I wonder if this is how God sees us,
specks of peach amid his green creation.
I wonder if, when we pray,
he plays Where's Waldo with all the houses with matching roofs,
looking for the weeping voice among the sea of words.
I wonder if, when he sees the crash coming,
he hopes for the best — for the taxi to swerve left
and the sedan to slam on its brakes —
and cries as the cabbie pummels into the small family
while talking on his cell phone.
I wonder if, when we see him face to face,
he'll hold us up like a tiny figurine in his palm,
lifting his hand to the tip of his nose,
squinting hard to see our details, and think,
"Hmm, just as I imagined she would be."
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
The Spirit and Salvation
I had 3 goals this morning: Go for a Run, Get Dressed and Read Romans.
I've started one, will do another and have completely given up on the idea of having my nose frostbitten while I watch thick clouds of my breath being released into the winter air.
After reading a collection of articles in the New York Times, and feeling redeemed as a conscientious participant in the global community, I climbed into my window with a cup of Costa Rican coffee and opened up to Romans 6, where I had left off the following afternoon.
Flashback to September 29: sitting in front of the class, defending my research on Romans 6:2–4, I vehemently opposed my professor, insisting that there was no rite of baptism in the passage, only a recognition of the Spirit. I insisted that one is able to know that the Spirit is alive and active in one's life, even if, in the moment, a person feels "unspiritual" or "unsanctified." We can look back at our lives and testify to the work of God within us.
And so, reading through Romans 6, 7 and 8, I keep reflecting on the Spirit as Paul talks about it almost as much as I have lately.
Rom 7:6 "So that we serve not under the old written code but in the new life of the Spirit."
Rom 8:2 "For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death."
Rom 8:9a "You, however, are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if in fact the Spirit of God dwells in you."
And so it so clear that Paul has a high pneumatology, seeing the Spirit as that which brings us new life. That which brings us hope.
I think that's a fairly uncontroversial point.
Rom 8:9b "Anyone who does not have the Spirit of God does not belong to him."
Rom 8:14 "For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God."
Rom 8:16 "The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God."
How are we assured of our salvation? Paul does not say that you reflect on the day you said "the sinner's prayer" or the day you were baptized or confirmed in the Church. Paul does not say that there is any particularly physical moment in which you know you are Christian. Paul says you know you are Christian by the action of the Spirit. If you don't have the Spirit, you aren't a Christian. If you are not led by the Spirit, you are not a son of God. If the Spirit isn't proclaiming your sonship along with your spirit, you are not a child of God.
Rom 6:2–4, I still contend, is not about a rite. There is no water in this passage. For there to be water, Paul would need SOMEWHERE to say that we know we are saved by a particular memory.
He doesn't.
And maybe all of this comes out of my recent Kierkegaardian obsession with the incompetence of the physical church and the limited nature of "true" Christianity. Maybe it all comes out of my recent attack on the need for assurance and our self-centered reading of soteriology.
Or maybe I'm on to something.
Here's my big point: On the days I am unconfident in my faith, in those times where I feel God is distant from me, I should not look back to the day when I was 8 years old and laid on my bed talking to God for the first time (although it is a sweet moment). When I feel distant from God, I instead need to go back to those moments in which I am sure God was real. Those moments where I knew that God was leading me or comforting me or assuring me. I go back to those moments, and desperately ask God to assure me again. Because salvation is not about my doing. Its about God's action and participation in my life.
And with that extended sidetrack, I'll go back to my window, gaze out at a city still sleeping, and hope that at some point, I actually get dressed.
I've started one, will do another and have completely given up on the idea of having my nose frostbitten while I watch thick clouds of my breath being released into the winter air.
After reading a collection of articles in the New York Times, and feeling redeemed as a conscientious participant in the global community, I climbed into my window with a cup of Costa Rican coffee and opened up to Romans 6, where I had left off the following afternoon.
Flashback to September 29: sitting in front of the class, defending my research on Romans 6:2–4, I vehemently opposed my professor, insisting that there was no rite of baptism in the passage, only a recognition of the Spirit. I insisted that one is able to know that the Spirit is alive and active in one's life, even if, in the moment, a person feels "unspiritual" or "unsanctified." We can look back at our lives and testify to the work of God within us.
And so, reading through Romans 6, 7 and 8, I keep reflecting on the Spirit as Paul talks about it almost as much as I have lately.
Rom 7:6 "So that we serve not under the old written code but in the new life of the Spirit."
Rom 8:2 "For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death."
Rom 8:9a "You, however, are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if in fact the Spirit of God dwells in you."
And so it so clear that Paul has a high pneumatology, seeing the Spirit as that which brings us new life. That which brings us hope.
I think that's a fairly uncontroversial point.
Rom 8:9b "Anyone who does not have the Spirit of God does not belong to him."
Rom 8:14 "For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God."
Rom 8:16 "The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God."
How are we assured of our salvation? Paul does not say that you reflect on the day you said "the sinner's prayer" or the day you were baptized or confirmed in the Church. Paul does not say that there is any particularly physical moment in which you know you are Christian. Paul says you know you are Christian by the action of the Spirit. If you don't have the Spirit, you aren't a Christian. If you are not led by the Spirit, you are not a son of God. If the Spirit isn't proclaiming your sonship along with your spirit, you are not a child of God.
Rom 6:2–4, I still contend, is not about a rite. There is no water in this passage. For there to be water, Paul would need SOMEWHERE to say that we know we are saved by a particular memory.
He doesn't.
And maybe all of this comes out of my recent Kierkegaardian obsession with the incompetence of the physical church and the limited nature of "true" Christianity. Maybe it all comes out of my recent attack on the need for assurance and our self-centered reading of soteriology.
Or maybe I'm on to something.
Here's my big point: On the days I am unconfident in my faith, in those times where I feel God is distant from me, I should not look back to the day when I was 8 years old and laid on my bed talking to God for the first time (although it is a sweet moment). When I feel distant from God, I instead need to go back to those moments in which I am sure God was real. Those moments where I knew that God was leading me or comforting me or assuring me. I go back to those moments, and desperately ask God to assure me again. Because salvation is not about my doing. Its about God's action and participation in my life.
And with that extended sidetrack, I'll go back to my window, gaze out at a city still sleeping, and hope that at some point, I actually get dressed.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Beautiful Feet
(I had something eloquent to write, but seeing as my mind is having a hard time in Ingles, my writing is reduced to simple words.)
Tonight, I was invited to the National Theatre in San Jose. It is a gorgeous place, intricately painted and decorated in gold lame. The theatre itself is quite small, but as all of the Old World elegance expected of a place produced by rich Spanish colonialists.
At the theatre, Lizziey and I were the only white people at a play about the history of Cartago, a city a few minutes outside of San Jose. It was the first city established in the Central Valley of Costa Rica. A beautiful place, home of healing water and ancient church ruins.
I understood almost none of the speech, although the full 2 hours was narrated. I could only read the language in their bodies, as they contorted their frames to tell the history of a place complete with loose women and magical fruit. From traditional Latin dancing to sections of modern dance, this performance never left you bored. One of the final songs included the story of the headless priest who haunts Cartago who came dancing in on stilts.
I was enamored with the presentation. Moreso by the hospitality of my hosts, who bought our tickets and made sure we got the opportunity to see true Tico culture.
Thus far, I have not seen the Costa Rica of postcards. I have been to no rainforests, no mountains, no beaches. My time has been spent in San Jose, the "big apple" of Costa Rica, but a city that feels much more like an overgrown village.
Yet, while my trip has not been iconic, it has been remarkably perfect. I hopped off the plane and went straight to a huge party for a girl who I had never met, complete with a handsome Tico man asking for my email (despite our major language barrier.) The following day, I got to sit in the place of honor at the Basilica in Cartago and tour the ruins, followed by a mountaintop dinner at a Tico steakhouse. Tomorrow, they are taking us to Poas, a nearby active volcano.
I would not trade an entire week in the jungle for this week in the city. These people are amazing, and I would rather take 5 days with people who restore my hope in humanity than 5 days lounging on the beach, working on my tan and drinking Imperial. Aqui, en Costa Rica, yo han hallazgo mi familia.
Tonight, I was invited to the National Theatre in San Jose. It is a gorgeous place, intricately painted and decorated in gold lame. The theatre itself is quite small, but as all of the Old World elegance expected of a place produced by rich Spanish colonialists.
At the theatre, Lizziey and I were the only white people at a play about the history of Cartago, a city a few minutes outside of San Jose. It was the first city established in the Central Valley of Costa Rica. A beautiful place, home of healing water and ancient church ruins.
I understood almost none of the speech, although the full 2 hours was narrated. I could only read the language in their bodies, as they contorted their frames to tell the history of a place complete with loose women and magical fruit. From traditional Latin dancing to sections of modern dance, this performance never left you bored. One of the final songs included the story of the headless priest who haunts Cartago who came dancing in on stilts.
I was enamored with the presentation. Moreso by the hospitality of my hosts, who bought our tickets and made sure we got the opportunity to see true Tico culture.
Thus far, I have not seen the Costa Rica of postcards. I have been to no rainforests, no mountains, no beaches. My time has been spent in San Jose, the "big apple" of Costa Rica, but a city that feels much more like an overgrown village.
Yet, while my trip has not been iconic, it has been remarkably perfect. I hopped off the plane and went straight to a huge party for a girl who I had never met, complete with a handsome Tico man asking for my email (despite our major language barrier.) The following day, I got to sit in the place of honor at the Basilica in Cartago and tour the ruins, followed by a mountaintop dinner at a Tico steakhouse. Tomorrow, they are taking us to Poas, a nearby active volcano.
I would not trade an entire week in the jungle for this week in the city. These people are amazing, and I would rather take 5 days with people who restore my hope in humanity than 5 days lounging on the beach, working on my tan and drinking Imperial. Aqui, en Costa Rica, yo han hallazgo mi familia.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Ambition
My biggest downfall is my own ambition.
Somewhere in Jesus' parables it says that to whom much has been given, much will be required. I know I have been given much, and it makes me anxious to use my gifts wisely. There are days where I fret about my future, wanting to do something glorious for God: write books with my name on the cover, teach theology in the African bush, mentor women who will become something. On those days where I lay out my options and debate what I can do, I realize that I've taken the idea of God's glory and replaced it with my own.
Last year on winter retreat, a speaker asked us what we wanted written on our tombstones. My epitaph was this: "Larissa Atkinson, a child of God, a servant of Christ Jesus."
There was no clause that said, "because she wrote sweet theology books" or "because she was really famous and still Christian" or even a phrase "because she did a lot." My epitaph was about my identity in Christ, not in the things I have done.
Waiting at the bus stop on the way home from church, a new friend told me of his plans to go to law school. They were beautiful. I quickly wanted to do likewise, thinking that I love politics and I am intelligent, and I'm a theology major (which I learned, makes me naturally more inclined to do well on the LSAT). I wanted to do big things, live a big life, DO something for God.
I believe dearly that God intends to use me. Yet, at the end of the day, it is not about what I do, but who I am. Where is my identity? In doing things for God or loving him?
May I learn to walk humbly in his presence and live for his glory and not my own.
Somewhere in Jesus' parables it says that to whom much has been given, much will be required. I know I have been given much, and it makes me anxious to use my gifts wisely. There are days where I fret about my future, wanting to do something glorious for God: write books with my name on the cover, teach theology in the African bush, mentor women who will become something. On those days where I lay out my options and debate what I can do, I realize that I've taken the idea of God's glory and replaced it with my own.
Last year on winter retreat, a speaker asked us what we wanted written on our tombstones. My epitaph was this: "Larissa Atkinson, a child of God, a servant of Christ Jesus."
There was no clause that said, "because she wrote sweet theology books" or "because she was really famous and still Christian" or even a phrase "because she did a lot." My epitaph was about my identity in Christ, not in the things I have done.
Waiting at the bus stop on the way home from church, a new friend told me of his plans to go to law school. They were beautiful. I quickly wanted to do likewise, thinking that I love politics and I am intelligent, and I'm a theology major (which I learned, makes me naturally more inclined to do well on the LSAT). I wanted to do big things, live a big life, DO something for God.
I believe dearly that God intends to use me. Yet, at the end of the day, it is not about what I do, but who I am. Where is my identity? In doing things for God or loving him?
May I learn to walk humbly in his presence and live for his glory and not my own.
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