.:| The Mr. Renaissance Bi-weekly Newsletter |:. archives | discuss | subscribe | print page
April 21, 2004
Hello everyone,
It has been some time since I have written a truly personal account of the way in which God is working in my life. Admittedly, there are elements of me in everything I write, but today I feel compelled to share with you the events of my life as of late and my observations concerning them. What I write today may not be earth shattering, but I tend to think that its very ordinariness will be its strength and charm. As many of you have learned, I was terminated from my job at the end of March. However, rather than seeing this as being a curse, I have seen it as a great blessing. I have oft said that in order for God to get my attention, He not only has to rock the boat, but quite literally dump me out of it. This is precisely what has happened and these last few weeks have been a period of much needed rest and I intuitively sense change wafting on the breeze. I don’t know what lurks around the corner, but I get the feeling that there is a definite change of direction and a whole new level to be realized.
I am still going to school and already have my classes registered for this summer and fall. I will be taking an extra course per semester and will have the way cleared for my graduation in the Spring of 2005. I have tentatively planned to continue on with my education past this point and begin teaching at the college level. However, my feelings about college have been ones of disillusion as of late, though I am beginning to see that as long as education does not become an idol, one is better for having it than not: that perhaps I am taking it too much for granted. This factor well reflects human nature, for we are prone to fall into one or the other of opposite errors in our thinking regarding countless areas in our life: we tend either to praise a good thing too highly or else see only the negative. In reality, there are few things in this life that are totally good or bad and if we are thinking clearly, we will recognize both the advantages as well as the setbacks involved in whatever it is we are assessing.
Perhaps when I began college, I put too much value on it, seeing it as a great privilege and a second chance after “squandering” nearly a decade of my life in a directionless course involving factory work and other menial tasks when I had the potential for employment in areas of my personal gifting. Yet even then, I never saw it as a means to a monetary reward, though it is little secret that people with an education do tend to earn more money than their peers who have never attended school. The vast majority of the things I most want in life cannot be bought with money, and since my material wants and needs aren’t large, it doesn’t take much for me to live.
In keeping with the admission that the things I most want out of life are not to be purchased, college was my pursuit of answers and personal enrichment. Perhaps the problem was that I began to put too much emphasis on the intellectual side of life. When a person channels all of his time and energy in a certain direction, he will very likely excel in that area. But the question then becomes whether or not that particular area is worth all of one’s time and energy. While the intellect is a valuable gift from God, developing it to the (at least partial) exclusion of the other areas of one’s life is probably not the most healthy thing one could do.
As I look back over the course of the last few years, the bulk of my time has been spent either working or studying. There was no time to relax and enjoy the simpler things in life. If I wanted to succeed in college, I had to devote nearly my total time and energy to my schoolwork. Fortunately, I have always had an aptitude for scholarship: school came easily for me; early on in life, I “learned how to learn” and that single factor alone determines to great degree who succeeds academically and who does not. Yet even when one has a natural propensity for book learning, it still requires time, dedication, and mental discipline because books don’t read themselves. Long before I lost my job, I was beginning to question whether or not the pace I was keeping was worth it all. Now that I am unemployed, I can see that there were other alternatives available to me and that the frenetic pace which I kept would probably not have been necessary. If you look over the past issues of Le Penseur Réfléchit, you will frequently see the portrait of a man half-alive, his sputtering wick flickering from the inside out.
Something like a man who for years has been pushing on a door tightly stuck to find it one day cave beneath his weight, I have fallen flat on my face academically. I am behind on my schoolwork and may remain that way, for I am wise enough to know that I can ace my classes doing only three quarters to half the amount of work that is expected of me. This is not to my personal preference nor is it keeping within the work ethic I believe we have been called to as believers. Yet I feel so little energy and motivation toward my scholarship that unless something gives, I may very well fall below my own standards of excellence. Still, if life is to have any real meaning, scholastic pursuits have to be kept within the larger balance of our spiritual diet. And in that regard, I am as a man starved for food, for when I am not lethargic and resting, I am devouring spiritual resources by the boatload. All I seem to want to do these days is read, read, read spiritual books, articles, journals and anything else that will help to renew the diet I have necessarily kept on a low ration these last several years.
What is interesting about my reading is that it began with the types of resources you have grown to expect from me: scholarly works thick with theology or literary works filled with lofty and exulted prose. But since uncovering Sadhu Sundar Singh, my reading has been delving more and more into the works of authors who describe very intimate encounters with God. I believe the reason for this is because I have long since realized that Christianity is at its heart a relationship with God, not an intellectual exercise. For example, under the subheading “Rationalism, Skepticism & Philosophy,” the Sadhu is fleshed out in these terms:
Experience must precede reasoning. In the snows of the Himalayas he [the Sadhu] showed a fellow-traveller a hot-water spring. The man began to argue and to reason that the thing was impossible, when the Sadhu invited him to put his hand in the water. On discovering for himself that the water was really hot as the Sadhu had said, the man now began to adduce many reasons as to why it should be hot. Asked what he [the Sadhu] thought of Higher Criticism and Modernism, he replied that it was all “spiritual influenza”—it would pass away, but not before killing a good many people.
He thanked God that he had been enabled to go to the West. Before he went, he thought that there must be something in Modernist theories, otherwise so many men would not write so many books. Besides, Christianity had been in force for so many centuries in the West. But when he discovered how busy these scholars were and how much of their knowledge was second-hand and not the fruit of their experience with Christ, he announced that all their speculations would not move him an inch from his faith.
[In Sadhu Sundar Singh’s own words:] “It is not by education or philosophy that we know Him. When I was in Australia, I was asked, ‘What do you think of our civilization?’—I said, ‘Do you mean your education or your manners of society? In that case I say, you are trained animals, trained to do a certain thing in a certain way.’ “Man, know thyself”—and he who knows God knows himself. He is the truly civilized man in the image of God in which he was created . . . .”
“Trying to understand spiritual truth through the intellect means increase of self. Men search for God and find Him unknowable . . . but He is known through the heart, not through philosophy. The only way for us to understand the infinite God is by becoming infinite and that is impossible. He must become finite and He is so in Jesus.” (Sadhu Sundar Singh: Excerpts of Sayings & Sermons)
To a very large degree, I have discovered the truth in the Sadhu’s statement that “trying to understand spiritual truth through the intellect means increase of self.” Like all things, this statement must be seen in balance: it must be recognized that our rational facilities have been given us by God and that faith is not unreasonable. It is as Sadhu Singh writes in The Wisdom of the Sadhu: “Educated people, especially those I met in the West, repress their native intuition and substitute in its place a kind of artificial rationalism.” It is important that we realize that it is this “artificial rationalism” that results in an increase in self, for true rationalism will also point us to God from whence all things originate. Sadhu Sundar Singh concludes with some words that I certainly needed to hear:
I studied theology in a theological seminary. I learned many useful and interesting things no doubt, but they were not of much spiritual profit. There were discussions about sects, about Yesu Christ and many other interesting things, but I found the reality, the spirit of all these things, only at the Master’s feet. When I spent hours at His feet in prayer, then I found enlightenment, and God taught me so many things that I cannot express them even in my own language. Sit at the Master’s feet in prayer; it is the greatest theological college in this world. We know about theology, but He is the source of theology itself. He explains in a few seconds a truth that has taken years to understand. Whatever I have learned has been learned only at His feet. Not only learning, but life, I have found at His feet in prayer.
I do not condemn theologians wholesale, but it is unfortunately the fashion in Western thinking to doubt and deny everything. I protest this tendency. I never advise anyone to consult theologians, because all too often they have completely lost all sense of spiritual reality. They can explain Greek words and all that, but they spend too much time among their books and not enough time with the Master in prayer. It is not that I oppose all education, but education without life is certainly dangerous. You must stop examining spiritual truths like dry bones! You must break open the bones and take in the life-giving marrow. (Widsom of the Sadhu)
So you see, that is precisely what was happening to me: I was experiencing “education without life,” or without much life anyway. For the past several years I have set my sights on teaching college. In my great disillusion, I saw myself headed toward that very precipice and it seemed to me that below was a vast valley filled with bones. In my doubt and soul-searching, I asked God: “What could I possibly accomplish in the university?” God gently impressed upon me: “My child, all things are possible with God.” In doubting myself I had unwittingly doubted God’s ability to work and accomplish His plan and purpose in my life. Infinitely patient with me, He knew my heart and like all of His reminders, this one was gracious and affirming even as it corrected my near-sightedness. Giving further thought to this moment of despair a few days later, I was reminded of a certain Oxford dean God has used so mightily to further His Kingdom. I have done a lot of reading about C.S. Lewis and the stories are all the same: as well educated as he may have been, he was not only fully alive but enjoyed an intimate relationship with his Lord. Known as Jack by his friends, this is one of the many endearing stories we read about this intellectual giant of the Christian faith:
Another Lewis-the-fool story involved an elderly dog. Both brothers were animal lovers, and cared for each dog lovingly to his last breath. One, in its extreme old age (probably Baron or Mr Papworth, also known as “Tykes”) became very difficult, as we all do, in time. It was one of the rare sights of Headington to see Jack feeding an animal who was sensitive about being seen eating, and would not eat on home territory. So Jack would walk in front holding the dog dish in one hand, and a spoon in the other, ladling the food backwards over his shoulder to the following, shambling dog, the leader being quite unmindful of the passersby and their reactions, as long as the dog got fed. (Rogers, Mary. “C.S. Lewis—God’s Fool.” Oxford. November 1998.)
Further, not only do we get these heartwarming personal portraits of the man, but a careful reading of his works will demonstrate that he denounced the very systems against which the Sadhu speaks using their own language and arguments against them, effectively unraveling them from the inside out. Any time we do what God has ordained us to do, there will always be those who misunderstand us and our efforts. So too, many have misunderstood Lewis and fail to appreciate what it was he was doing in his books. His friends were critical of him because they thought he was being too pedantic and trite in his Christian expressions. His critics dismissed him because they felt that it was a compromise of intellectual integrity to write to such a large audience: that anyone who was so widely read must have “dumbed down” his work. A lot of Christian people have stumbled over the fact he smoked cigarettes and a pipe and drank alcohol or else have failed to see the need for his type of apologetic. Yet the poison can be the very cure when administered by one chosen of God, as “Jack” Lewis surely was. Only God knows the hundreds of thousands of lives that have been impacted by this man’s words in a way like no other. With God, often the most unlikely persons are vital instruments of His grace.
While God is a Person and not a path, the Christian way a personal relationship and not a philosophy, God did create some people to be philosophically minded and as one such person, I take special comfort in another passage I read in At the Master’s Feet: “If true happiness depended on the thoughts of man, then all philosophers and deep thinkers would be filled to overflowing with it. But with the exception of such of them as believe in Me, those who are wise in the philosophy of this world are altogether devoid of happiness, except for a kind of fleeting pleasure which they derive from following out certain rules of their own.” I can happily say that I am included in “such of them as believe in Me,” for Christ is indeed my Lord and Master, even if I sometimes fall short of His grace.
Yet there is also a strangely ambiguous side of myself that misses the academic thrust that has characterized so much of my life and writing these past several years. Just between you and me, I am sure that the burgeoning scholar has not died, though sometimes it seems to me as though he has in this season of lethargy in his life. Yet are not all things in life a gift of God? Standing by the kitchen counter the other day thinking how far removed I feel from what I once was—much less from those true scholars who cast long shadows over the centuries as their words continue to inspire new generations—I told myself that it did not matter. God is ultimately all that matters and I must trust Him. So, standing by the countertop, I simply surrendered this new chapter in my life to God and I strongly suspect that by surrendering it on a lower level it may well be given back to me on a higher level. What is more, I am reminded just how far I have come, looking back across the last decade of my life.
Within the first year of my Christian journey I found myself in Job Corps training in Utah. There are accounts of this time period littered here and there throughout the site, but let us simply say that it was a time of exceptional closeness to God. I had the privilege of leading at least six people to Christ in less than a six month period and the power and presence of the Holy Spirit literally radiated from me. Total strangers would come up to me and tell me that they did not know why, but they knew they were to speak to me. The first few times this happened I hid my surprise well but it soon became such a common occurrence that it metamorphosed into a near routine. My response was always similar: “Yes, we have much to discuss. Come sit down. Let’s talk.” And sitting in the cafeteria, I would tell them my story of the hedonism, the drugs, the voices, the Earth Goddess and the grandmother, the false starts and stops, and on and anon—when my tale mercifully wound to a close the other person was almost always visibly shaken, leaving the table with much to ponder from this unusual missionary of the mind.
Few were the occasions for church in those days, prompting me to birth a bible study (a factor which eventually resulted in my termination) as one newly born sharing the very draught from which he drank. Mornings always found me sitting alone in the cafeteria, my head either bowed in extended prayer before my meal or buried in my ubiquitous bible. Occasionally someone would ask to join me for breakfast, and, while no one was ever turned away, I preferred to spend these times alone with God. Many of the Old Testament stories in particular would speak powerfully to me, a lump rising in my throat, tears welling in my eyes, a common chord resonating with these all too human heroes of the faith who also dealt with the ups and downs of life’s profferings, sometimes doubting, sometimes believing, sometimes stumbling, but God never wavering, slow to anger and quick to forgive, blessing His children beyond what they could ask or imagine. I met my Lord there in that cafeteria, the Holy Spirit’s soft whispers carrying His love to my heart.
Of course, I was often misunderstood in those days, just as any servant of God will be, at least from time to time. There were those who saw the black clothes and the lingering black dye in my hair with which I had tried to improve my appearance while still involved in drugs, and concluded that the heavy brown bible with the worn gold lettering was a book filled to overflowing with necromantic spells and herbal lore. Surely a longhaired and bearded figure radiating such an obvious spiritual aura from beneath folds of black would be carrying a book of shadows, for no such man would ever carry a Christian bible! Yet this sort of misunderstanding was more complimentary than many of the other ways I was misunderstood: ways in which I shall not here elaborate.
Those were formative months. Surrounded by people, I had very little time for study and reflection, short of the bible reading I faithfully pursued and what handful of books I could procure from the sparse collection on campus. I was no great scholar in those days, yet I managed to write the no-frills autobiography which now graces the website. And then there were many trials of patience, not the least of which involved the chicken pox. I had never contracted the virus as a child, and there, on a campus with fifteen hundred students from all fifty states and around the world, the virus flourished, managing to infect me as the first of many victims. Scarcely a square inch of my body was not covered in painful boils, the awful magic burrowing deep down into my throat and nasal cavity. I prayed fervently for death, my fever raging, my misshapen body alight with unquenchable flame.
The day I lurched to the sick ward, a box arrived from my parents containing a note, a book, and a package of mints. The note said they had found the book contained within very interesting and they asked me to reserve my judgement until I had read it, curious to hear my opinion. The book was an easy read and published independently by Charles and Frances Hunter, a couple who, through a series of cassettes, had first heard of the man about whom they would later write. On its cover, against a backdrop of clouds beneath a radiating sun, were emblazoned the large letters Angels on Assignment. The book documents a series of angelic encounters experienced by the late Protestant pastor Roland Buck. When many of us hear of such things, our reactions typically range from mildly incredulous to outright skeptical. I can’t say for certain that the book was true (for who ever could short of God, Pastor Buck, or the angels?), but I can say that God used the book in a powerful way to minister to me as I was going through those ten dark and agonizing days. When I emerged on the other end weak but well on my way to recovery, my friends said I had developed a sweetness of character I had not had before and that my face fairly well glowed with the radiance of God’s love.
A few days ago, to my delight I discovered Angels on Assignment published on the Web. Curious, I noticed that Pastor Buck’s daughter Sharon White has written a sequel and tribute to her father entitled The Man Who Talked with Angels. I mentioned that the first book was independently published; in a similar fashion I could clearly tell that Sharon was not a particularly polished author. Much like my own autobiography, the tale was told effectively, yet in a manner that demonstrated to me the value the last several years as a literature major have wrought. Despite its modest style however, reading each chapter has brought me keen delight, taking me back to my days on that campus in Utah where it was sink or swim: if one wished to stay close to the Lord, one had to lean rather heavily on grace. And just as in its own way Angels on Assignment impelled me to come, see, and taste the sweetness of the Lord, so too The Man Who Talked with Angels makes me hunger and thirst for righteousness. While Sharon includes excerpts from her father’s diaries recounting some of his angelic encounters, the strongest and most inspiring parts for me are the rather ordinary details of Pastor Buck’s life. Some of her recollections of her father are particularly moving, including these accounts:
One of the first things I remember about my father was his generosity. He was the kind of man who gave everything he had to the Lord, to his family, and to people in need. I remember when a tramp knocked on our door when I was about four years old. It was during the time that I had rheumatic fever. I remember my dad going to the door, and there was a grizzled, shabby, little old man. Dad let him in and fixed him a bowl of soup. Then he had him chop some wood for him, in order to earn some money. I was so impressed with how he treated this old man, even leaving him his dignity, that I asked my daddy to bring in my piggy bank, which had about one hundred pennies in it. I remember wanting to be just like my dad, and I asked him to give the old man my pennies. He gave me a big smile, and asked, “Are you sure you want to do this, honey?” I assured him that I did.
He used to include the whole family in his ministry. I remember the fun days when we first moved to Boise, and our church was small. Our whole family would get together and help fold, address, and put out the weekly newsletter after daddy typed it up. He had taught himself to type, and he typed as fast with two or three fingers as a lot of people could using five fingers on each hand. We would laugh and talk and just have a great time.
* * * * * * * *
Whenever daddy punished us, it was never in anger. After the spanking was over, or in later life whatever punishment had been meted out, he would come to us and say, “Honey, I just hate punishing, you, but I’m responsible to God for you life. You still love your old dad though, don’t you?” What do you do with a dad like that? I would always have to say, “Sure I do, daddy!” Later on, when he would have to deny us something, or an activity, for our own good, and I would be pouting, he just couldn’t stand it! I always knew it wouldn’t be long before I would hear his footsteps outside my door, and then he would come in. He never would change his mind, but he’d say, “You forgive your old dad for being such an old meanie, don’t you?” I would always have to say yes, and most of the time I would have to tell him he was right about whatever it was he wouldn’t let me do. A lot of times I would go to him even before he would come to me and tell him, “You were right, daddy” because I never could stand to think that he felt badly. What a dad! It really makes me lonesome thinking about what a lucky girl I was to have a dad like that. With my inborn nature, I could have been so different. (Chapter 14: Four Little Bucks and How They Grew)
Because Sharon White’s account reminds me so much of Angels on Assignment, I frequently flashed back to my early Christian days in Utah, but not without an acute realization that I am not at all the same man I was then. I have spent the last four years of my life in the academic environment and it has changed how I view the world at large. If not in truth, in illusion I suffer from the belief that my world has become more refined and sophisticated, either helping me, hindering me, or more than likely a combination of both. Wherever the fact of the matter may lie, it seemed to me that something of this more “urbane” self was beginning to die. But, it is as I told a friend recently when we went out to lunch together: “The wonderful thing about having more time is that it causes you to recognize the other things in your life you lack, the things you were always too busy to notice before.” Times like these allow us to see from whence our identity derives. With all this time on my hands, I am forced to examine myself rather closely and it reveals many areas—whether for good or bad—that have become tied with my sense of identity. And the realization strikes with an acute pang that it matters not how refined I may fancy myself, I will always be dependent: without God, I will always be the pauper. I am again reminded of Sundar Singh’s words in At the Master’s Feet:
The Disciple,—Master, sometimes I am conscious that my peace and happiness have departed. Is this because of some hidden sin of mine, or is there some other reason unknown to me?
The Master,—1. Yes, this is sometimes due to disobedience, but occasionally I appear to leave My children for a short time and then they become lonely and restless. Then while they are in that condition I am able to reveal to them their actual selves and their utter weakness, and teach them that apart from Me they are nothing but dry bones (Ezek. xxxvii.1–14); so that they may not in a constant state of rest and peace forget their essential condition, and, deeming themselves to be God, fall through pride into the punishment of hell (1 Tim. iii.6; Jude 6; Isa. xiv.12–17). In this way they are trained and educated; and when they humbly and meekly abide in Me, who created them, they will enjoy eternal happiness in heaven.
What does my future hold? I don’t really know. But I do know in Whom I have believèd and nothing else really matters much anymore. I’ll go where He leads and trust that He knows best. In my better moments, I understand that these are momentary afflictions minuscule in light of eternity. Yes, patient trust in our Lord and Master is the only answer, for He and He alone can give to us those things for which we yearn. There is a hidden school through which we learn, its Master is our Lord, and its meeting place is within the human heart. Books and knowledge have their place, but in the end the best our learning will ever do is frame His features before our thoughts as a long distance letter recalls to mind the face of a loved one. Only through patient endurance in the seasons of change will we be molded into His likeness until one day, after many years, we shall shine like stars in miniature, resplendent in the heavenly sky, perennially youthful and healthy, sharing in our Master’s happiness forever.
God bless,
Eric
Table of Contents | Home | About | Newsletter | Forum | Misc. | Contact | Search | Links | Random Page
.:| get up to date: newsletter :. 1&1 .: discussion forum: participate |:.