Praise the LORD .
Praise ~ Halal (Hebrew) : to shine; hence to make a show; to boast; and thus to be (clamorously) foolish; to rave; causatively to celebrate. "Praise." There's a certain train of mind, thinking that when we come before the Creator of the Universe corporately we must tame ourselves. We must present ourselves as dignified. And for some it's not God who they imagine they must appear dignant, but rather their neighbor in the room with them. Praise is to the contrary. The maker of us knows our innermost being down to the deepest flaw, weakness, and spiritual pimple. He knows well the extent of our fallen nature. Sometimes it's so easy to be willing to lay one's self open and honest in the quietness of worship, but maybe not so in the clamour of praise. God invites us to get a little crazy...even to the point of foolishness in the eyes of the world. This indignant act is to create havok in our innermost, we might stick out a little but we're sticking out to declare God...not ourselves. Besides. What kind of relationship is it if we can't get a little crazy every once in a while?
Praise, O servants of the LORD ,
praise the name of the LORD .
Let the name of the LORD be praised,
both now and forevermore.
From the rising of the sun to the place where it sets,
the name of the LORD is to be praised.
Not just in distance of the physical globe, but in the stretch of every human heart. Let the name of the Lord be praised. In the rising of good times to the setting in the desolate valleys, let the name of the LORD be praised in the heart of the one who's heart is devoted to Him. Let my life be a chorus of foolish love, sung with the crescendos and decrescendos of life. With emotion and honesty let the timbre of my life be a heart in love with the God of the universe.
The LORD is exalted over all the nations,
his glory above the heavens.
Who is like the LORD our God,
the One who sits enthroned on high,
who stoops down to look
on the heavens and the earth?
The natural universe cannot contain its Creator, who is beyond the bounds of our imaginations, comprehension, and knowledge. But this unreachable One has reached us, created us, and has made ever so apparent that He wants everything to do with us. He who is so pure, good, just, perfect, and surpremely powerful, loves us in our impurity, badness, unjustice, imperfection, and weakness, and has openly invited us to a friendship in which we will be made more like Him if we respond. While there is none like Him, He created us to be known, and to know Him.
He raises the poor from the dust
and lifts the needy from the ash heap;
he seats them with princes,
with the princes of their people.
He settles the barren woman in her home
as a happy mother of children.
The burnouts and the spiritually bankrupt usually have a better chance of answering God's call to the ethereal relationship with Him, because they know that they need Him. Sometimes the best connection with God is face down on the dirt, and the best posture to hear Him is in the ash heap. It's those that He chooses to lift up, maybe not to public honor but to a place even higher. A place with Him, a place of autority, a place of Glory, but not of a glory of ourselves but of Him. What may be the world's idea of a scary judge of talent, sometimes is God's top choice for leadership. Go figure. God doesn't look at the posture of stature, but the posture of the heart.
Praise the LORD .
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Rediscovering Time
I have found that I have fallen victim to a disease. It has been caused by a personal accessory, and while the disease may not be fatal it definitely seems to suck life out of you. The disease is called "time." Recently I have been spinning out of control, like a top knocked off of it's axis. Tonight I climbed into bed, and read a book. When I turned off the light I laid in the dark thinking, "Tomorrow I should get up early and write." It's been a long while since I've written...I mean really wrote my heart out. So closing my eyes, I realized that my disease had developed even more. I didn't have time. Once again I was scheduling my time of quiet with God, to a later date. God help me, this sickness is taking over my mind. OS Guinness wrote about "time" in a book that I've been reading, and he quoted a Filipino proverb that goes, "Westerners are people with gods on their wrists." Going on, he quoted a Kenyan saying also, that goes, "Westerners have watches but no time. Africans have time but no watches." So peeling my eyes back to look at my empty ceiling, I took my watch off and stumbled over to my computer. Here I am now, a little tired, but it seems that with every word I write I feel more alive. The dark is quiet, and hopeful. Hopeful, not necessarily that anything spectacular is going to happen per se, but simply that I get to hammer out keys on my laptop while thinking about why I'm glad to be breathing right now.
This sort of reminds me of a passage in Song of Songs of the Bible. The bride was laying in bed late at night, and all of the sudden the bridegroom came to her window and whispers through her window frame:
"Arise, my darling,
my beautiful one, and come with me.
See! The winter is past;
the rains are over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves
is heard in our land.
The fig tree forms its early fruit;
the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.
Arise, come, my darling;
my beautiful one, come with me."
It reminds me of now, not because I'm hungry for fig newtons or have an urge for a late night swinging on branches, but rather because that's how it is in moments like these. All is quiet, all is calm, and Jesus says to me, "Let's hang out. The storm of the world is settled right now." And so I'm drawn away, back to the center of who I am again.
The children of Israel always had to be called back. They would be following God, and then they'd fall in a rut and forget all of the awesome things that God did, and they would turn their back on God. Eventually, (usually at the end of their rope) God would call them back. They'd then repent (usually) and return to worshipping God. I think that's what God is doing in this still moment, where the only noise is the whirl of my laptop and the occasional crack of my wicker chair. The reflexive pouring out of my heart begins it's biting until blood just starts flowing...
"Jesus, forgive me of my grind, especially that it's habit is to become a daily one. Awaken my heart every hour, to see what matters in your eyes. I confess that I often lose sight of the bigger picture, and in my feeble attempts at planning for the future, I forget to live in the moment. Let me not be numb to the outcasts, the weak, and the poor. Ignite my heart again with passion for Your heart. Calling me to the centre again where You live. Reclaim Your rightful place on the throne of my heart. Amen."
This sort of reminds me of a passage in Song of Songs of the Bible. The bride was laying in bed late at night, and all of the sudden the bridegroom came to her window and whispers through her window frame:
"Arise, my darling,
my beautiful one, and come with me.
See! The winter is past;
the rains are over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves
is heard in our land.
The fig tree forms its early fruit;
the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.
Arise, come, my darling;
my beautiful one, come with me."
It reminds me of now, not because I'm hungry for fig newtons or have an urge for a late night swinging on branches, but rather because that's how it is in moments like these. All is quiet, all is calm, and Jesus says to me, "Let's hang out. The storm of the world is settled right now." And so I'm drawn away, back to the center of who I am again.
The children of Israel always had to be called back. They would be following God, and then they'd fall in a rut and forget all of the awesome things that God did, and they would turn their back on God. Eventually, (usually at the end of their rope) God would call them back. They'd then repent (usually) and return to worshipping God. I think that's what God is doing in this still moment, where the only noise is the whirl of my laptop and the occasional crack of my wicker chair. The reflexive pouring out of my heart begins it's biting until blood just starts flowing...
"Jesus, forgive me of my grind, especially that it's habit is to become a daily one. Awaken my heart every hour, to see what matters in your eyes. I confess that I often lose sight of the bigger picture, and in my feeble attempts at planning for the future, I forget to live in the moment. Let me not be numb to the outcasts, the weak, and the poor. Ignite my heart again with passion for Your heart. Calling me to the centre again where You live. Reclaim Your rightful place on the throne of my heart. Amen."
Monday, March 14, 2005
Regattas, Concerts, and Aging
Last weekend I turned 28 years old. Considering that some people haven't even lived that long, I feel kind of old...(and now in kind of morbid way on top of it all). I admit that life isn't as easy as I thought that it would be...but "such is life" I guess.
On my birthday I went to my girlfriend's sister's Regatta, which is what people call Crew Races. It was good. I got a little sunburned. My girlfriend tells me that the lake where the race was held has a resident Alligator. Hmm. Alligators and water sports, interesting combination. Well, my girlfriend's sister got 1st in one race and 2nd in another. I'm so proud. I wonder if they imagined an alligator chasing them...if not, that might be a good strategy to use. I know that a circumstance like that would make me paddle freakin fast...
Tomorrow night I'm playing a concert at the University of Florida. I'm excited, it'll be fun...concerts are always fun though, and I get to trade in my rainy Atlanta evironment for a weekend of Florida sun. Sweet. Check out my music site to read my concert journal to see how it was.
I think I have a new passion in my music, and it might have something to do with my aging. I can't describe it, but you can sort of sense it. I mean, look at the difference between...Eric Clapton and Britney Spears. Both might lament a song, but there is significant difference between the two. One's "hard knox" might come from losing a child, and the other's might come from...I don't know...kissing Madonna? Pop culture might be drawn to the lustful, bubble gummy, Britney with the nice belly button. But hearts are torn with the balladier who's heart is laid out for all to see. When it comes to depth, credibility is going to be given to the one weather-worn with callouses on his feet. Now, I say all this, not comparing myself to either of them in any way. My belly button can't compare with Britney's and my blues licks shadow in comparison to Clapton the blues icon. But I'm challenged as I enter another year, to lay my heart out there. To be honest in song, writing, and conversation.
An anonymous traditional prayer reads:
"O God, before whose face the generations rise and pass away: Age after age the living seek you and find that there is no end to your faithfulness. Our forbears in their pilgimages walked by your guidance and rested on your compassion. To their children you were the cloud by day and pillar by night. Where but in you have we shelter from the storm and shadow, from the heat of life? Take now the veil from every heart, and join us in one communion with your prophets and saints who have trusted in you and where not ashamed. Not because we merit it, but because of your mercy, hear our prayer."
Life is short. Nations rise and fall. The famous fall. The rich loose their money...eventually. I am but a grain of fiber in the puzzle of the big picture. I am but an utterance in the song of life...so sing I must. I'll sing loud, as long that I have breath to breathe.
"Lord, I pray that You would take now the veil from my heart, purify me, and remind me that I am Yours. Thank you that out of Your miraclulous love, You have chosen me before I had strength to choose You. I love You, Heavenly Father. Thank you for life. Amen."
On my birthday I went to my girlfriend's sister's Regatta, which is what people call Crew Races. It was good. I got a little sunburned. My girlfriend tells me that the lake where the race was held has a resident Alligator. Hmm. Alligators and water sports, interesting combination. Well, my girlfriend's sister got 1st in one race and 2nd in another. I'm so proud. I wonder if they imagined an alligator chasing them...if not, that might be a good strategy to use. I know that a circumstance like that would make me paddle freakin fast...
Tomorrow night I'm playing a concert at the University of Florida. I'm excited, it'll be fun...concerts are always fun though, and I get to trade in my rainy Atlanta evironment for a weekend of Florida sun. Sweet. Check out my music site to read my concert journal to see how it was.
I think I have a new passion in my music, and it might have something to do with my aging. I can't describe it, but you can sort of sense it. I mean, look at the difference between...Eric Clapton and Britney Spears. Both might lament a song, but there is significant difference between the two. One's "hard knox" might come from losing a child, and the other's might come from...I don't know...kissing Madonna? Pop culture might be drawn to the lustful, bubble gummy, Britney with the nice belly button. But hearts are torn with the balladier who's heart is laid out for all to see. When it comes to depth, credibility is going to be given to the one weather-worn with callouses on his feet. Now, I say all this, not comparing myself to either of them in any way. My belly button can't compare with Britney's and my blues licks shadow in comparison to Clapton the blues icon. But I'm challenged as I enter another year, to lay my heart out there. To be honest in song, writing, and conversation.
An anonymous traditional prayer reads:
"O God, before whose face the generations rise and pass away: Age after age the living seek you and find that there is no end to your faithfulness. Our forbears in their pilgimages walked by your guidance and rested on your compassion. To their children you were the cloud by day and pillar by night. Where but in you have we shelter from the storm and shadow, from the heat of life? Take now the veil from every heart, and join us in one communion with your prophets and saints who have trusted in you and where not ashamed. Not because we merit it, but because of your mercy, hear our prayer."
Life is short. Nations rise and fall. The famous fall. The rich loose their money...eventually. I am but a grain of fiber in the puzzle of the big picture. I am but an utterance in the song of life...so sing I must. I'll sing loud, as long that I have breath to breathe.
"Lord, I pray that You would take now the veil from my heart, purify me, and remind me that I am Yours. Thank you that out of Your miraclulous love, You have chosen me before I had strength to choose You. I love You, Heavenly Father. Thank you for life. Amen."
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Ephesians 1:17-19: Prayer Room Note Series One, Part Seven
...And what is the exceeding greatness of his power to us-ward who believe...
Power. In the corporate world power is sought for and thirsted after by rabid climbers to the top. This power is quite different. The exceeding greatnes of God's power makes one cringe; because it is not merely the power to fire or hire. It's the power to spin ever so delicately a Mount Everest, or ever so wrathfully a daisy. Power, the power that I long for, is a moving of the Creator. And likewise, I think the Fear of God is that same moving in the heart of the created.
In the greek, here in Ephesians 1, it is dunamis (force, specifically miraculous power: -ability, abundance, meaning, might, miracle, power, strength, violence, mighty (wonderful) work [you get the picture])...
Power. In the corporate world power is sought for and thirsted after by rabid climbers to the top. This power is quite different. The exceeding greatnes of God's power makes one cringe; because it is not merely the power to fire or hire. It's the power to spin ever so delicately a Mount Everest, or ever so wrathfully a daisy. Power, the power that I long for, is a moving of the Creator. And likewise, I think the Fear of God is that same moving in the heart of the created.
In the greek, here in Ephesians 1, it is dunamis (force, specifically miraculous power: -ability, abundance, meaning, might, miracle, power, strength, violence, mighty (wonderful) work [you get the picture])...
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