Home and the Road

There I loved my home,

Beautiful, familiar and green,

But the road moved on.

Again I loved home,

Wintery, blustery and white,

And the road moved on. 

Then I loved home,

Married, urbanized and speckled,

Till the road moved on.

Now I'll love this home,

Superlative, open and blue,

Tho’ the road move on.

Unseen I love Home,

Regathered, beyond, crystal;

The road will not move on.

Eternal Life: The River and the Banks

  At our church gathering yesterday, the 'sharing,' as it is called, was from the book of John, particularly 17:3 and chapter 4, What is Eternal Life?  Eternal life is knowing the only true God and Jesus Christ whom He sent.  In the last week, a couple of things have caused us to consider again the basic-ness of the call to Christ in exclusion to everything else.

  The main sermon illustration went something like this (originally in Turkish): Eternal Life is a river with two banks.  One bank is the things that Christians may do; the other bank is things Christians may not do.  These commands and 'forbiddens' are not part of eternal life though they are related to it. If there were no banks, the River would be harder to notice, but it certainly wouldn't disappear.

  This Life is Jesus and relationship with Him and the Father; this is why the Gospel of John tells us that we can have eternal life now. Yet so often, we confuse the (important, but) muddy banks for the (all-important) River.   Thus, this week we watched as our Facebook newsfeed exploded with people on both sides of a discussion (yelling, about music) again.  I wouldn't suggest that music is unimportant, and I certainly have an opinion on the issue, but there seemed to be some level of forgetting that we should all be in the River together, even when we disagree.  See, the fascinating thing about being in the River is that the River is most important.  Meanwhile, the key issue for anyone on the Bank of Doing or the Bank of Not Doing is 'my opinion,' 'my holiness,' or 'my rightness.'  And the frightening thing about this is that I can know it, write about it, and still sit on a Bank, not living my life in the River.

Niagara Falls - Fall 2012

   Two more pointed conversations also happened last week; in both of them I got asked if I were a Muslim. As I talked to a taxi driver and he wondered why we moved to Istanbul, he asked, "Did you convert?" Well, no, I'm a Christian. From there we continued to talk and share. A couple days later, in an English class discussion, I was asked if I drank alcohol or smoked. When I said no, the next question was, "Are you a Muslim?"  Again, the conversation continued. If things like my location or what I ingest are the core of my religion, I am in desperate need of the River of Eternal Life.

  But it's not quite this simple.  A couple years ago,  I learned something with abrupt force when I read The Mystics of Islam. The mystical Sufi denomination of Islam has some of the most 'Bible' ideas of any  group I've ever studied, yet they lack Christ.  I was struck as I read Sufi writings how much they sounded like A. W. Tozer and other great Christian writers of the past.  They believe in deep, loving relationship with God; they have a passionate pursuit of knowing Him, but Jesus is absent (except as a great prophet.)  How?

  More importantly, how is my religion different?  Is my 'religion' of such a sort that I can be holy enough, love God enough, pursue the knowledge of His greatness deeply or long enough?  Or, am I desperately thirsty for the River?  Certainly those who drink of the River stay between the banks. However, the banks do not define them; the River does!  May I be graced and galvanized to live only in the River, staying off the banks!

Cottica River - 2011

Best age to learn a language? The unexpected answer of research

As I seek to become a better English teacher, I am reading a book called Teaching English to Young Learners.  While my primary purpose in reading it is to improve as a teacher, some of the information on language learning is fascinating for me personally, having spoken two languages since childhood and currently working on a third.

Citing multiple studies, Nunan writes in his book:

Ellis's conclusion (that in foreign language situations, if all other factors such as amount of exposure and instruction are constant, teenagers do better than young children and adults) is borne out by other research. [Emphasis mine.]  

He goes on to quote research saying that teenagers scored higher in early testing in every area except pronunciation, where adults scored highest.  That goes against virtually everything I was ever told about language learning.

A-Rod, the Astros, and a bit of perspective

  Outside of reading, my favorite form relaxation is following baseball, especially the Atlanta Braves; but since I like baseball in general, this is a great time of year.  Opening day is nearly here, and there was some news earlier in the day which I believe was supposed to seem outrageous; in actuality it makes perfect sense.  Alex Rodriguez is expected to make more money this year than the entire opening day line-up of the Houston Astros!  He is expected to miss up to half of the season while making that money!!

  Certainly there may be room for outrage at the Astros owner's for not putting a Major-League team on the field (this year), but let's let that slide.  The larger issue might simply be the fact that A-Rod deserves more than the Astros' entire active roster combined, based simply on statistics.  Consider that the combined home run totals for the Astros position players is less than one eighth* of A-Rod's individual total!  Second, notice that A-Rod has played more than **twice as many games as the Astros' pitching and position players combined!

  If my basic survey of MLB's data is reasonably accurate (I only counted once, so I may be a bit off), then not only based on his experience (twice as many games) but also based on his past production (eight times as many HR's), A-Rod deserves all $29 million of his check, even if he does only play half a season.  So, while I certainly don't root for A-Rod and I suspect he will have a hard time defending his statistics in the steroid era, it seems to me that according to baseball statistics, he is either generally underpaid or the Astros may be a bit generous with their prospective players...

*76 Astros HR's to 647 A-Rod HR's, by my count.
**1259 games experienced by Astros' players to 2524 games experienced by A-Rod (not including 75 additional postseason games).  The Astros' position players have played 943 MLB games; their pitchers have pitched in 316.

Bell Peppers...

Somehow I never thought of this as a fruit... till chopping them for dinner the other night.

But, I suppose those things which carry the seeds of a plant are usually considered fruits... like tomatoes, for instance.  Imagine your next jalapeno as fruit!

(The truth is that I've cooked or helped cook more in the last couple weeks than I have since I was in high school.  In fact, I finally let my secret out, "It's not that I can't cook; I simply don't like to, but I actually am halfway decent at it when needed.")

The Thrill of a Ministry's Collapse

In John 3:27-30, John the Baptizer has some interesting things to say in answer to his followers' observation that Jesus was gaining (stealing?) John's former flock.  Verse 30 is where John famously says, "He must increase, but I must decrease."  By itself, this is a stunning statement; in its context, it's even richer.  John's words right before this statement was that his joy had been completed through this collapse of his personal success which had served Jesus' success.  What incredible grace he was given to see clearly and truly!  He took both his obedient outward fame and its collapse as being according to the purposes of heaven and reveled in the greater glory which Christ was receiving.

Unknown Bread

In John 6, Jesus feeds over 5,000 people miraculously, then discusses the true nature and meaning of that provision by God.  He references God's miraculous provision detailed in Exodus 17 and Numbers 11.  But, Jesus says that the truly unknown bread (manna) is He Himself, the true life-giving Bread of God from Heaven.

Jesus takes the metaphor that the people referenced and turns it into an important illustration of Gospel truth.  God, the Father of His people, had sent bread down from heaven to feed the hungry.  He sent the true Life-giving bread to feed those with a greater hunger. 

But consider the older story: Even though God's people ate angels' food, they murmured (Ps 78:25)!  Have I ever gotten bored or dissatisfied with the Bread of Life that came down from Heaven?  Have I ever considered my portion poor because He was the portion I had?  How can one redeemed be so ungrateful!  Lord, that I might be unceasingly grateful for your bountiful and constant provision; may the constancy of it not lull me into in gratitude and idolatry.

Frustration vs. Anger: a cultural excuse for sin

Yesterday, I was reminded of a significant difference between Turkish and American culture.  The Turkish language doesn't have a word with the basic meaning of 'being frustrated,' as it is used in daily modern English.  When I lived with a Turkish family several years ago, if I got 'frustrated,' they sometimes commented that I was 'angry.'  I tried to explain why I was 'just frustrated' and not angry; it didn't work.  So, for the past several years I have pondered off and on about the nature of frustration, and I have come to the conclusion that they are right: what I call frustration is anger.

Last night I was spending time with those same friends, trying to help them work through a cross-cultural, cross-Atlantic business issue.  Everything went wrong, and I got frustrated.  In older English, I might say, 'My expectations/plans were being frustrated'; that is, my plans were being thwarted.  In more modern English, we say, 'I am frustrated'; that is, I am reacting negatively to the thwarting of my plans.  In other words, I am responding to adversity with negative passionate emotion... sounds like anger.

If I argue that I was simply frustrated, not really angry, I am not really dealing with my heart, I am dealing with my actions.  We tend to say 'frustrated' when we are keeping it inside and are externally calm and reasonable; 'anger' starts with the yelling.  So, we have excused our sin (frustration) by saying that anger is controlled and undeveloped. May God continue to change my heart and yours through His Word and His Spirit, so that this does not continue!

Why does 'frustration' not get preached on if it is truly a sin?

This seems to be a classic case of a cultural blind spot which is not easily seen because of the distance between our culture and the ones through which we received God's Word. Like Turkish, biblical cultures may not have distinguished 'frustration' from 'anger.'  I've also wondered if there is a possibility of the near synonyms of 'anger' and 'wrath' being similar to the distinction we make.  Here's the biblical data as far as I can tell which answers the question why I don't remember any sermons on frustration.

In the KJV, NKJV, ESV, and NIV (2011), 'frustrate' occurs less than a dozen times never meaning 'controlled anger,' always with its older meaning of 'to thwart,' as of a plan or objective, not a person.

In the NASB, HCSB and NIV (1984), it occurs once with the modern 'mild anger' meaning (2 Sam 13:2).  (The HSBC has an additional possibility in Job 6:20, but that also seems to clearly have the 'thwart' meaning.)

The Nature of Need

This thought has encouraged us many times since it was shared with us a little over a year ago...

"God creates needs so that He has opportunity to lavish His abundant supply upon us."

Light in the Asphalt Jungle

"Light in the Asphalt Jungle" was sent to me by a friend back in Denver who is both living this out and encouraging others to do the same.  It is a poem of love for God and neighbors and of seeking to live that out like Jesus Himself did. Beautiful...!

Light in the Asphalt Jungle

Written by Vincent Harding

I

I had a dream.

And I saw a city,

A city that rose up out of the crust of the earth.

And it’s streets were paved with asphalt,

And a river of dirty water ran down along it’s curbs.

It was a city

And its people knew no hope.

They were chased and herded from place to place by the churning jaws of bulldozers.

They were closed up in the anonymous cubicles of great brick prisons called housing projects.

They were forced out of work by the fearsome machines and computers,

And by the sparseness of their learning.

They were torn into many pieces by the hostile angers of racial fears and guilt and prejudice.

Their workers were exploited.

Their children and teen-agers had no parks to play in.

No pools to swim in,

No space in crowded rooms to learn in,

No hopes to dream in,

And the people knew no hope.

Their bosses underpaid them.

Their landlords overcharged them.

Their churches deserted them.

And all of life in the city seemed dark and wild, like a jungle,

A jungle lined with asphalt.

And the people sat in darkness

II

I had a dream,

And I saw a city,

A city clothed in neon-lighted darkness.

And I heard people talking.

And I looked at them.

Across their chests in large, golden letters-written by their own hands-

Across their chests were written the words:

“I am a Christian.”

And the Christians looked at the city and said;

“How terrible…How terrible…How terrible.”

And the Christians looked at the city and said:

“That is no place to live,

But some of our people have wandered there,

And we must go and rescue them.

And we must go and gather them, like huddled sheep into a fold;

And we will call it a City Church.”

So they built their church.

And the people came,

And they walked past all the weary, broken, exploited, dying men who lined the city’s streets.

Year after year they walked past,

Wearing their signs: “I am a Christian.”

Then one day the people in the church said:

“This neighborhood is too bad for good Christians.

Let us go to the suburbs where God dwells, and build a church there.

And one by one they walked away, past all the weary, broken, exploited, dying people.

They walked fast.

And did not hear a voice that said:

“…the least of these…the least of these…”

And they walked by, and they went out, and they built a church.

The church was high and lifted up, and it even had a cross.

But the church was hollow,

And the people were hollow,

And their hearts were hard as the asphalt streets of the jungle.

III

I had a dream.

And I saw a city,

A city clothed in bright and gaudy darkness.

And I saw more people with signs across their chest.

And they were Christians too.

And I heard them say:

“How terrible…how terrible…how terrible.

The city is filled with sinners:

To save sinners,

To save sinners.

But they are so unlike us,

So bad,

So dark,

So poor,

So strange,

But we are supposed to save them…

To save them,

To save them.”

And one person said:

“Can’t we save them without going where they are?”

And they worked to find a way to save and be safe at the same time.

Meanwhile, I saw them build a church,

And they called it a Mission,

A City Mission:

And all the children came by to see what this was.

And the city missionaries who had been sent to save them gathered them in.

So easy to work with children, they said,

And they are so safe, so safe.

And week after week they saved the children

(Saved them from getting in their parent’s way on Sunday morning).

And in the dream the City Missionaries looked like Pied Pipers, with their long row of children stretched out behind them,

And the parents wondered in Christianity was only for children.

And when the missionaries finally came to see them, and refused to sit in their broken chair, and kept looking at the plaster falling, and used a thousand words that had no meaning, and talked about rescuing them from hell while they were freezing in the apartment, and asked them if they were saved, and walked out into their shiny care, and drove off to their nice, safe neighborhood-

When that happened, the parents knew;

This version of Christianity had no light for their jungle.

Then, soon, the children saw too; it was all a children’s game;

And when they became old enough they got horns of their own,

And blew them high and loud,

And marched off sneering, swearing, into the darkness.

IV

I had a dream,

And I saw the Christians in the dark city,

And I heard them say:

“We need a revival to save these kinds of people.”

And they rented the auditorium,

And they called in the expert revivalist,

And every night all the Christians came, and heard all the old, unintelligible, comfortable words, and sang all the old assuring songs, and went through all the old motions when the call was made.

Meanwhile, on the outside,

All the other people waited impatiently in the darkness for the Christians to come out, and let the basketball game begin.

V

I had a dream.

And I saw Christians with guilty consciences,

And I heard them say:

“What shall we do?

What shall we do?

What shall we do?

These people want to come to OUR church,

To OUR church.”

And someone said:

“Let’s build a church for THEM,

For THEM,

They like to be with each other anyway.”

And they started the church,

And the people walked in.

And for a while, as heads were bowed in prayer, they did not know.

But then, the prayers ended,

And they people looked up, and looked around,

And saw that every face was THEIR face,

THEIR face,

And every color was THEIR color,

THEIR color.

And they stood up, and shouted loudly within themselves:

“Let me out of this ghetto, this pious, guilt-built ghetto.”

And they walked out into the darkness,

And the darkness seemed darker than ever before,

And the good Christians looked, and said,

“These people just don’t appreciate what WE do for THEM.”

VI

And just as the night seemed darkest, I had another dream.

I dreamed that I saw young people walking,

Walking into the heart of the city, into the depths of the darkness.

They had no signs, except their lives.

And they walked into the heart of the darkness and said:

“Let us live here, and work for light.”

They said, “Let us live here and help the rootless find a root for their lives.

Let us live here, and help the nameless find their names.”

They said, “Let us live here and walk with the jobless until they find work.

Let us live here, and sit in the landlord’s office until he gives more heat and charges less rent.”

They said, “Let us live here, and throw open the doors of this deserted church to all the people of every race and class;

Let us work with them to find the reconciliation God has brought.”

And they said, “Let us walk the asphalt streets with the young people, sharing their lives, learning their language, playing their sidewalk, backyard games, knowing the agonies of their isolation.”

And they said, “Let us live here, and minister to as many men as God gives us grace,

Let us live here,

And die here, with out brothers of the jungle,

Sharing their apartments and their plans.”

And the people saw them,

And someone asked who they were,

A few really knew-

They had no signs-

But someone said he thought they might be Christians,

And this was hard to believe, but the people smiled;

And a little light began to shine in the heart of the asphalt jungle.

VII

Then in my dream I saw young people,

And I saw the young men and women

Those who worked in the city called Chicago,

Cleveland [Melbourne],

Washington [Bangkok],

Atlanta [Sydney],

And they were weary,

And the job was more than they could bear alone,

And I saw them turn, turn and look for help,

And I heard them call:

“Come and help us,

Come and share this joyful agony, joyful agony,

Come as brothers in the task,

Come and live and work with us,

Teachers for the crowded schools,

Doctors for the overflowing clinics,

Social workers for the fragmented families,

Nurses for the bulging wards,

Pastors for the yearning flocks,

Workers for the fighting gangs,

Christians.

Christians who will come and live here,

Here in the heart of the darkness,

Who will live here and love here that a light might shine for all.

Come.”

I heard them call,

And I saw the good Christians across the country,

And their answers tore out my heart.

Some said, “There isn’t enough money there.”

Some said, “It’s too bad there. I couldn’t raise children.”

Some said, “I’m going into foreign missions, where things don’t seem so dark.”

Some said, “The suburbs are so nice.”

Some said, “But I like it here on the farm.”

Some said,

Some said…

And one by one they turned their backs and began to walk away.

At this moment my dream was shattered by the sound of a great and mighty whisper, almost a pleading sound;

And a voice said:

“Come, help me, for I am hungry in the darkness.”

And a voice said:

“Come, help me, for I am thirsty in the darkness.”

And a voice said:

“Come, help me, for I am a stranger in this asphalt jungle.”

And a voice said, “Come, help me, for I have been stripped naked, naked of all legal rights and protection of the law, simply because I am black in the darkness.”

And a voice said:

“Come, help me, for my heart is sick with hopelessness and fear in the darkness.”

And a voice said:

“Come, live with me in the prison of my segregated community, and we will break down the walls together.”

And the voices were many,

And the voice was one,

And the Christians knew whose Voice it was.

And they turned,

And their faces were etched with the agonies of decisions.

And the dream ended.

But the voice remains,

And the choice remain,

And the city still yearns for light.

And the King who lives with the least of his brothers and sisters in the asphalt jungle…

Yearns for us.