What is love? Baby, don't hurt me...

The Boy, Pinkie, only wanted one thing: to escape the pangs of love. At an early age, when he endured the sights and sounds of his parents' love in their tiny apartment, he dismissed its very notion as childish and subhuman. The very thought of its amorous qualities gagged him; the very thought of its philia characteristics drove him to murder. By receding from the love of others, he only loved himself. He did whatever it took to place himself in power and authority over others. He loved in a twisted manner.

Rose only wanted two things: to love and to be loved. She wanted to sacrifice her entire being -- mental, physical, and spiritual -- for another. It was her duty to do so. Her sacrifice was not intended for the betterness of the other, but instead, for the fulfillment of her soul. Her sacrificial, dutiful love gave her value, even if the value fell outside the bounds of her Catholic faith. Her love openly embraced eternal damnation at the price of a damned sacrifice that reaped false earthly value and satisfaction. She loved in a twisted manner.

Ida only wanted one thing: to love what is Right and Wrong. These transcendent axioms guided her life. Every move she made was predicated upon them. If an action does not fall under their umbrellas, participate in them completely. If an action infringes upon them, be a champion for what is Right and Wrong. Do whatever it takes to make sure those around you live within their rules. All of Ida's love went toward these truths. She didn't really love anyone. Her marriage failed and her current male companionship was only indulged upon for his sake. She loved in a twisted manner.

---------

In Graham Greene's Brighton Rock, the reader encounters these three unique characters. Each one has an ideal that determines the way in which they love. All three of these qualities are found in love, but they separated them from the very essence of love -- God.

In a desperate attempt to save his skin from prison, the Boy loves himself and his position of seeming power in Brighton so much that he kills his fellow gang members, marries the impressionable, sacrificial, dutiful Rose, and eventually tries to manipulate her to kill herself out of duty to him. Rose, because someone (the Boy) finally took notice of her, gave her entire soul to him: "I want to be like him -- damned." Whatever depths of evil he plunged to, she followed willingly behind him -- in duty and sacrifice to the love he obviously fabricated. Ida, on the other hand, adhered to an obscure notion of Right and Wrong, yet she had no foundations to determine the rightness or wrongness of any action. She was her own legislature, judge, and jury. She tried her best to save the young Rose from the Boy because she felt it was the Right thing to do.


Even the priest at the end, the only semblance of true faith, seemed disconnected and discontented: "the old head bent toward the grill [confession booth]. The priest had a whistle in his breath...the old priest had a cold and smelt of eucalyptus." In the moment of Rose's greatest peril and hope, in her moment of repentance, the priest told her to "come back soon -- I can't give absolution now -- but come back -- tomorrow."  The priest, who in Catholicism is man's advocate to God for his sins, fails to sacrifice his time and comfort in order to absolve Rose's sins. The reader never know if she goes back, but it is fair to assume she doesn't. I think it is also fair to assume she commits suicide after she encounters the "worst horror of them all" (a taped recording of her apparent "love", the Boy, speaking sweetly to her. Instead she will find this: "God damn you, you little bitch, why can't you go back home for ever and let me be?").

God is no where to be seen in these manifestations of love. Because of it, the Boy kills himself, Rose wants to follow him to damnation, and Ida feels no remorse for the Boy's death and goes to the ouiji board. 1 Corinthians clearly states that God is love. For to be loved by God and to love him and his people fully, one must love his own self, die to his own self for the sake of Christ, and follow God's commands and help those he loves to do the same.

I think we all, for the most part, love like the Boy, Rose, or Ida -- and even the priest. Yes, the picture of humanity's love that Greene paints is grotesque (Its fitting since Greene was good friends with Flannery O'Connor) and offensive, but his purpose is to draw our hearts inward to reflect and ask the question: do I love like the Boy? Rose? Ida? The priest?

When I initially read Brighton Rock, I only felt pity and fear for Rose. I didn't really connect with any of the characters. None of my sins, pains, or gifts seemed to be present. Usually, when that is the case, I drop the book and move to something else. My hope in reading novels is usually to be moved to a higher consciousness of my own broken and redeemed reality. But for some reason, even though I initially didn't recognize those features in Brighton Rock, I didn't do drop it. I pressed on. At the time, I felt like in some way or another I could save Rose if I kept reading -- which of course is ridiculous. But now I know why I really kept reading...

I'm frequently, and obviously, the Boy.

Who are you?

The Flake

"I will not serve that in which I no longer believe whether it call itself my home, my fatherland or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can, using for my defence the only arms I allow myself to use -- silence, exile, and cunning." -- Stephen Dedalus in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

The ever-reliable Urban Dictionary website defines a flaky person as one who is "unreliable." Unreliability infers that a social contract was agreed upon between two parties with one of the parties failing to adhere to all it's requirements. This doesn't happen just once for an unreliable party, but multiple times.

Now, when we think of an unreliable individual, we usually think of their external unreliability -- their blatant disregard for an understood or physical social contract. But in the case of Stephen Dedalus, he breaks the internal contract between his heart and his mind. Throughout his life, from childhood to young adulthood (the end of the book), his mind drafts passionate contracts between itself and the heart . Over and over, they bind with an ideal, only for the eventual rupture of the contract.

We see him consumed with his father's nationalistic pride, yet we see him overtly rejecting nationalism. We see his religious fervor, yet we see his denial of God in his trouncing of the priestly order. Both his adherence to nationalism and religion, and his subsequent rejections of both, show his renunciation of his familial ideals. As the quote above says, he will no longer serve that which he does not believe -- home, country, church. The expression of himself will no longer rely upon those three contracts. His new contract is toward "unfettered freedom," which he believes to be obtainable through "silence, exile, and cunning."

From this point on, we do not know if Stephen finds satisfaction in this new contract. The book pretty much ends with the quote above. But what we do know is this: each contract was made with the assumption that its contents were true. Stephen believed that as the mind and heart were in harmony with its current perception of truth, then the eternal soul would be at peace.

Not too long ago, a person I love (cough mom cough) called me a flake. Her assertion might cause vitriol for some, especially in light of Stephen's flakiness, but I knew she was right. She has called me that before, along with other people, but after this most recent comment, I decided to spend some time reflecting upon it.

During this reflective season, I began reading the Songs of Ascent (Psalm 120-134) in a book/bible study with Wonder Voyage. We are examining each Psalm through the lens of Eugene Peterson's A Long Obedience in the Same Direction.

Psalm 121 is a Psalm we hear referenced in many worship songs: "I look up to the mountains / does my strength come from mountains? / No, my strength comes for God, / who made heaven, and earth, and mountains." Peterson's The Message makes an interesting distinction that is not found in the translation I usually read (NASB). The NASB reads as follows: "I will lift up my eyes to the mountains; / From where shall my help come? / My help comes from the LORD / Who made heaven and earth."


When I initially heard or read Psalm 121, I never viewed the Psalmist's response to his own question as a negative, like Peterson does with his use of "no" in is answer. The first two lines did not seem to be exclusive to me. They seemed inclusive. When the Psalmist finds his help and strength in God, the creator, I assumed he recognized God's help through the Romans 1 model of knowing God through his created nature. 


But Peterson brings to light an important historical note about pagan worship during the author's time to bring clarity to the Psalm:


"Much of this religion was practiced on hilltops. Shrines were set up, groves of trees were planted, sacred prostitutes both male and female were provided; persons were lured to the shrines to engage in acts of worship that would enhance the fertility of the land, would make you feel good, would protect you from evil."


His insertion of the word "no" causes us to orient ourselves back to God. The word "no" tears the gaze of our eyes from the instantaneous strength and help promised by the pagans onto the actual Creator, as the Psalmist later sings, who actually "guards your very life / he guards you when you leave and when you return, / he guards you now, he guards you always."


I find myself, in my flaky nature, always looking up to the mountains for help. I hope that through some new theological discovery, my soul will find the peace it is always looking for. My intellectual and spiritual curiosity has led me from the likes of Miller and Driscoll, to Lewis and Bonhoeffer, to Merton and Manning, to Peterson and etc....


But where is the Lord, the one who gives strength and help to those who ask?


I, in no way, recommend myself or anyone to remove themselves from theological thinkers and writers. But what I am saying is that I think I need to assimilate Louise Rosenblatt's transactional reading theory into my study of scripture. Rosenblatt states there are two different types of texts -- efferent and aesthetic. Efferent texts are ones you read for the sake of knowledge and understanding. Efferent texts would be history text books and computer manuals. Aesthetic texts move or transform the individual who encounters it, such as poetry and novels. 


I tend to look at scripture and read it efferently. What can I learn from it? What can I figure out about the mechanisms of God? I am always asking questions and examining definitions and sentence structures so I can have a fuller understanding of the author's meaning and purpose. And what a beautiful thing to do!


But am I reading the living and breathing word of God aesthetically? Do I engage its characters? suffer with them? love with them? serve with them? Do I activate my imagination in order to participate in its transforming ways? Not often...


Because I forsake the aesthetic pursuit of scripture, my house's foundation cracks. Where does my help come from? How can I fix the crack on the ceiling or the shifting tile in the kitchen? I hear the Maker of heaven and earth is pretty good at foundation repairs.


I will always search for the Truth like Stephen Dedalus did. My mind and heart will always make contracts with the hope of some sort of intellectual and spiritual satisfaction. But my ultimate joy and satisfaction does not rest in the knowledge I obtain about God, but it comes with the knowledge that he is my help; he is my strength; he is the one that guides me through life, even when I stray far from him.  


Praise God for his consistency in the midst of my flakiness!

Mission Trips to Oregon and Belize

Dear family and friends,

To serve through the avenue of Missions is a way one abides, remains, or continues on in their love of God.  As they serve, by the Grace of God, they reflect more and more the Image originally intended for them.

“…and every branch that bears fruit, He prunes it so that it may bear more fruit…Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself unless it abides in the vine, so neither can you unless you abide in me.”  (John 15:2, 4)

            This summer I am working for an organization called Wonder Voyage. Wonder Voyage is a non-profit, ecumenical, pilgrimage organization. Throughout the year, they lead mission trips and pilgrimages for youth groups and adults from over 14 different denominational backgrounds. Their philosophy is for pilgrims to experience the wonder of God’s presence, to dedicate selves to listening, learning, praying, and playing, and to give them the opportunity to serve on a specific mission defined by their leadership (Wonder Voyage Website).

I will be volunteering on two different trips. From June 16-22, I will be serving on a trip to Oregon, and from June 25-July 2, I will be serving on a trip to Belize. The total cost of both trips is $1800. 

I am raising support two ways. One way is through the traditional mission trip fundraising model which asks others to prayerfully consider giving their money to a cause they believe in. The other way is through the selling of coffee. If you would like, you can purchase a pound of coffee from me for $12.95. $4.00 of every pound sold will help fund my trips, while the other $8.95 goes to overseas missions, a church planting initiative in the U.S., and ministry to the broken, downtrodden, and the poor in the U.S. Each pound of coffee will be labeled individually for my trips so that as the coffee sits on your countertop, you will be reminded to pray for the students and leaders on the trips.

I humbly ask you to consider one or both of the options above. If you would like to partner with me by way of a “lump sum,” please send a check, written out to Wonder Voyage with my name in the “memo” line, to:  

Wonder Voyage

P.O. Box 2135

Coppell, TX 75019

If you would like to partner with me by purchasing a pound (or two or three) of “Justin McGee Mission Trip Coffee,” please fill out this quick and easy order form. http://tinyurl.com/7ovw6b3. As soon as I process it, I will send you an email confirming your order.

The first coffee pickup/delivery day will be Saturday, April 14th! Please place your orders with me through the order form above by Sunday, April 1st so I can let my coffee suppliers at Phoenix Community Coffee know the exact amount of coffee to pack. More information can be found on the order form.

            As much as I need money for these trips, I desperately need your prayers. Without the strength, power, and energy that emanates from the prayers of His people, my ability to lead and serve would suffer. Please lift up Wonder Voyage and the pilgrims as we serve and experience God through the mode of pilgrimage.

Through His Grace,

Justin McGee

The Yoke of Christ

“Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your soul. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light (Matthew 11:28-30).”


-------


One of my roommates and I were talking the other night about a host of things as the day wound down. One recurring topic centered on our task to follow Christ in some tangible, quantifiable way -- a way in which we can jot down each instance and point to God and say, "Look at what I have done for the Kingdom! The world is changing and changed because of this!" Praise God for the transformation of his people, through the work and efforts of those following him!

Skye Jethani refers to this posturing of the soul as a life lived for God. For most of us, this reality is seen as the ultimate telos (end) of existence. Once we reach this status (we believe), we finally become who God created us to be. We emphasize terms such as mission(al), evangelism, and social justice when we discuss the portrait of a Christian. Most likely, our hearts long for Africa or Asia or maybe even the homeless in our own community. Jesus and his disciples were on mission for the poor, so we must do the same. We must pine for those whom he pines for.

Personally, my soul usually remains in this state of being. I find myself, in moments (minutes/hours/days) of despair, reflecting upon my effectiveness as a tool of the Gospel. "Why don't I know more customers at Starbucks?" "Why am I not pouring into more students at TCA?" "Why am I not more social? I am missing opportunities because of introversion." "Why did I not help that homeless man on the street corner? I mean, he only asked for a buck."

The commonality in each question that swims through my head is the subject "I." The yoke of Christ, which should rest so gently upon my weary, sinful shoulders, weighs me down in the same way the stones weighed down Virginia Woolf. In reality, the thing in which I think is the yoke of Christ is really something else. It is the yoke of my perception of the Christian life. Work for the kingdom is accomplished.

"Some, to be sure, are preaching Christ even from envy and strife...What then? Only that in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is proclaimed; and in this I rejoice (Philippians 1)."


Even though my missional activity bears itself initially in my envy, strife, and pretense, Christ is still proclaimed. While I ponder and beat myself over the questions above, somehow and someway God uses me. I lead a life so unaware of my fellow man, yet by His grace, others occasionally see Christ in me.  


So...


Do I allow my soul to continuously and solely pursue the life for God posture, even though he uses us in it? By no means! 

The distinction needs to made that our end is not to live for God, but to live with God. A life with God can not flow from a life for God, but a life for God can most definitely flow from a life with God. Because we live so much within the for posture, we forget that "We were made not primarily that we may love God (though we were made for that too) but that God may love us, that we may become objects in which the Divine love may rest 'well pleased' (C.S. Lewis -- Problem of Pain)."


The recognition of God's love for us only drenches our soul by way of his gift of Grace. This realization shocks, yet soothes, the anxiety ridden life for God. Then, all of the sudden, with the sweat and blood still fresh from our toil, the yoke is virtually non-existent. You still work, but it is restful.


Have you ever met someone who laughed or scoffed at the notion that his job resembled our cultural definition of "work?" You know, they find so much joy in their labor that they lose themselves completely in their task and desire nothing more than to continue their task day in and day out?


So it is with the work derived from the yoke of Christ. You lose yourself to the point where you live out God's will unconsciously. Your desire to live for God fades away. All that remains is a soul that is with God, united at last, for a few breaths. 


Oh, but what a sweet few breaths!


Just as a breath comes and goes without any cognizant recollection of its existence, so does this yoke of Christ. For "perfect joy is possible only when we have completely forgotten ourselves. And it is only when we pay no more attention to our own deeds and our own reputation and our own excellence that we are at last completely free to serve God in perfection for his own sake alone" (Thomas Merton -- New Seeds of Contemplation). One within a life with God does not even realize they are in that posture. Their souls absorbs and reflects his love to such a degree that they move about their day unaware of themselves. The joy overflows and covers all aspects of their self, leaving them completely blind to their self.


But, in our fallen nature, we really pine for the yoke powered by our own strength. We love the tangibility of it. Yet, as our souls become tattered and beaten from our exhausting selves, God infuses us with his ever peaceful Grace. As Thomas Merton says:


"there are times in the life of a man when [living a life for God] can become an escape, an anodyne, a refuge from the responsibility of suffering in darkness and obscurity and helplessness, and allowing God to strip us of our false selves and make us into the new men that we are really meant to be."

This idea of losing yourself upon the restful yoke of Christ seems so ambiguous and mysterious, yet at the same time, in its unintelligible transcendence, it allows us to truly be -- a soul with God.

Unchurched -- A Personal Reflection on the Eucharist (Part 1)

In a previous post, who knows how long ago, I referred to a French movie I saw called, "Of Gods and Men." In this movie, we view the internal struggle between a band of monks who live in a dangerous Algerian city. Radical Muslims begin to infiltrate the town and kill anyone who come in the way of their objectives. These monks, who have dedicated their entire lives to the service of the Algerian people, must decide if they should flee the scene to save themselves, or stay and risk their lives for the people's sake. About half of the monks shrink at the thought of purposefully condemning themselves to martyrdom by remaining while the others feel they would be condemning the Algerians by leaving them to the wolves. Eventually, through prayer and deliberation, all of the monks chose to remain in their monastery and serve the Algerians. But in doing so, they fully realize their mortal lives will soon cease to exist.

Towards the movie's end, the audience finds the monks sitting around a dinner table together. Around this table, they break bread and drink wine; they laugh and they cry. No words are spoken. They aren't needed. They know; they know the end is near. Yet, they rejoice, bound and filled by the body and blood. As their Clocks begins to wind down, the joy of spiritual and interpersonal Communion out weighs and over powers their natural propensity to fear....

January showed up a little over a month ago. Whenever January comes to town, she forces people to think on the past and project toward the future. Usually I do whatever it takes to deliberately escape from her mighty hand, but this year, maybe because of my old age and failing limbs, she fetched me as I broke for it. So, I dwelled upon the previous calendar year, and really, the previous years.

Throughout our life, we are always trying to piece together the brokenness, whatever we deem it to be. Once the brokenness becomes a whole, we believe that our greater and overarching brokenness, the brokenness seeded within us, will no longer be present. As January acknowledges this relationship between our external and internal brokenness, does its external fusion really lead to an internal satisfaction?

I came to recognize that ever since college began, I have had no church home. I know and love many people within the church, but my frustration and laziness paralyzed me from giving my heart to any particular physical church. I was repulsed by the thought that I had been in "pastoral" roles over students, yet I deprived myself of Christ's nourishment through his Church. I also understand that faith and growth occurs outside the physical institution but to intentionally forsake it reeks of pride. Well, as soon as January came, her suffocating grip gently urged me toward a decision and allowed me no more freedom to banter with her rationale.

As I prayed and sifted through the endless possibilities, I was introduced to a small Anglican church in Farmers Branch. Now, I bring this whole topic up not because of the church itself (I say that, but the people and the place has been an incredibly gracious gift of God's), but instead because of a solitary act they participate in each week: the Eucharist.

Ever since I went to UD and I went to my first mass, I have been enamored with the Eucharist. I was shocked to find that the centrality of the Mass was the body and blood and not the sermon/homily. My protestant and evangelical background centered their "mass" around pastor and his sermon. The Lord's Supper, as many evangelicals refer to it, was a symbol, a representation of Christ's redemptive sacrifice for mankind. Many churches only take of the Lord's Supper once a month.

I remember talking to one of my friends back home after my first experience at a mass while studying in Rome. I remember trying to put into words the beauty of a service completely dedicated to Jesus' precious, yet hideous sacrifice. I remember being outside, along the outer wall of our classroom, pacing back and forth and forth and back -- my heart racing from its power -- and I wasn't even allowed to take it!

As I participated in this small Anglican service that meets in a somewhat aesthetically strange warehouse space surrounded by furniture stores, I took of the Eucharist with a broken, searching, empty heart. They gave; they blessed; I took; I ate; I drank; I prayed.

Almost instantaneously, God granted me a sense of unity with His Spirit and his people. Comfort, peace, and thanksgiving overwhelmed my dry soul. The music failed to soak it; the prayers contained less moisture than a morning dew; the sermon was only a mirage in the middle of the desert. But the Eucharist brought forth the rain water from the firmament, enriching the desperate, broken earth.

Now, I'm not to the point where I subscribe to the Catholic Church's doctrine on the Eucharist, but I can honestly say that I don't subscribe to the Evangelical perspective either. Many of the Church's confusing doctrine comes down to this simple and beautiful conclusion: divine mystery. This same mystery lead the monks' in Algeria to find complete peace in their martyrdom. While my experience pales in comparison to the monks from the movie, this experience of mine is all that I can glean from.

The beauty and grace that consumed me can only be described as a mysterious gift that rights my wayward heart toward the shore of the one who's body broke and who's blood shed for me. Every time I take of the bread and wine, I gaze upon the wind-filled sail and thank God for blowing me in his right direction.

Obtrusive, Filthy, Beautiful Grace -- A Eulogy...of Sorts

"Jesus!" the old lady cried. "You've got good blood! I know you wouldn't shoot a lady! I know you come from nice people! Pray! Jesus, you ought not to shoot a lady. I'll give you all the money I've got!"....

"Jesus was the only One that ever raised the dead." The Misfit continued, "and He shouldn't have done it. He thrown everything off balance. If He did what He said, then it's nothing for you to do but throw away everything and follow him..."

-- A Good Man is Hard to Find -- Flannery O'Connor

The Misfit, a criminal on the run, has this old lady on the ropes. His buddies have already wiped out the rest of the family: the ladies son, daughter-in-law, and three grandchildren. She seems to be next on the list. She begs and pleads. She appeals to his bloodlines and social dignity. How could someone with his blood intentionally murder someone with her ladyship?

Her initial rhetoric fails to work. Appealing to societal norms didn't budge this convicted criminal from his stance. 

A spiritual plea! Yes, this must work! She calls him to reach down into the depths of his core, the very part that drives each one of us, either consciously or unconsciously, and asks him to examine the truth. Misfit -- pray! Ask Jesus to help guide you to the bottom of your frustrations and sins. But still, don't shoot a lady! Its not proper!

The lady, in her last moments, with a chance to "throw away everything and follow him," could not give up her earthly dreams and desires. Societies code consumed her core, her very essence, her soul, and drove her to call upon the name of the Lord in a way that failed to be sincere, reeking of blasphemy and dishonor. Her weakest moment could have been her finest hour, whether on earth or in heaven.

At this pivotal moment of grave weakness, when she lost all control of her life, The Misfit gave her a choice: "to be real, or to be unreal", as Thomas Merton said. To be real, meaning "The secret of my full identity is hidden in [Christ]. He alone can make me who I am, or rather who I will be when at least I fully begin to be."

My grandfather, my mother's father, passed away today. He lived much of his life like the lady in Flannery O'Connor's short story. But...

When The Misfit came masked as liver failure, his greatest strengths evolved into his greatest weakness's. He couldn't physically overpower The Misfit, like he could have in the past. His intelligence, which was great, couldn't confound and confuse him into submission. He only had one choice between the two options that remained -- to be real, or to be unreal. And the question for us became, "what will he choose?"

I am immediately drawn to St. Augustine's Confessions. Augustine's mother bothers her priest incessantly about her wayward son. She spends every hour of every day in grief because of her son's spiritual condition. After many discussions about her son's soul, the priest wearily tells her to "leave me and go in peace. It cannot be that the son of these tears should be lost." 

Well, I can only speak for my mother, but her tears did not go unnoticed by our Father. 

"It is not those who are well who need a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous but the sinners to repentance." -- Luke 5:31-32

A few months ago, during the middle of the night when sleep escaped him, he listened to the words of Billy Graham on a late night television program. The words of God's grace reigned down upon his once deaf heart and overwhelmed his sick and tired soul to repentance. Its as if, after years of wrestling with the nature of truth and whether or not God and his plan of redemption through His son Jesus Christ really existed, this fresh perspective on God's love, from a mouthpiece not relationally connect to him, allowed him to "simply relax in the presence of God [he] half believe[d] in and ask[ed] for a touch of folly" (Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel). 

Before he passed on to be in the presence of his new Father, the one who loves him in spite of all his past sin and in spite of all the beautiful things he created, he was able to cry to the Lord, not in the way the lady did, but in all reverence and sincerity, and asked to be taken from this world. His peace with his Creator had been made. His peace with my mother had been made. He could go home, now -- to a place void of pain, sickness, and vanity.

Once and for all, at the exact moment it mattered most, he decide to be Real.

Praise God for his obtrusive, filthy, beautiful Grace.

The Changing of the Seasons

There is no season better than winter -- the brisk breeze, the lingering clouds, the dark natural tones, and the frigid temperatures that require layer upon layer of clothing. Winter always seems to draw my mind and spirit into reflection. On this Thanksgiving weekend, it is something I am incredibly grateful for, yet leery of, as well.

As I sit on my parents' back porch out at Lake Kiowa (my "black rock", so to speak), with the temperature hovering around 50 degrees with a somewhat strong north wind telling me, "You like the winter, well, here She comes," I can't help but notice the season's implicit reflection of life. To be more specific, the life of Faith.

The life of Faith can be broken down into four distinct, but sometimes overlapping, parts: Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter. Spring is the time when your faith is growing and new. God's revealed nature becomes known to you in some new and fascinating way. Most likely, you have heard this beautiful truth before, but for one reason or another, the seed never planted firmly in your soul until this moment. The Holy Spirit, to your utter surprise, continues to refresh your soul with these "new" truths. Praise and thanksgiving burst forth from your heart in the same way a flower blooms under the cool, but not cold, beautifully bright, blue sky.

Next comes Summer. With Summer, comes the active participation of the truths revealed to you in the Spring. The transformation of the soul in the Spring now overflows and becomes an outpouring to others. During this time, you are more than likely not even thinking about the truths you learned. Your entire focus has shifted away from the union between yourself and God to the union between others and God. This shift occurs subconsciously. Bonhoeffer refers to this state as a "hidden righteousness." It is hidden from yourself but completely revealed to those around you. By the grace of God, your natural self has been denied and the cross of Christ rests lightly upon on your shoulders.

But as we know, the glories of Spring and Summer do not last -- Nothing Gold Can Stay. Oh, the Fall. The sun shines a little less, and the trees, leaves, and grass begin to fade and fall. Remnants remain of the truths sprung up by the Spring and lived out by the Summer; mere bits and pieces -- fragments -- slowly wither away. Soon, the fragments will remain no more. The wind will blow them away. If you allow your heart to dwell on the Fall, you will see the leaves tumbling fervently and furiously across the yard. You want to still their movement. You aren't entirely hopeless, though, because the remnants, albeit few, still remain.

Then the winter storms in. The landscape is desolate. The sun hides for days. Nature ceases to mature. The precipitation does not nurture but veils what remains from Fall. Your hope is all but gone. You long for the Spring, the refreshing of the Spirit in the same way it brought comfort and joy to you before. You live completely out of the moment, hoping and longing for something other than the present. Time is your enemy because you have no control over it. The remnants of truth are gone and you can barely remember what they were and how they changed your life. But....

"In this greatest perfection of faith the infinite God Himself becomes the Light of the darkened soul and possesses it entirely with His Truth. And at this inexplicable moment the deepest night becomes day and faith turns into understanding." -- Thomas Merton

This moment of Winter, and even Fall, is entirely necessary and a part of the faith process. This movement from Spring to Summer to Fall to Winter is not a movement from the greatest good to the worst good, but instead, a continued renewal of Faith and recognition of the Light for our darkened soul. At some point, because of our nature, we will forget the joys of God revealed during Spring and manifested in Summer. As we forget, we have two choices: allow God to continue his work via the Fall and Winter, or live in a falsified Spring and Summer brought about by your own works and knowledge that is completely void of God. The former is filled with Grace, and the latter is filled with self.

Yes, the Winter is a bleak time for our soul. None of us desire that sort of anxiety and desperation. The human tendency is to escape suffering -- mental, emotional, physical, spiritual -- at all costs. But running towards the latter only increases true pain and disunity from God because you chase your fake self, the one outside relationship with God. But the suffering of the Winter has a beauty of its own. It lies in the fact that it is a preparation for the Spring. Without the Winter, the Spring can't come. Without the Winter, Grace does not abound. Without Grace, there is no communion with the Father.

For me, I incessantly long for the Spring and Summer, yet reign in the Winter. My Winters seem to last months and even years. My longings, at times, for other seasons take the place of God infused Grace. I seek my own transformation, outside the bounds of God actually transforming. Merton simply and truthfully claims that, "It is not we who choose to awaken ourselves, but God who chooses to awaken us." Praise God!

As Scot McKnight explains in his book, "The Jesus Creed," some of us are like Peter, who seems to have had more Winters than Springs, while some of us are like Paul, who seems to have had one Spring moment with the rest of his life being one long Summer. But in both instances, they are incredible tools of God. I praise God for the two weeks he allowed me to experience a Spring and the two weeks he allowed me to experience a Summer this past year. I praise God for being a "Peter" type. And I also force myself to praise him for my Falls and Winters.

Praise God, not only for the Seasons dictated by the laws of Nature, but also for the Seasons dictated by the Grace of our Father, through Jesus Christ our Lord!