief biology lesson: A female fly lays her fertilized eggs which hatch into a larval stage (maggots) which eat pretty much what the parent flies do-garbage and dead things. From the larval stage they develop into mature flies and then repeat the cycle. Flies are bad enough, but a maggot lives in, on and upon dead and decaying material. It gores itself on dead flesh, feces and anything else that has stopped living. It is associated with death itself. We abhor the wriggling, slimy white things. A wound infected with maggots turns the stomach and threatens to lose its contents and provide more maggot food. Food infested with maggots in inedible; the very thought destroys the appetite of any but the near-starving. So, a couple of years ago, I was horrified when I learned that hospitals and medical personnel were using maggots to treat bed sores. I am familiar with bed sores. Having worked in a nursing home and in medical social work, it was a part of everyday life. These sores begin when a person lies too long in one position, causing the tissue to be deprived of blood for a long enough period of time for the tissue to die. The medical term, if I remember correctly, is decubitus. It is very difficult to treat, especially in older people. Now these practitioners are purposely placing maggots in a decubitus. I was astounded. Then the truth struck. Maggots eat only dead flesh. Living flesh has no appeal. A surgeon who tried to debride a decubitus would inevitably further damage the living healthy tissue which was attempting to repair the wound. Water treatments are expensive and time consuming. Sterile maggots do not infect the wound; they clean out the dead tissue and make way for the living tissue beneath to thrive. That which I abhorred is the means for health and life and healing. I don't exactly know what the morality lesson is here. Perhaps it is only a question: What are the maggots in my life; what are those things which debride my spirit, my soul? What are those things which seem to me to be ugly and repulsive but which lead to the life and health of soul and spirit? I wonder. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maggot 6 12 09 Note: Please do not read this just before or after a good meal. Maggots are the larval stage of a certain fly. They, like the adult stage, feed on formerly living material. When I was 16, I left my San Diego home on a quest. I didn't know what I was looking for exactly or why I was going; I only knew I had to leave and go. My going had none of the romance and adventure of many of my generation-fleeing to odd corners of the world to experience life and find oneself. I made a very safe journey from an Adventist hospital environment to an Adventist boarding school just south of Forest Grove here in Oregon. I'm not quite sure, either, why I chose Laurel wood academy (since defunct, though I don't think my attending had anything to do with that.) In this school, everyone had to work four hours per weekday no matter whether you were rich or poor. I was poor so there was no question. Because I came as a junior, all the good, clean jobs were taken. The only job available was working on the farm. We had a working dairy, wheat fields, vegetable gardens, orchards (you've never lived until you've eaten an apple sugared with dew just as the sun peaks over a fir-crested hill.). My first task, in the heat of late August 1961 was to clean out the feed lot around where the cows ate. To put this in perspective, I was a city boy. My mother grew up on a farm, but her farm stories were cleaned and deodorized; not a scent of chicken or cow or horse manure in a single one of her stories. We held our noses on the road to a park which led by a pig sty. In short, I was a city slicker; the object of derision among the kids who grew up on farms. Being the oldest and having a driver's license, I was expected to drive the tractor which pulled the honey wagon (for "honey" read "manure"). It worked great when I drove forward. When in reverse, my complete incompetence glared like a searchlight on a moonless night. Humiliation was my daily fodder; Jeers and jests my greeting every morning. These experienced fourteen-year-olds knew far more than the protected city slicker in other areas as well: They knew how to swear, to smoke and the facts of life. I felt a complete idiot in those things that these "youngsters" knew so much about. Oh, and one more thing-they knew how to cuss. But among all the things that this outsider had the most trouble adjusting to, the very worst, the one that nearly broke me, that which caused the most torment and misery was not smell or task or incompetence or ignorance but flies. I hated these things that fed on offal and then landed on me and infected me (so I felt) with all the bacteria of a cow's bowel. Coming from a medical home and environment where cleanliness leaning toward antisepticism, I could barely face my day. It seemed like I breathed them, ate them and dreamed them. The Egyptians had nothing on me; I would've cried out for a Moses if I'd have thought of it. I still don't like them. But a new respect has dawned. First a brief biology lesson: A female fly lays her fertilized eggs which hatch into a larval stage (maggots) which eat pretty much what the parent flies do-garbage and dead things. From the larval stage they develop into mature flies and then repeat the cycle. Flies are bad enough, but a maggot lives in, on and upon dead and decaying material. It gores itself on dead flesh, feces and anything else that has stopped living. It is associated with death itself. We abhor the wriggling, slimy white things. A wound infected with maggots turns the stomach and threatens to lose its contents and provide more maggot food. Food infested with maggots in inedible; the very thought destroys the appetite of any but the near-starving. So, a couple of years ago, I was horrified when I learned that hospitals and medical personnel were using maggots to treat bed sores. I am familiar with bed sores. Having worked in a nursing home and in medical social work, it was a part of everyday life. These sores begin when a person lies too long in one position, causing the tissue to be deprived of blood for a long enough period of time for the tissue to die. The medical term, if I remember correctly, is decubitus. It is very difficult to treat, especially in older people. Now these practitioners are purposely placing maggots in a decubitus. I was astounded. Then the truth struck. Maggots eat only dead flesh. Living flesh has no appeal. A surgeon who tried to debride a decubitus would inevitably further damage the living healthy tissue which was attempting to repair the wound. Water treatments are expensive and time consuming. Sterile maggots do not infect the wound; they clean out the dead tissue and make way for the living tissue beneath to thrive. That which I abhorred is the means for health and life and healing. I don't exactly know what the morality lesson is here. Perhaps it is only a question: What are the maggots in my life; what are those things which debride my spirit, my soul? What are those things which seem to me to be ugly and repulsive but which lead to the life and health of soul and spirit? I wonder. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maggot 6 12 09

Grandpa Lessons 2

We sat side-by-side, sharing a piano bench eating lunch. My three-and-three-quarters-year-old grandson sat on my right, shoveling food into his mouth and chattering nonstop between bites. Without preamble, he slipped his left hand into the crook of my left elbow and left it there for over a minute; a connection of love and recognition that warmed my heart down to its very cockles. He withdrew it, again without explanation. For him, the event will be lost in the myriad of events flooding his expanding brain; a blip on the radar of his world. But for grandpa, what an electrifying moment; what a joy: to be loved without reserve, to be acknowledged in his world. Daddy is like that too, longing for the spontaneous, loving touch of spirit to Spirit; of linking arm in arm in a spontaneous, loving touch. 7/13

Grandpa Lesson 1

“No, that’s mine!” cried the angry voice of my grandson. Parental intervention resolved the earth-shaking battle over the blue Hot Wheels Corvette. Is it possible that the process of differentiation which begins at conception, the journey of separating into an individual has, as one of its necessary steps, the distinguishing of my and mine from that which is yours? Do we need a stage during which we recognize what is ours in order to grow into a mature adult who can be willing to part with, to give away, something of that which is ours? Is it possible that, giving of things is merely a precursor stage to the giving of ourselves to another, to others? Is it possible that the greed and selfishness which I all too often exhibit is a regression or, worse, being stuck in the toddler stage of beginning differentiation? Are all of our thefts, our broken marriages, our corporate greed, our congressional stubbornnesses, our land- and resource-grabbing wars; are all of these a child’s scream of “Mine?” If so, by what means, what magic, what societal growth hormone can we grow into a mature world in which we recognize mine and yours. How can we, ultimately, discover that giving is, indeed, the greatest joy? What would a world be like should we someday discover this most elemental secret of the universe? Can we dream of it even though it seems such a distant, unreachable goal?

god's Unfairness 3

Grace is the unfairness of God. We often think how unfair it is that something happens (blindness, illness, missing a bus, etc.). The unfairness of life in singling us out for something that, through no fault of our own, happens to us. Big or small, it happens and we didn’t do anything to make it happen. There is no cause and effect, we did nothing to cause it or precipitate it(just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time or have the wrong set of genes. So, how about the unfairness of God. He gives us something we didn’t deserve (salvation, life, freedom, peace with Him and our fellow man). Others in the universe might object, saying we didn’t deserve this. But He protests, declaring His love for us as His excuse to be unfair, biased, prejudiced in our favor, spoiling us unreservedly with gifts we didn’t even ask for, showering us with every blessing in heavenly realms He gives us holiness and blamelessness, sonship, reveals the mystery of His will (to make all things unified under His Son), gives us His Holy Spirit, who guarantees our inheritance, and makes us, His church, the fulfillment of all things for Him. Yes, He’s unfair, but grace is unfair because it happens to us even though we don’t deserve it. It comes freely in the One He loves. He lavishes it upon us, along with all wisdom and understanding. It brings life, delivering us from death. Unfair, yes, but our only hope Grace and peace to you from God, the Father and from the Lord Jesus Christ. Ephesians 1:2 02/5/01 Grace is the unfairness of God. We often think how unfair it is that something happens (blindness, illness, missing a bus, etc.). The unfairness of life in singling us out for something that, through no fault of our own, happens to us. Big or small, it happens and we didn’t do anything to make it happen. There is no cause and effect, we did nothing to cause it or precipitate it(just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time or have the wrong set of genes. So, how about the unfairness of God. He gives us something we didn’t deserve (salvation, life, freedom, peace with Him and our fellow man). Others in the universe might object, saying we didn’t deserve this. But He protests, declaring His love for us as His excuse to be unfair, biased, prejudiced in our favor, spoiling us unreservedly with gifts we didn’t even ask for, showering us with every blessing in heavenly realms He gives us holiness and blamelessness, sonship, reveals the mystery of His will (to make all things unified under His Son), gives us His Holy Spirit, who guarantees our inheritance, and makes us, His church, the fulfillment of all things for Him. Yes, He’s unfair, but grace is unfair because it happens to us even though we don’t deserve it. It comes freely in the One He loves. He lavishes it upon us, along with all wisdom and understanding. It brings life, delivering us from death. Unfair, yes, but our only hope Grace and peace to you from God, the Father and from the Lord Jesus Christ. Ephesians 1:2 02/5/01

God's Unfairness 2

There is no question about it. God is unfair. He doesn’t treat everyone equally; He doesn’t treat everyone as they deserve. We are so very fortunate that He doesn’t. If He treated us equally, those with special gifts might have special advantage in the salvation process. Instead, He appeals to each of us individually, according to our needs, aptitudes, inclinations. He woos us, wins us, warns us, wants us each individually for what and who we are. He doesn’t treat us as we deserve, either. If He did, we’d all be dead. But He gives us life, both temporal and spiritual. He gives us life with which to find Him. He gives us temporal life in or der to find spiritual life in Christ. We certainly don’t deserve this. We are born into a family of rebels. We practice rebellion. And the wages of rebellion is death-what we earn, what we deserve. Instead of treating us equally and fairly, He puts the bad stuff on His own Son and gives us only the good stuff. Certainly not fair in anyone’s book. How unfair to wound and crush, and pierce Him who had no sin in order that we who deserved all that punishment, all that consequence might have life everlasting. Unfair, totally unfair. There is no justice in it only total, unmitigated bias---bias and prejudice in our favor. 7/26/01

God's Unfairness 1

Father, I am puzzled. Many are the times in which You or others speaking on Your behalf, extoll Your justice. You seem to delight in claiming to be just. Along with love and mercy, it is right up there at the top of attributes Your followers claim about You. Just so we’re on the same page, my definition of justice includes legal justice: making a right decision in a courtroom; business justice in which contracts are honored, proper weights used and fair prices charge and mostly, being fair. Fairness in my book is being treated equally well. When I look around, I do not see Your fairness. I see some of Your children with billions of dollars, others without two nickels to rub together. Some are super-geniuses and some cannot spell their own name. Some play their musical instrument or sing in Carnegie Hall or rise to the top 40 charts repeatedly; others can’t carry a tune. A few are Michael Jordans and some, like me, can’t throw a basketball straight. Some dance, perform on a high wire or perform graceful feats of acrobatics and gymnastics, others, like me, are total klutzes. Some live in safe gated communities with security patrols on top of public safety; others live in war-torn countries or ghettos where gunfire no longer startles. Some live in verdant gardens; others in arid deserts. Some live in high-rise penthouses while their fellow humans live in the streets, under bridges or in their cars. Some eat caviar; others the offscourings of their luxurious meals. Some of us are beautiful; others seeming polar opposite. Some live long, productive lives; some die in their teens, before they enter school or are aborted or sacrificed as an unused fertilized ova in a bid to cure infertility. Some steal billions and go scott-free; others steal a loaf of bread and are shot in the attempt. Some live in lands of peace; others are murdered because of skin color, the wrong tribal name or because they wear glasses and are therefore considered to be intellectuals and non-productive members of society. Some are free; others enslaved-often by the free. Some live Christian lives, some live in heathen, godless lands, some in starkly religious lands without love or mercy, some live as atheists. Which brings me to my biggest point of all. How fair is it that You kill or, worse, throw into a burning pit forever, those who do not accept You? How fair, how just is that? In particular, I question Your justice when You annihilate or roast forever people who had little or no chance to know You. How can I, born into a privileged society, with training in Your scriptures, having You intervene in my life to point me to salvation when people I know, with none of these advantages, will die or burn forever? This is not a straw-man question. If You are like this, in truth, then You are more like Adolph Hitler than Mother Theresa and I can’t see spending eternity with you joyfully. Maybe I don’t want to be there at all. I suppose this means I love my family more than I do You, but it also means You love my family less than I do. You must have some other way, some better plan to make all things just, to make equity reign. You must know something that we haven’t discovered or that we have forgotten or ignored. I cannot believe that a God Who created all things good and perfect, Who claims Justice as a naming attribute would not have a plan for righting the wrongs of this life and find a way to make the future a beautiful one for all of us, not just the favored few. Now I hear You say, “You’re right. This blink-of-an-eye time you call life is not fair. You, the privileged, have more than others in many ways. They have less. But in the end, the very end when it really matters, My judgments will be fair, my decisions equitable and just. You will both agree and be satisfied. I make all things new and in that re-creation, all is in balance; all is in harmony; all comes out right” And I reply, “You are truly Just and righteous O Lord. Be it done to us even as You will, for we shall be content. Be Thou our contentment in the here and now.” 12/9/13