Deep Calls Unto Deep...

http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm+42&version=ESV

Above is a link to Psalm 42. Though not expressly written, most scholars agree that this is a song written by David, and many place it during the time that he is in exile, running from Saul, and cut off from the Temple.

There’ve been some fairly popular modern songs written around the first couple of verses in this song; I remember singing one of them from the hymnal. The songs in themselves may or may not sing of something true and right, but I think they’ve missed the point of this song wholesale: if we read on, David is talking about extreme anguish.

He has been cut off from connection with the worship of God and the fellowship of worshippers, and though he has not been totally “put out” from God (and gives no evidence of believing that to be true, contrarily still directing his cries and prayers toward God and His dwelling place), he is disconnected by force from the personal and communal worship in the Temple. He has dined on his tears (v. 3) day and night, so grieved that he foregoes food and water. But then, as we read on, we see one of the reasons why David was such an awesome man of faith, why he was called “a man after God’s own heart.” David shows himself, spiritually, to be a bad mammajamma, or if you’re Matt Chandler, you would say “this is why he’s varsity:” David begins speaking the Gospel to his own heart!

Look at who David is addressing in verse five: his soul. If we follow his logic here, he’s moved from expression of deep anguish to remembrance of connection with God, and immediately turns on his downcast soul: “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me?” He starts doubting his doubt! That’s evidence of “varsity” league, my friend: rather than wallowing in the despair, he puts his own trouble and dismay on trial. And look at what he combats it with: remembrance. Remembrance, not only of “good times” in the past, because there is no guarantee that he will have “good times” in the future, but remembrance of the One who never fails: “Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him, my salvation and my God.” This is David’s chorus.

Faith is less an object of the heart, and more of the mind, and less an object of the mind, and more of experience. When we can’t explain the reason we have been commanded or in questions of God’s nature, we so often cop out by shrugging out the phrase “we just have to have faith.” But we grossly misinterpret what Christ means by having “the faith of a child” (Luke 18:17). I’ve watched my nephew jump into his mother’s arms from the trampoline a hundred times; the kid doesn’t hesitate. Why, then, does he confidently jump into her arms without a moment’s thought? Because she has caught him every single time: he has faith that she will catch him. Not once in Scripture are we ever commanded to have blind faith; on the contrary, just as in Psalm 42, we are called to remember who God is and what He has done, and to take faith in Him. We have a firm foundation for our faith in Him because He’s got a few thousand years worth of a perfect track record of being faithful that we can look to and say, “He has never failed – He will not fail here.” God keeps His word, period, and thus our faith is founded in Him; ergo, faith is not a “feeling” or even a choice only, but is vouchsafe obedience in the One who never fails – it is the culmination and natural result of knowing Him. Inversely, lack of faith is a libel on His name and character, and betrays a lack of knowing Him.

Patty and I are wrestling with this now: we’ve heard the calling for us to uproot and move to Dallas so that I can be equipped at seminary and she can be plugged in and flourish and blossom in her calling as a counselor. This means leaving behind family and friends we love dearly, in a place we have grown to love by God’s hand shaping our hearts. Even though this may only be for a season, the cost is the same as if it were for the rest of our lives: everything we hold on to in this world. However, as great as the cost is, and as sharply bent we are to fix our gaze on the “price tag” of obeying, David has words for us: “remember.” Remember, O my soul, how much sweeter He is than all the things that He has made. Remember, O my soul, that the path in which He leads me is pointed back to Him, so that following Him gets me more of Him. Remember, O my soul, that He disciplines me like a child, and that at times, “no” is better for my soul than “yes.” Remember, O my soul, that I have died to myself and the life I live is no longer mine, but His who lives in me. Remember, O my soul, that He is good. “Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him, my salvation and my God.”

My Dad can beat you up...

There’s nothing like the promise of raw materials; it’s a magical thing as an uncut board lies warm in your hands, or a blank canvas sprawls before your pencil. Then, when you screw up cuts or blemish the surface, it’s like the magician farted on stage. I’ve started a new project for Patty: a modern-looking, three-shelved…shelf, and I’ve made so many blunders on it, you can almost see the multi-colored handkerchiefs proceeding from said magician’s butt, filling my shop.

I started with four-foot boards of padouk (the red wood in the pictures) and bird’s eye maple, which I got at Acacia Hardwoods in Lubbock off 130^th and Slide. It’s a cool little place, and I almost convinced them to let me stay the night nestled at the foot of some of their beautiful exotic lumber (if Acacia ever reads this, please make endorsement checks payable to “Cash”). I was finish sanding the padouk board, which I had tapered and beveled on the table saw (more pics forthcoming) as my mind started to wander, and for the following paragraphs, I make this appeal to the International League of Masculinity: please don’t revoke my Man License, but I’m about to make a reference to “Army Wives.”

I began thinking about “Old Mother Kirk,” an allegorical character in Lewis’ “Pilgrim’s Regress” who represents the universal Church (not universal in the sense of a universalism doctrine but as the Church as she has existed throughout history and the world, my militant theologians). She is represented as an old woman, and History says of her that she is always crumbling, but is never quite crumbled. Cyprian said that a man cannot have God as his Father who does not also have the Church for his Mother; I began to flesh this out, I admit woefully, in conjunction with a scene from an episode of Army Wives my wife watched a couple of weeks ago. In this episode, there’s a woman whose husband is stationed in Afghanistan or something, and she has two boys at home, and the oldest is acting up and rebelling and yada yada. Then, out of the blue, one of the boy’s biological father shows up all rugged and handsome and Alabama-y, and she “innocently” hangs out with him, has a few drinks, and when he has too many, she lets him crash on the couch. If you’re a man, riddle me this: if you were the husband stationed overseas and you heard about this, would you not steal a jet, jump out mid-flight and parachute down to your house, and beat that guy so mercilessly that the EMT guys who arrive later begin to weep?! I would, and that’s why I’m starting online flight lessons and shopping for parachutes, homes. In the morning, the oldest “troubled” son finds the not-his-dad guy asleep on the couch, and yells at him to get out of their house, and of course the line-blurring mother scolds him for his “disrespect.” I’m resisting the urge to snap my fingers, roll my neck, and shout “No she ditt-ent!”

So, to bring back a smack of testosterone, I started thinking about my Mother, the Church, and the suitors who try to woo her while her husband is away. Throughout history, there have been many-a caller knock on the Church’s door: the serpent, Baal (who made my Mother’s front porch a regular haunt for many generations), Arminianism, the prosperity gospel, all Lifetime movies, etc. There have been instances where the Church has remained faithful to her husband and sent the callers away, but there have been a great many whom she has entertained. Each has had some things in common: they only wanted my Mother in order to draw her away from her true Groom, they robbed from her house, they abused her children, and there have always been a few of her sons and daughters who have found one on the couch and shouted, “You are not my father! Get out!” Some suitors have made it clear that they are not Her Groom, and that they are a better replacement (i.e. mammon), and some have posed as Her husband who has come home (i.e. the social gospel), but they are never Him. So to extend this metaphor, here are a few thoughts from me, another of Her sons:

·        I know that these men are not my Mother’s Groom because I know Him, and can distinguish who they are not only because I know who He is.

·        You and I, like sons left to watch the house, have been tasked with “being the man of the house” in His absence, and must love my Mother enough to rush to her defense when an enemy comes to call, whether my Mother sees him as such or not. A scolding from my Mother, who has forgotten her Groom for a time, is a worthy price for preserving Her for Her true Husband.

·        There has always been a remnant: there has always been a pocket of brothers and sisters who remember their Father, even if seemingly from afar. Even when the Church has been romanced away from Him, there have been children who remember and long for their Father, who rush after their Mother, portrait of Him in hand, recalling sweet memories and whispering beautiful visions of the day He comes back.

·        Not even a groomsman is the Groom, nor is a bridesmaid His Bride. No one but Christ may stand at the altar: not the Word, not faith, not service, not gifts, not morality, nor growth are the Groom, though they all have their place in the wedding party. No agenda, no organization, no school of thought or niche or movement is the Bride – the Church is the only one who fits in that dress.

·        Her Groom is not to be trifled with – He’s the biggest, baddest mamma-jamma in all creation, and His arm around Her waist does not budge. He will defend Her until the day He comes back for Her. Hell may have no fury like the diary of a mad black woman, but there is no hand swifter, no wrath hotter, and no strike heavier than the sovereign Creator God holding on to the Bride He has preserved from the foundations of the earth. The message He’s repeated to all posers who’ve strutted to Her doorstep: “You don’t mess with My Lady.”

Woe to the wolves who sidle up next to Her and offer to buy Her a drink; shame on my Mother when she heads to the club when Her Husband is gone! Go home, wash your face, straighten your hair, and put on your engagement ring, daggumit! Your true love is coming!

There must be three things present in you, if you are to be a son entrusted as the “man of the house” while He is away: 1. you must be a part of the Family, 2. you must have a true love and knowledge of the Groom, and 3. you must have a true love and knowledge of His Bride. Just as no one else can be His Bride, and no one else Her Groom, there can be no one else in the Home but their Children. Merely theological thought for the week: does this house have any pets?

As all good things flow out from God, may they return to Him as worship and adoration,

Kasey