Doug Floyd, Author at Pilgrim Notes

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3 Tools of Fundamental Coherence in Richard Hooker

February 17, 2014 / Doug Floyd / 0 Comments

In “Richard Hooker and the Vision of God,” Charles Millers suggests that a “fundamental coherence” may be better language than “system” when referring to Richard Hooker’s thought in “Of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity.”

Instead of a formal system, Hooker works out a “constellation of fundamental ideas,” according to Olivier Loyer (cited by Miller). Working from this core, Hooker has a set of tools that help him explore a range of questions. These tools include rationality, hierarchy, and participation.

Drawing upon a vision of God’s creation as rooted in His divine order, Hooker sees the world as pervaded by “a sense of the rational character of law” and “the human mind’s rational capacity is fulfilled in apprehending and coordinating itself to such laws.” Continue reading

February 15, 2014

In the eucharist we Christians concentrate our motives and act out our theory of human living. Mankind are not to be ‘as Gods’, a competing horde of dying rivals to the Living God. We are His creatures, fallen and redeemed, His dear recovered sons, who by His free love are ‘made partakers of the divine nature’. But our obedience and our salvation are not of ourselves, even while we are mysteriously free to disobey and damn ourselves. We are dependent on Him even for our own dependence. We are accepted sons in the Son, by the real sacrifice and acceptance of His Body and Blood, Who ‘though He were a Son, yet learned He obedience by the things which he suffered; and being made perfect, He became the author of eternal salvation unto all them that obey Him; called of God an High-priest after the order of Melchisedech’. – Dom Gregory Dix

Walking By the Light of the Son

January 17, 2014 / Doug Floyd / 0 Comments

The sun shall be no more
your light by day,
nor for brightness shall the moon
give you light;
but the Lord will be your everlasting light,
and your God will be your glory. Isaiah 60:19 [1]

Exiled into Babylon, Assyria and the nations, the people of God groped in darkness. In Torah, darkness is often a sign of walking outside the way of Torah. In Proverbs 4:18-19, we read that

[T]he path of the righteous is like the light of dawn,
which shines brighter and brighter until full day.
The way of the wicked is like deep darkness;
they do not know over what they stumble.

In the land of darkness, humanity is turned away from the light of the Lord. Humanity descends further and further into dark words and dark acts. And yet, all humanity lives by the light of the sun and the brightness of the moon. In the land of darkness, the sun still shines. In fact, the sun and moon and the stars govern the earth.

14 And God said, “Let there be lights in the expanse of the heavens to separate the day from the night. And let them be for signs and for seasons, and for days and years, 15 and let them be lights in the expanse of the heavens to give light upon the earth.” And it was so. 16 And God made the two great lights—the greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night—and the stars. 17 And God set them in the expanse of the heavens to give light on the earth, 18 to rule over the day and over the night, and to separate the light from the darkness. And God saw that it was good. (Ge 1:14–18)

These great lights mark our days, our months, our seasons. They tell us when to sleep, when to rise, when to plant, when to harvest. For many cultures, these great lights are the only true rulers. The land of darkness lives under the rule of heavenly movements. From astrology to Baalism to Egypt’s cult of the nile (and the heavenly lights), humanity lived and died by the rule of these lights.

Power for survival comes from seeking to manipulate or control the heavens, the gods, or the nations. For some cultures, this took the shape of human sacrifice. For others, it took the form of slavery. For Assyria and Babylon it took the form of endless war. To live only by the light of the sun and moon and starts is live under the spell of idolatry. Idol worship is not about whether humans believe or rejects the supernatural, the gods or the divine. Rather, it is ultimately about wielding power for survival.

When the people of God were sent into exile, it was a sign that they were already wandering in darkness like the surrounding nations. To walk in the light of Torah is to be able to say “No” to the slavery of Egypt, to human sacrifice of Baalism, to the oppressive wars of Assyria and Babylon. This “No” was a divine reigning down from the heavens (above the sun and moon and stars). It was a “No” to the creatures acting like the Creator.

In the cult of Israel, we hear a “No” against all cults living under the sun and moon and stars. In his essay on “Hitler and Israel,” Eugen Rosenstock-Huessy explains,

Israel built a temple, it is true, but they added that God did not dwell in it, as the gods of all other temples did: Israel voided the Temple. Israel circumcised her young men, it is true; but they did it to the child in the cradle, not to the initiate novice of the fertility orgies: Israel voided the rites. Israel wrote “poems,” but she denied that she “wrote” them lest man-made “poems” became idols. She insisted that she was told and that she replied: Israel voided the arts. In these three acts she emptied the three great “speeches” of the heathen, the tribal, the templar, and the artistic, of their lure and spell and charm. [2]

Israel becomes the “No” to all man’s creaturely religions (including atheism).

In listening to God’s “No,” Israel recognized herself as God’s servant, merely a man in the face of God’s majesty. In this “No” all merely human desires are burned out, and our notion of God’s will is cleansed. “Revelation” is a knowledge of God’s will, after his “No” to our will has become known. Only then is God pure future, pure act – only when all his former creations stand exposed as non-gods, as mere artifacts. To have revealed what is not God is the condition for all our understanding of God. On this basis the Jews became prayer. Israel is neither a nation nor a state nor a race, but it is prayer.

This “No” frees humanity from the spellbinders who live under the sun and wield power under the sun. Israel’s “No” frees humanity from the Pharoahs and Herods and Hitlers. The world always lives under the threat of humans who stumble in darkness and leads others to stumble in that darkness. By equating their will and God’s will or by denying God and establishing their will, their insights, their wisdom as supreme, they control and destroy and threaten the future. Rosenstock-Huessy’s words continue to echo,

And immediately, we see the rise of world-wide spellbinders and race-worshipers, of dictatorships, and super states that un-repentingly identify their will and God’s will, their world and the real world. No separation of Caesar and Christ is recognized. Hence mankind stays forever in need of both testaments – in need of both the “No” of the Old Testament and the “Yes” of the New.

In Isaiah’s song, we hear the hope that the people of God sitting in exile were not forsaken by God. They passed through the death of man’s darkness and were restored to the land. From them, a conquering king would come, the Messiah. His rule was not “under the heavens” and rooted in wielding power like the kings of the earth (Psalm 2). His rule reveals the light that is brighter than the noonday sun. This light is greater than the sun or moon. This light says “No” to the exaltation of the creature over the Creator. This light reveals and restores humanity into the shape of living, loving relations with God, one another and all creation. This light fulfills Torah, embodies Torah. Jesus Christ the True Light of the World leads his people us to become truly human images of the Creator.

Even now, we are learning to walk in the light of the Son.

Image used by permission. Some rights reserved by MyDigitalSLR

[1] All Bible references from The Holy Bible: English Standard Version. (2001). Wheaton: Standard Bible Society.
[2] All quotes from Eugen Rosenstock-Huessy comes from his essay, “Hitler and Israel, or on Prayer.” From Judaism Despite Christianity. Reprinted by University of Chicago Press, 2011.

Christmas Trees in Advent

December 13, 2013 / Doug Floyd / 1 Comment

Advent rhythms gently beat in my heart while Christmas carols boom in my ears. I feel torn between the deep ache of Advent longing and the joyful outbreak of Christmas festival. How do I hold these two distinct rhythms together? How do I journey from the Jews crying out in exile to shepherds rejoicing at the manger?

Last Monday night we visited some friends who live in a 150-year-old family cabin. Stepping into their home felt like stepping into the past. It was as though I stood in the present and the past at the same time. Is there a way to keep standing in Advent reflection while also standing in the middle of Christmas trimmings?

Christmas joy lights my city. I see bright blue, green, red and white trees glowing atop the buildings. Shiny, happy trees spring up in homes, in yards, in stores and even in some churches. Like hearty fruit trees, the branches of these evergreens hang low with the colorful ornaments and glistening lights.

Ezekiel also sees trees all around him, but these trees are not shiny or happy. They are burning. They are falling. They reveal a world coming to an end. Looking back at the sparkling Christmas tree, I begin to see shadows of another age, a sad struggle, a world falling, a prophet crying. Egypt and Assyria who once stood tall like proud Cedars of Lebanon came tumbling down when the ax was laid at the root. One by one the nations around Judah fell. Then Judah toppled. The people of God were dispersed into the darkness of Babylon. Eventually Babylon falls.

The kingdoms of the world fell and will continue falling till the end of the age. No matter how great, how glorious the powers of world may be, they will not always stand. Kingdoms topple before the King. Wicked rulers who oppress their people, wicked managers who take advantage of their employees, wicked parents who abuse their children: all kings and kingdoms will fall. Evil will not prevail. The ax is laid to the root. Only one kingdom will stand: A kingdom of love.

I continue to gaze into the Christmas tree, and I am remembering a tree stump that came back to life. Isaiah looks at that stump of the House of David where the tree once was, and boldly says,

“There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse,
and a branch from his roots shall bear fruit.
And the Spirit of the LORD shall rest upon him,
the Spirit of wisdom and understanding,
the Spirit of counsel and might,
the Spirit of knowledge and the fear of the LORD.” (Is 11:1-2)

From a dead stump, the Kingdom of God springs forth with life eternal. He is the tree that appeared the least of all seeds. So often His kingdom looks weak, failing, falling and fading. Actually, His tree, his kingdom will one day grow greater than all the trees, “so that the birds of the air will come and nest in its branches” (Matt 13:31-32).

I gaze back at the Christmas tree, and I think that maybe it is standing in two places at once. The plainchant of Advent longing stills sounds in our Christmas joy and glimpses of Christmas joy penetrate the plainchant of Advent longing. Joy and sorrow are distinct and yet bound up in one another.

During Advent, I long for the king who is coming and whose kingdom of love and life will prevail. The colorful ornaments on the Christmas tree remind me of a fruit that bring will bring healing to the nations. Beholding the lights, I rejoice that His kingdom of light will shine brighter than the noonday sun.

image by duane schoon (used by permission via Creative Commons)

I’ve Got a Mansion

December 5, 2013 / Doug Floyd / 1 Comment

When I was growing up, we would sing,

“I’ve got a mansion just over the hilltop
In that bright land where we’ll never grow old
And someday yonder, we’ll never more wander
But walk on streets that are purest gold.”

I liked that idea: moving into a big mansion someday, sitting on the veranda, gazing out over the rolling green hills of my estate. In fact, I thought it would be nice to enjoy that mansion sooner rather than later.

We visited the Biltmore House, and I thought, “Now this is where I’d like to live.” There’s plenty of room to spread out. Friends could come to visit, enjoy a feast of food, play a few games, chat until the early morning hours and sleep late. We’d be living the life of Riley, er Vanderbilt.

I started dreaming about houses. For years, I’d dream about gigantic houses. The inside of the house always seemed so much larger than the outside. Inevitably, I’d discover rooms that I didn’t even know existed. Many of these dreams were spent exploring. Last summer, I went down to the basement of my “dream house” and discovered a warehouse-sized room. The room was filled with young people and a band was playing at the far end. Cool. I never realized there was a band playing in my basement.

As we wait in Advent anticipation, I’m thinking about those houses. Maybe it’s the cold outside. I’m thinking about staying with my bride and cuddling up on a cold night in front of the fire. What a blessing. A house provides protection from the wind and rain and snow.

What do you do in a house? You live there. You eat meals. You talk, tell stories, laugh, and maybe cry. You relax. When you’re in your own home, you can let down your guard. Walk around in your pajamas. Watch TV. Read a book. Play a game. You might decorate the house with pictures of friends and relatives. Your house is one of the key places for remembering. From looking at pictures to celebrating birthdays, you have rituals of remembering the family. It’s a place of refuge and protection from the elements and from intruders. The house is a place where you care for your body, your physical needs: from cleaning to resting to healing from sickness. A house is or should be a safe place. It’s a place to enjoy your friends and family. You could say that a house is built to hold a family.

God builds houses and teaches his people to build houses. The writer of Hebrews tells us, “For every house is built by someone, but He who built all things is God” (Heb 3:4). He taught Noah how to build a house that floats (the ark). Think about it. He showed Noah how to build a house that was still standing after Judgment Day.

Judgment Day, oddly enough, is connected to Advent. The Book of Common Prayer Daily Office Lectionary focuses on the book of Amos for the first two weeks of Advent. Two weeks of reading passages about God’s judgment and fire, burning down the houses of Israel’s neighbors and finally consuming Israel. When judgment falls, the houses built on sand fall, “Splat!”

Some really big houses have been built on sand. Think about Pharaoh’s house. It was big. Really big. It was also a house of slavery and it would not, could not stand.

As it turns out, our world is filled with houses of slavery, houses of anger, houses of pain and toil. The world is full of empty houses of loneliness, absence, and forgetfulness.

If a house holds relationships, think of all the broke-down houses: families, business, communities where people are hurt and hurt one another: No warm cuddly fires; no joy-filled music; only painful words and painful actions.

The Lord redeemed Israel from that house of slavery and guided his people, his children, his family, to a house on top of the world. From this house of love, true wisdom would be taught and true justice would be administered. From this house of love, the world gone wrong would be set right, peace and hope and joy would finally prevail over the endless echoes of war.

During Advent we look for the coming, the unveiling of this house, this kingdom, this city. During Advent we hope in the coming Christ who has redeemed all those broken down houses and is building the City of Peace. He is building it through his own body, through his own people. He is fashioning living stones: precious rubies and sapphires and emeralds that will gleam in the full light of His glory.

When this house is fully unveiled, when Christ himself comes in all his glory, the world will not learn war anymore. As we wait with hope this Advent, let us walk in and toward the light of His love.

Isaiah 2:1-5
The word that Isaiah the son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem.
Now it shall come to pass in the latter days
That the mountain of the LORD’s house
Shall be established on the top of the mountains,
And shall be exalted above the hills;
And all nations shall flow to it.
Many people shall come and say,
“Come, and let us go up to the mountain of the LORD,
To the house of the God of Jacob;
He will teach us His ways,
And we shall walk in His paths.”
For out of Zion shall go forth the law,
And the word of the LORD from Jerusalem.
He shall judge between the nations,
And rebuke many people;
They shall beat their swords into plowshares,
And their spears into pruning hooks;
Nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
Neither shall they learn war anymore.
O house of Jacob, come and let us walk
In the light of the LORD.

Advent Begins in Darkness

December 2, 2013 / Doug Floyd / 2 Comments

Advent begins in darkness.

The light of Advent reminds us of how dark the dark truly is. Over time our eyes have grown accustomed to the dark. This is another way of saying that darkness blinds us to the glory of light, to thickness of color, to surprise of beauty. We’re not totally blind. “We live in the age of glare,” according to the poet Rod Jellema. The “age of glare” blinds us to the dazzling whiteness of white in the face of our Savior.

To enter into the story, the movement, the rhythm of Advent, we go by way of story. We rehearse the story of a people forsaken by God in the dark waters of Babylon. We lean into the words of the prophets. In the mouth of these witnesses, we hear the terrible drumbeat of a world gone wrong, of mountains crumbling into the sea, of nation after nation falling to the beast of Babylon. Where is God when our world comes to an end?

Sitting by the waters of Babylon, Israel cannot voice her songs. Blinded by the glare of lesser gods, Israel stumbles into darkness. The Lord turns his back as the evil empire crushes and consumes the apple of His eye. The smoke of a burning Temple eclipses the light of Zion. Who can sing praise in the place of the dead?

Jeremiah gives voice to the Lamentations of God’s people dispersed into the four the winds, driven into exile, left to wither on foreign soil. He moans,

I am the man who has seen affliction
under the rod of his wrath;
he has driven and brought me
into darkness without any light;
surely against me he turns his hand
again and again the whole day long. (Lamentations 3:1-3, ESV)

The anguished cry of God’s prophet still resounds today. Deep darkness smothers our world: Over one million Syrian refugees are dying to find a place of safety. Thousands Eriteans flee the unthinkable conditions of their own land only to be kidnapped and suffer unimaginable torment by traffickers seeking money. Countless people struggle in a perpetual state of war. By some estimates over 30 million people live in slavery throughout the world (with about 60,000 in the United States). The undoing of sin infects and affects every human on this planet.

We cannot even fully bear the darkness of sin. It would kill us. It did kill Jesus. He entered into this darkness with the only Light this world will ever truly behold. He is the luminous darkness. During Advent, we face this luminous darkness: remembering the exile of Israel and the coming redeemer.

We behold the place of exile where God’s people and God’s planet grieve in exile. In this exile, we face our own desperate need for the Light of God. We remember Jeremiah’s hope in the midst of Lamentation,

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in him.” (Lamentations 3:22-24, ESV)

The light of God penetrates our dark smog and opens our eyes both to his glory and our desperate need. The true hope of Advent strips away the false promises, false delights and false hopes that distract our age. There is no hope outside of the love of God in Christ. We cling to that hope, longing for justice, for healing, for redemption, longing for the true Light that gives light to everyone coming into the world (John 1:9).

Entering the Anglican Communion

November 11, 2013 / Doug Floyd / 4 Comments

What would cause an old Bapti-costal, house church guy to become an Anglican Priest? That’s the question I’ve been asking myself over the last several months. I thought I might attempt to write a few posts, reflecting on this transition. If you’re interested, read on.

“Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: “What! You too? I thought that no one but myself . . .”” C.S. Lewis

My step into the Anglican communion might be described as a step toward friendship. I was not in the middle of search for the “true church.” I was not relentlessly hoping for some affirmation from an ancient tradition to tell me I was important. For several years I had been enjoying house church with a group of friends. Our little house church ate together, prayed together and sought to live out our faith in the midst of the culture around us. I loved and still love our little house church (you can read more about our house church here).

You might say I was “surprised by friendship.” In fall of 2009 and spring of 2010, I was invited to speak to a group of local Anglicans about the Torah from an Old Testament lens and Torah through the lens of Paul. To my surprise, I discovered friends like who shared similar passions, raised similar questions and were longing for the same kingdom come. Over the next several months and years, I spent time with several of these guys, read books with them, and worshipped with them.

Augustine spoke of the kingdom as an ever-expanding community of friends. On earth, this community will always fall short, but it hints at a fullness of community to be revealed one day. Spending time with several of the Anglican ministers tasted of the same sweetness that I enjoyed with my friends in the house church.

I met these gentlemen shortly after our house church had dropped down to meeting only once a week. Since 1999, we had been gathering on Sundays and Wednesdays, and since 2004 we had met in a little storefront recreated into a living room/library atmosphere. Everyone in our church had a key and it was used for all sorts of gatherings: worship, concerts, meals, movie nights, weddings, birthdays and more. It was a little home we all shared.

fire

In February 2008, we suffered a devastating fire, which destroyed our equipment, damaged our books and drove us back into my home. For a variety of reasons, 2008 was a difficult and discouraging year. We decided to quit meeting on Sundays and gather only on Wednesday nights.

During this time my friend Izaak and I began visiting churches in Knoxville and Maryville on Sunday mornings. It gave us an opportunity to experience a range of expressions in the Christian community of our city. After I met with the Anglicans, Izaak and I visited both local Anglican churches: Apostles Anglican and Old North Abbey. We were both “surprised by friendship.”

In fall of 2010, I joined several Anglicans on trip to England. The hospitality of the folks at Holy Trinity Brompton refreshed and surprised me yet again. I discovered Christians from all walks of life (Anglican and Free church) working together to proclaim the kingdom of God in word and action.

I felt at home among “Anglican” folks, but I still loved my house church and still believed in house church as a community where God’s people could learn and practice a way of kingdom living that translated into the community at large. My Anglican friends didn’t see this as a threat but rejoiced in house church. In fact, the spirit of hospitality toward other Christian works and traditions amazed me. I sensed among the Anglicans a heart to affirm expressions of the kingdom of God all throughout the community.

I continued to walk alongside these new friends even as I held to my older friends in house church and other Christian communities. In walking toward Anglicanism, I never felt like I was being called to walk away from other Christians. Instead, I felt the call of communion and the joy of Augustine’s ever-expanding circle of friends.

I think again of C.S. Lewis when he writes, “Christ, who said to the disciples, “Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you,” can truly say to every group of Christian friends, “Ye have not chosen one another but I have chosen you for one another.” The friendship is not a reward for our discriminating and good taste in finding one another out. It is the instrument by which God reveals to each of us the beauties of others.”

Lewis and Augustine help me to frame one aspect of my movement toward Anglicanism and sense of call to become an Anglican Priest. I believe that the Father’s call that led me into ministry in the late 80s was a call into serving His people, His children, His every-growing communion of love.* Communion has been a central value among Anglicans since the earliest formation. Yes, it is and has been messy. Augustine saw wrote about the messiness so very long ago. And yet, we are called to press on into love.

In my friendships, I cautiously stepped into communion with the local Anglicans. WIth the discernment of the local and regional communion, I began movement toward priesthood. In the fullness of time, I’ve entered into service under the Bishop of the Diocese of the South. By God’s grace I want to continue extending that hospitality I’ve enjoyed to the friends of God (and soon to be friends of God) all around me.

* More on the journey from the 80s to the present in another post.

Learning Trust in Weakness

June 14, 2013 / Doug Floyd / 2 Comments

In the still of the night, we may hear the voice of doubt and fear echoing in our soul. The stomach reacts with a sick feeling. A litany of anguish burns within. When will daylight drive away the demons of the night?

As I was reading about Hezekiah, I kept thinking of these voices. The armies of Assyria assembled outside the gates Jerusalem, sounding terror into the hearts of the people. Destruction loomed over the city. The people trembled.

“Who could he trust in the witching hour?”

Rabshakeh threatened and seduced the people of Judah at the same time, “Thus says the king of Assyria: ‘Make your peace with me and come out to me. Then each one of you will eat of his own vine, and each one of his own fig tree, and each one of you will drink the water of his own cistern, 32 until I come and take you away to a land like your own land, a land of grain and wine, a land of bread and vineyards, a land of olive trees and honey, that you may live, and not die.”

He mocks the Lord alongside the gods of other nations,

“33 Has any of the gods of the nations ever delivered his land out of the hand of the king of Assyria? 34 Where are the gods of Hamath and Arpad? Where are the gods of Sepharvaim, Hena, and Ivvah? Have they delivered Samaria out of my hand? 35 Who among all the gods of the lands have delivered their lands out of my hand, that the LORD should deliver Jerusalem out of my hand?’ ”

The weight of the kingdom pressures King Hezekiah. Overwhelmed by the doubt and fear that sound across his besieged land, he tears his clothes, covers himself in ashes, and waits upon the Lord. Though he knows the terror of the moment, he doesn’t send for Egypt or seek to make amends with Assyria, he waits for the Lord.

The terror of Rabshakeh may remind us of the looming threats in our world. Finances, job situations, family anguish, health problems, bad decisions, mistakes, and the problems around the world may haunt us. How do we learn to trust the Lord in spite of our own deep sense of weakness?

Again and again, the kings of Judah and Israel trusted in the powers around them, the gods of the land and air and mountains. Throughout the Old Testament, we see a pattern of how idolatry devastates a people. By seeking control through the local powers around them, they fall into slavery, lose their identity, and become oppressors and the oppressed.

This pattern of destruction is seen directly in the land of Egypt. Egypt is a land of plenty: a giant Cedar that shelters the birds of the air (to use Ezekiel’s language). Egypt has learned the art of controlling the world around it. You will have food to eat and may even prosper, but you will be enslaved. Everyone is a slave in Egypt even Pharaoh. He must play a prescribed role. The system of control that shapes his entire culture controls him as much as it does the rest of the people.

This idolatry, this system of twisted power is the real threat facing Hezekiah. Trust in the Lord alone, or seek control through the gods of the land and fall back into slavery, into nothingness. In our post-enlightenment world, we claim that we no longer believe in God let alone in gods. Yet, it is not hard to see how systems of power enslave us, dehumanize us, and turn us into the oppressed and the oppressors.

We are still idolaters at heart. We just don’t call our idols gods. As we face the dark fears that often loom on the horizon, we want some type of control to keep the threat at bay. In our desire for control, we can turn any created thing thing into an idol. Just as ancient culture turned the sun into a god, we may turn our politics, our money, our knowledge, our health, our technique, our technology and even our theology into idols that we hope will restore control, keeping us safe, entertained and well fed.

I am reminded of the new song sounding forth in Psalm 96.

Oh sing to the LORD a new song;
sing to the LORD, all the earth!
2 Sing to the LORD, bless his name;
tell of his salvation from day to day.
3 Declare his glory among the nations,
his marvelous works among all the peoples!

As the song echoes through the land, the gods of the nations are exposed as idols or nothingness as in no power:

4 For great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised;
he is to be feared above all gods.
5 For all the gods of the peoples are worthless idols,
but the LORD made the heavens.

As Hezekiah lifts his voice to the Lord, he turns away from Assyria and Egypt (as an ally against Assyria). He knows the Lord is free to save or not save Israel, but he also knows that the Lord is faithful to His people and full of lovingkindess. The gods that threaten are nothingness. The issue is not whether the Lord will rescue Israel in this moment, but if the Hezekiah will trust in the Lord.

Our ability to trust feels so very weak. Sometimes rehearsing stories can help us remember the Faithful One. Stories resound within us. Stories like the Exodus, David and Goliath, Hezekiah with his back against the wall, and Job stripped of everything. We remember the God who is faithful even after death, raising Jesus above all power and given the name above every name.

We are learning to fall back into the hands of the Lord. The fury of Rabshakeh will seek to threaten us, seduce us, and call us to trust in the powers of the age. By God’s grace alone, we learn to let go of our control, our strength, our confidences. We are learning trust in weakness, life in death. We are learning to look to Jesus, the Author and Finisher of our faith, knowing that despite our fears and doubts our Lord is faithful and His faithfulness extends into the darkness of death and beyond.

Image by fluffisch (on flickr). Used by permission via Creative Commons.

Psalmist Clings to the Path of Life

As I listen to the songs and prayers of the Psalmist, I hear the distinct struggle of being caught between the two paths. Since the Psalms are grouped into five books (Psalm 1-41; 42-72; 73-89; 90-106; 107-150), I was wondering if I might just listen to the cries, songs, prayers and hear some repeating rhythms in these books. Today I am listening to the first several Psalms of book one.

Psalm 1 opens with a clear separation of two ways, two paths: the wicked and the righteous. While Psalm 1 ends with the wicked (think oppressors) perishing, Psalm 2 opens with the wicked ruling nations and mocking the righteous and the righteous God. The Psalmist reaffirms Psalm 1 and trusts that these mocking oppressors will not oppress forever. A day of reckoning is coming.

In Psalm 3, our poet is surrounded by those who walk in the way of wickedness. His trust in the Lord’s faithfulness is tested and he cries out for salvation (vindication; justice). In Psalm 4 continues to call for vindication but also encourages the listeners who also struggle to rest in the Lord’s faithfulness by remembering the blessings of Lord.

As I continue reading, I hear this rhythm of struggle. I hear expressions of turmoil, possibly temptation, doubt, frustration. And yet, song after song the Psalmist is calling his hearers, his nation to trust in the righteous judge, to press into the instruction of the Lord (meditate upon Torah), to walk in the way of life and avoid the slippery path of destruction. In the midst of this struggle, I hear songs of praise, focusing on this wondrous creation, the redeeming action of the Lord and the wisdom of the commandments.

By singing and praying these songs, I am resounding the word outwardly and inwardly. I am confessing the very real struggle of living in a world where wicked oppressors seem to thrive. I am acknowledging the pressure to leave the path of life and pursue the path of wickedness for my own protection, my own provision, my own safety. Yet, even as the pressure mounts, so does the confession resound, clinging to the faithfulness of the Lord, learning the way of trust.

* Image by deadmanjones on flickr. Used by permission via Creative Commons.

Singing in the House of Sojourn

May 17, 2013 / Doug Floyd / 1 Comment

“Your statutes have been my songs
in the house of my sojourning.” (Psalm 119:54)

My restless tongue intones the hope of home in the echo of the Psalms. Praise is the language of my people, my homeland, but I sojourn so far from home. I long for the land of harmony, but wander through valleys of dissonance. A wayward tongue blinds the eye to beauty, sounding complaint, frustration and disgust instead.

James writes that blessing and cursing gush from the same mouth. It ought not be, but is. I am an imperfect witness. Sometimes sounding praise, sometimes cursing the ground on which I stand.

Words pound the pavement with anger. News blares sounds of strife and struggle, neverending dispute. The unpeaceable kingdoms of this world sound the drums of dissatisfaction, distortion and destruction.

Oh, to speak one true word in a world where so many sounds collide and crash and dissipate. “To find my home in one sentence, concise, as if hammered in metal,” writes Czeslaw Milosz. “Not to enchant anybody. Not to earn a lasting name in posterity. An unnamed need for order, for rhythm, for form, which three words are opposed to chaos and nothingness.”

He knows the chaos and nothingness of sound without fire, words without life, clouds without rain. So many words flash and fade, undoing the family, the community, the nation. The furies of strife usher a deluge of destruction.

When the Lord instructs, “you shall not bear false witness against your neighbor” (Deut 5: 20), He guides in the way of Life. He also reveals the way of creation. His Torah undergirds the very structure of creation. As Abraham Joshua Heschel once wrote, “The Torah determines both the essence and the existence of the universe.”

His words echo Wisdom’s voice in Proverbs 8,
“The Lord possessed me at the beginning of his work,
the first of his acts of old.
Ages ago I was set up,
at the first, before the beginning of the earth.
When there were no depths I was brought forth,
when there were no springs abounding with water.
Before the mountains had been shaped,
before the hills, I was brought forth,
before he had made the earth with its fields,
or the first of the dust of the world.
When he established the heavens, I was there;
when he drew a circle on the face of the deep,
when he made firm the skies above,
when he established the fountains of the deep,
when he assigned to the sea its limit,
so that the waters might not transgress his command,
when he marked out the foundations of the earth,
then I was beside him, like a master workman,
and I was daily his delight,
rejoicing before him always,
rejoicing in his inhabited world
and delighting in the children of man. (Proverbs 8:22-31)

Bearing witness is not an arbitrary rule but the shape of this ordered world. All things bear witness. The grass, the trees, the sun and the stars all bear witness. Day after day, they silently proclaim the Glory of God. Even as the tree bears witness to God’s glory, it silently bears witness to itself. The Dogwood tree in front of my house reveals the wonder of a Dogwood. In silence, I behold a symphony of shape and color and motion through all seasons of the year. The Dogwood tree gives witness of itself while witnessing to the Glory of God at the same time. And it also silently witnesses to the creation around it.

To adapt the words of John Donne, the Dogwood is not “an island entire of itself.” This little tree lives in mutuality with the soil below and the air above. Even as I behold the Dogwood, I behold the fiery Cardinal alighting on it’s crooked limb. The limb provides a place for revealing the Cardinal in all it’s splendor. In some way, the Cardinal reveals the Dogwood even as the Dogwood reveals the Cardinal. The sun above gives witness to Dogwood and Cardinal since without the light, I could not behold the wonder of each. At some level, every particular thing in this vast creation is giving witness to the Glory of God, the glory of it’s own unique form, and the glory of the world around it.

Into the midst of this wordless pageant, a voice speaks. I am the articulate voice. You are the articulate voice. We alone echo the Voice of God by speaking and singing into this world of glory. The Psalmist tunes my tongue and my ear to the sound of a true word. Even as the Psalmist sings the statutes of God in the house of sojourning, he anticipates the One True Word Enfleshed.

Jesus, the Word become Flesh is the True Witness of the Father, the World, and the person. In Him and by His Spirit, I behold the fullness of glory. Even as Jesus reveals the Father, He reveals my call as True Witness. “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer” (Psalm 19:14). The music of creation pulses in my heart, as the Word shapes my lips into songs of praise.

We play the honored role as articulate witnesses. Life and death are in the power of our tongues (Proverbs 18:21). We are learning to become who we are by the wisdom of Christ. His Word shapes our ears, and eyes and tongues. Like the Psalmist, we learn to sing His Word in our house of sojourning. May Jesus, the Word made Flesh, make our flesh the echo His Word. May our frail and muttering tongues give witness to the glory of God, the wonder of His creation, and the beautiful beloved people who people this world.

“O all ye works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord praise him and magnify him for ever.”

* Image by Funchye on flickr. Used by permission via Creative Commons.

Pilgrim Notes

Reflections along the way.