"... but in my opinion miracles will never confound a realist. It is not miracles that bring a realist to faith. A true realist, if he is not a believer, will always find in himself the strength and ability not to believe in miracles as well, and if a miracle stands before him as an irrefutable fact, he will sooner doubt his own senses than admit the fact. And even if he does admit it, he will admit it as a fact of nature that was previously unknown to him. In the realist, faith is not born from miracles, but miracles from faith. Once the realist comes to believe then, precisely because of his realism, he must also allow for miracles. The Apostle Thomas declared that he would not believe until he saw, and when he saw, he said: "my Lord and my God!" Was it the miracle that made him believe? Most likely not, but he believed first and foremost because he wished to believe, and maybe already fully believed in his secret heart even as he was saying: "I will not believe until I see."

- Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

Finishing Well:

Finishing well means leaving behind:
     1. The Gospel
     2. The Kingdom of God
     3. Praise and Worship

To finish well means to leave things conducive for these things to grow and continue.

To finish well means leaving these things in the hearts of the people and places we have touched.

To finish well means to leave no strings untied.

To finish well means to love how Jesus loves.

Easter 2013

Matthew 16:24-28 :

     "Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul? For the Son of Man is going to come in his Father’s glory with his angels, and then he will reward each person according to what they have done.

“Truly I tell you, some who are standing here will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.""

Good news guys.

The tomb is still empty.

Jesus, the man, and Jesus our Lord was dead.

But now he’s not.

He suffered brutal asphyxiation, he was mocked and insulted by thousands, he cried tears of blood, he hung there naked, and seemingly helpless.

As he breathed his last painful breath, gasping for air, our sins, our fears, and our own death breathed their last too.

The tomb is still empty.

He is risen.

Our fears did not rise with him. They lie dead and condemned.

Jesus is alive. Now.

His reign has begun.

He has gone to the father for a little while, but he is coming back again!

We have not tasted death, but we have seen the Son of Man come into his kingdom.

So here it is. The first post in a long long time. I wanted to put a large chunk of an essay entitled "Belief" by Donald Miller from his book Blue Like Jazz, but I don't have time for that.

Instead, I encourage you to read it (or re-read it).

And now I leave you with 3 thoughts.

1. Mark Lasitter is a good roommate. He also loves my blog despite the fact that I don't have time to write any more.

2. I think that The Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31) is an extremely unique parable. Not only does it reference real people directly (Abraham) while just about all the other parables only get as specific as "Son" or "Bridegroom" or "Widow" or "King", it also feels very unique in storytelling and content. I'm not sure what to think of it as I read and ponder over it again. I wonder if this is where a lot of the imagery for Heaven and Hell that feels ingrained in our society comes from. I would bet this definitely played a major role, along with the other pieces of scripture where there is discussion of fire and burning for sins. I would also bet that wasn't Jesus's main goal in the parable...

3. Sneak Peak:
http://kellyandboyer.ourwedding.com


Happy Wednesday.

Lord, Let me be your servant. Use me as you choose. Put me to doing; put me to suffering. Let me be employed for you or be put aside for you. Let me be full; let me be empty. Let me have all things; let me have nothing. With a willing spirit I freely surrender everything I am and everything I have to your plan for me. I make this covenant with you, O Christ, with all my heart and soul. You are my Savior and Redeemer.

-Unknown

It feels as if the dream has died, and the time has come for me to face the facts and realize the truth of the matter.

I no longer see a perfect American future; a perfect wife, a perfect marriage, perfect kids, a perfect job, in the perfect suburbs, perfectly happy.

No this dream has died.

The weight of the world is too much.

The giants before me have toppled over without a crash or a fight; simply a sigh as they breathe their last and disappear. With their towering figures gone, their shadows are gone too and the light illuminates so much that I never saw before; the slippery slope of temptation and the terrifying reality that none are immune.

And while the light has fought forth and revealed what was hidden in the black, the darkness has attacked too, taking those who were once well and casting them naked into the sea of sickness, pain, and death. Or leading them willingly to the well of youth and nudging them to dive in head first, only for them to realize the living water never was there. The dry rock bottom breaks both necks and reputations.

It seems that at the dusking of my day of innocence the black is winning, claiming what used to surround me, by force, by trickery, or by recruitment. As the night and reality settle, fear rises up. Will I be the next statue toppled? Will I dive willingly to my death into a dry well? Will I run towards an oasis in this desert only to realize that the mirage is not matter but a cavity? Simply a deep ravine calling me to jump into the cool blackness, to give in to the world and rest in its simple shadows.

But as my eyes grow dry and the kaleidoscope from tears dissolves into pure sight, a single light is seen in the moon-less sky; a single star reminiscent of one long ago.

A thin dirt path, well traveled but walked poorly, with many footprints on all sides and only one set steady in the middle, grows visible in the single-star light. Dust rises from it as I start to walk, yet I shake it from my sandals at the night around me as I begin to run. Is this where life truly begins? Where Joy and Suffering dance a beautiful waltz down this same path, a dance heavy with sorrow, yet filled with hope, building suspense to a climatic finale, only for them to keep their hands clasped together as they bow at the curtain call. Their fingers are interlocked. A keen eye will notice a wedding band on the left hand of each. I see the weight ahead. I have felt the weight behind. I see the dance ahead and know the end of the dance has come before my beginning, but its echoes beckon me on. I see many mirages and lies that look like life in the light of the night.

I run. East. On the dirt. Towards the sunrise.

The son who rose yesterday has yet to fail me. He shines. And he will shine. He will return in the morning. I will be there.

4/8/12 (Easter)

A poem:

My legs are broken, I cannot stand,

The battle is lost, I have no plan

The ship has sunk, my fears resound

The growing darkness shows no bounds.

Like a bird, hope’s flown away.

And I wonder if pain is here to stay

Death creeps in, as the golden leaves fall

And with trembling hands, I mourn it all

Yet you question still:

Can you wait just three more days?

I watched my father die that night

The twinkle in his eyes passed in the twilight

The warmth of life left his hands

And my heart questioned reprimand

My family continued its broken state

With anger and sadness we searched for our place

A lonely mother, a lost brother

What could I do to even begin to recover!

This all happened years ago,

Yet the weight continues to wound and grow

Who am I, if not a son?

And what of all things left undone?

Yet you question still:

Can you wait just three more days?

Alone I sat in a foreign land,

Actively seeking the living plan.

Yet no ears seemed to hear my cry,

And life seemed to be lived only to die.

Minute by minute I asked for a sign,

And prayed and hoped that one I would find.

To know that the Lord was real and true,

This was all I longed to do.

Like a criminal, my doubts encaged me

And my fears began to enslave me.

I was scared to return back home,

To try to live the full life I once had known

To see true friends and be in community,

What if they rejected me?

And some rejection I did meet,

Some of my dreams were met with defeat.

But distant, faint, and deep in the night

There was a shimmer of some future light

And for all this you once again asked me,

Can you wait just three more days?

He cried out, “why have you forsaken me?”

And “Please God, take this cup from me!”

Yet high on that cross, he lost his ground

And felt the wrath of God abound

The father’s gaze left the face of his son,

And all loving hope seemed foregone.

His body bore all mankind

And his heart yearned for a future time

Yet when his breath had breathed its last

It was then the walls all cracked

The curtain was torn, a bridge was built

Life was given for his blood was spilt.

Yet this son of man had a few days more,

To live behind a large stone door.

But when the stone was rolled away,

All the world seemed to hear him say,

“My peace I leave you, my peace I give,

I bring life different than the way you live,

Trouble may seem to break you down,

But rejoice for I have risen from the ground.”

And it is for all this I say,

That despite the pain I feel today,

That I believe you are who you say,

And I will wait just three more days.