When Songs Break Out of the Box

"Jesus loves me, this I know for the Bible tells me so."

The song is buried so far down in the layers of my personal history that it's a fixture -- part of the sonic furniture of my soul. But as I look at those words... "for the Bible tells me so..." Is that enough? Is the Bible in and of itself enough to persuade my entire being of Jesus' love for me? It's certainly a primary source, don't get me wrong, but no matter how potent and authoritative, are words on a page sufficient to absolutely persuade and sustain me?

Peter and Paul didn't seem to think so. When they argued the validity of the Gospel, they naturally quoted and appealed to the authority of scripture, but there was another piece. In both his sermon at Pentecost (Acts 2:14-36) and his address to the household of Cornelius (Acts 10:34-48), Peter balanced appeal to scripture with personal experiences -- "And we are witnesses..." Paul does the same thing when he is laying out the Gospel for the Corinthians (1 Cor. 15).

Do you have concrete experiences you can point to and say "The Bible says it, and THIS confirms that it's true. Jesus loves me. Me. Not in some universal or impersonal way, but loves me personally. Deeply. Tangibly." I thank God that I do.

I added another one today.

Some background: I have been a U2 fan since 1981. This was back at a time when you could actually buy U2 in Christian bookstores. Thank goodness, because I probably wouldn't have set foot in a Musicland at that time in my life. The music was groundbreaking, the lyrics profound. As I've sung along with the band for the last 25 years, I've been blessed, disturbed, challenged, moved, shattered, elated, and blown away. I've seen them live on every tour since the Joshua Tree. Their music has helped me learn to live in the tensions, acknowledge harsh realities, and come to terms with mystery while ever pushing deeper.

A few months ago, U2 released their new album, "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb." I bought it at 9am that day. I remember driving to church listening to the CD that night and listening raptly to the last song "Yahweh" -- one of the most overtly Christian songs the band has ever recorded. It's a prayer of dependence, of desire, of longing to be stretched and thirst for fulfillment. I had to pull over and weep. When I got to church, I told Matt (good friend and worship guy) about this song and how moved I was by it. I made some sweeping statement like "this feels like a prayer for our church right now."

Fast forward to tonight: When I got to church for worship team rehearsal, Matt greeted me. "Dude! I'm so glad you, in particular, are on this weekend!" The focus of our services is on community partnerships -- the ways we're involved in living out God's love tangibly in our city. Matt asked Tom (Metro Impact Pastor) if he had suggestions for offertory and Tom said "I'd really love it if you guys could do 'Yahweh' by U2." As Matt told the story, I thought there was an audible thump from my jaw hitting the floor. "So you and me get to be Bono this weekend, Jeff."

I know it seems ridiculous, but I felt like God handed me the keys to a brand new car. Like I got a hug from the Lord of the Universe. Like Jesus was saying "This song is for all of my Body, Jeff, but it's also for you. And I planned for you to help sing it." I got weepy all over again.

Jesus loves ME, this I KNOW for the Bible tells me so. And I know that it's true because He shows me. Every day, all the time, whether I notice or not. But sometimes, like tonight, He really pulls out all the stops. He does it for you, too. "Surely Yahweh's mercies are not over, his deeds of faithful love not exhausted; every morning they are renewed; great is His faithfulness!" (Lam 3:22-23)

Blessed be the Name of the Lord!

Spring has Sprung!

So, on a break from homework, I decided to walk down to the corner gas station on this beautiful day and pick me up a nice, frosty Dew. As I got closer, what to my wondering eyes did appear but a seagull. A lone seagull floating and basking in the sunlight. As I watched him frolic and cavort in the air above the Stop-N-Go, I had to pause and identify the feeling seeping through my chest. It was one I hadn't felt in a while -- unadulterated glee.

Welcome back to Minnesota, sixty-degree temperatures. You have been missed.

Bad News and Good News

This Terri Schiavo thing has been ping-ponging around my head.

Heather asked the other night why the husband didn't just sign guardianship over to the parents. The easy answer to that (eliminating all money/romantic issues Mr. Schiavo may have) is that he honestly believes this is what Terri wants and feels the need to fight for it. Her parents need to fight for what they believe, too. So the whole thing becomes this tragic, uncertain tug-of-war that's captured the nation's imagination. Note to self: Figure out what you want and write a living will.

It's so sad to me that this woman's life and story have become politicized. It seems no-one can get a definitive picture -- medically, ethically, spiritually. All concerned have pieced together their own bully pulpit, pulling bits and pieces of fact, spinning interpretations like saucers on sticks to support their own agenda. Meanwhile, this woman starves (I'm not going to judge if it's merciful and right or demeaning and evil -- I think you've already got your own opinion on that), while those around her suffer.

For some reason, the whole mess calls to mind the election this past fall. I attend a school that's so conservative that it was deemed ideal for the Bush twins to visit. I wasn't in a crowd mood that day, so I left campus, but I wouldn't be surprised if they were greeted by shirtless guys with "BUSH" painted on their chests in red, white, and blue, as if the twins were our beloved baseball team returning from the World Series. From September until around December 1, the few Democratic students who weren't hiding under the carpet in their closets were vilified -- some even had their salvation called into question.

This hurt me. In my experience (and this is a gross oversimplification), the Christian Democrats I know are Democrats because they have hearts that long to see people's lives and our nation touched with God's compassion -- occasionally to a fault. But in their thirst for compassion, they remind me of Jesus. Most Christian Republicans I know are Republicans because they have hearts that are striving to see God's holiness manifest in themselves and the world -- occasionally to a fault. And in their hunger for holiness, they remind me of Jesus.

This past Holy Week, I saw a video that presented the horizontal bar of the cross as a symbol of God's loving arms reaching to surround the world in His embrace. These arms stretch out from a post pointing straight up, a concrete image of God's overwhelming and incorruptible holiness. This image rings true to me. In accepting the cross, Jesus fulfilled the demands of both holiness and compassion. He bound them inextricably together in the Mystery that encompasses His incarnation, death, and resurrection -- the same Mystery that invites and infuses His people even today.

So when I'm confronted with troubling news or questions of politics or the numerous dilemmas of life that seem to pull my heart toward one extreme or another, I have to remember that holiness and compassion are no longer mutually exclusive -- PRAISE GOD!!! I still don't think I ever get it truly right, but I'm trying to let those tensions drive me to Jesus, suspended at the center of the cross, radiant with holiness and overflowing with love. I want -- I NEED -- to cling to Him in times like this, to let Him teach me the tensions and the resolution, to depend utterly and completely on Him. Only then can holiness and compassion mingle into the selfsame thing -- sweetness and life -- the very Wine of God to quench my soul and satisfy the thirst of this parched universe.

The Trappings of Death

In Spiritual Direction class Monday night, Pam opened us in prayer from John 11 -- the raising of Lazarus. I guess I should say this is not your typical evangelical read-the-scripture, pray-something-relevant-and-off-we-go type of opening. The scripture is read twice, slowly, and then we spend about 15 minutes in silence, connecting our hearts with God around the scripture. It's always powerful and revealing.

That day, I had started a new class at school -- Christian Discipleship, a freshman level required course on basic doctrines, worldview and lifestyle of the Christian. I walked in anticipating seven weeks of boredom. You see, I thought I was past that point in my spiritual journey. We spent the class period defining discipleship, and I left class oddly excited.

So as we moved into silence that night at church, I was caught by something I'd always totally missed in the story of Lazarus. At the end, when he walks out of the tomb, Jesus tells the crowd to unwrap him, to set him free and let him go.

Why? Why didn't Jesus unwrap him? Why didn't He cause the bindings to fall away on their own when He raised him? I thought of the Easter story, how the visitors to the tomb found a pile of cloth left within, the facecloth neatly folded. Why was this different?

It occurred to me that, in a sense, this was a picture of discipleship. Jesus gave the community the task of coming around a person God has raised -- given life -- and removing the trappings of death. All that mental crap and lies and patterns of thought and behavior that are hallmarks of dependence on ourselves and the world need to be stripped away. We are to help one another be free.

Judy also pointed out to me that Lazarus would have been buck naked under his wrappings and needed the crowd to cover him. I think that relates to discipleship, too. As we come around each other and help remove the trappings of death, we need to protect the vulnerabilities of those we minister to. We are to screen them from shame as they move into greater and freer life.

Too often I think we unwittingly use shame as a cattle prod to produce the illusion of life, rather than slowly and tenderly lifting the bindings. We get it backwards.

All of this makes me wonder about the dry and cracked strips of bandage that are still dangling from my own soul. Only One rose from the dead who was capable of thoroughly freeing Himself. Only One was ever truly and fully Alive. As we move into Holy Week, I'm so mindful of that... thankful that He has raised me... grateful for the community that shields me and peels away the funeral clothes that still stick and trip me up... hungry to be even freer and more alive than I am.

Come, Lord Jesus. Holy Spirit, come.

For RS

Violent Blue -- Chagall Guevara

Hey, don't I know you
from some other life?
You were wide-eyed and green
and a little bit taller
and you didn't look away
when spoken to.

Do you still take two sugars?
You seem a little tense...
And I can't help notice how hard you appear
When I look into your eyes
of violent blue.

Was it sudden?
Was it clean?
Were there a lot of shades in between?

Step away
Lay it off
Throw it down
And Lose yourself...